TTMLPTWW – Chapter 17

The Duke’s expression, which had been teetering on the edge of something unreadable, broke into a perfect smile. Wearing the polite grin typical of nobles, he spoke.

“How amusing. Seems there’s truth to the saying that you can read someone’s thoughts.”

He was just quick-witted from surviving a war. Back then, being clueless would’ve gotten you killed.

He offered his hand in escort.

“It’s nearly time for the evening banquet anyway. Shall we go together? I imagine the Brigadier General will head straight to the dining hall. I’ve been hoping to have a conversation with the Princess.”

There was clearly some ulterior motive—like how he had snatched the dress—but in a mansion this vast, trying to track down Masera would be nearly impossible. I figured I might as well eat.

“The Brigadier General tends to be rather aloof. Doesn’t that bother you?”

The Duke’s question was met with a swift shake of my head.

Even if my identity gets exposed, I need to stay close with Masera so that he’ll think, ‘I’ve grown too fond of her to kill her… I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything.’

The Duke added,

“Being a war orphan, I imagine his values must differ greatly from those of us raised as nobles.”

I went silent for a moment, looking at him.

Why is he telling me this? Thinking of the harsh road Masera must’ve walked left a faint ache in my chest.

I spoke calmly.

“When you acknowledge someone’s differences, there’s nothing to feel hurt about. After all, conflict always starts from differing opinions, doesn’t it?”

Of course, I didn’t say what I really meant—I just pretended to be mature and composed. That man clearly wanted me to pity Masera.

The Duke met my eyes.

“Acknowledgment… I’d like to hear more.”

Honestly, I only knew this stuff from reading some relationship self-help books, but he was looking at me like some professor who had just discovered a gifted student.

“People have all walked different paths, so naturally we differ in personality, temperament, values, and priorities. Even our tastes, down to food, can be different. When you accept those differences and compromise to find common ground, that’s what we call ‘understanding.’ Speaking of which, I can’t help but mention my hometown. When I was stationed up north during the harsh winter, you see…”

I launched into a long-winded story like the one infamous chatty baseball player.

It was a tactic—keep rambling until we arrived at the banquet, so he wouldn’t get a chance to ask trickier questions.

“…Understanding.”

The Duke echoed the word, nodding with a thoughtful tone, then gave me a small smile.

“The Brigadier General has found himself a remarkable partner.”

He seemed deeply preoccupied with Masera.

He kept bringing him up, and his expression subtly shifted each time.

Wait, don’t tell me the real reason he stole the dress was…?

I suddenly imagined the Duke ripping up our wedding photo and pasting Masera’s image next to his own.

A shudder ran down my spine.

Brain. Please. I’m begging you. Don’t do this!

* * *

Before long, they arrived at the dining hall, where the Queensguard family was already seated, joined by a few elegant, cold-looking noblewomen with black hair.

A trio of green eyes, each a different hue, locked onto Cynthia.

‘Whoa. Those three are seriously intimidating.’

Cynthia shrank back a little under their frosty gazes.

“Please, have a seat.”

The Dowager Duchess gestured toward her.

The Duke pulled out a chair for Cynthia and added, “I personally escorted the Princess to the dining hall so we could have a chat.”

“I see. Judging by the Princess’s expression, it must’ve been an enjoyable conversation.”

Though Cynthia always had a naturally bright expression, the Dowager Duchess took it as proof they’d cleared up the misunderstanding about the dress.

Which, incidentally, had been the Duke’s exact intention.

Helene glanced briefly at Cynthia and the Duke, then gave the barest of nods.

‘Was there really a need to explain things to a maid playing pretend?’

She could sense they hadn’t been talking about the dress at all.

Just then, Masera returned, snowflakes clinging to the shoulders of his coat.

Cynthia leaned in and whispered to him as he sat down beside her.

“Where did you go? I was looking all over for you.”

In truth, she hadn’t looked for even a second, but Cynthia made it sound like she’d scoured the whole estate.

“Why do you need to know every little thing?”

He replied just as quietly.

“Is that so wrong?”

“Some privacy would be appreciated.”

Masera replied offhandedly, peeling off his damp gloves.

The Duke’s comment about a “secret lover” still hung in the air. Masera’s curt answer might have stung or stirred suspicion—but not for Cynthia.

A typical heroine in a regret-fueled romance might’ve wilted from the implied rebuke, but Cynthia… wasn’t thinking much of it.

‘Bet he went off to secretly build a snowman. I should go stick some buttons to it later.’

She smiled to herself, picturing Masera crouched somewhere in a corner, building a tiny snowman.

And then, dinner began.

With both families gathered, everyone wore polite smiles, but the atmosphere carried a hint of tension.

“I’ve prepared a traditional dish from my homeland, just for tonight,” the Dowager Duchess announced.

With her introduction, a strange pie was brought out—its crust protruding with the heads of sardines, their blank stares resembling someone poking out of a swamp, silently begging for help.

The Queensguard family’s expressions briefly flickered with unease at the bizarre sight.

‘Is this supposed to be some kind of insult?’

The Count hesitated but picked up his fork. It was only proper to at least taste the dish and offer a comment.

Just then, Cynthia—who hadn’t hesitated for even a second—was the first to speak up.

“Oh, this is…”

‘Please keep your mouth shut, don’t make yourself look like an idiot!’

The Count shot her a warning look, but Cynthia simply beamed and continued anyway.

“It looks rustic and the ingredients don’t seem like they’d go well together, but it’s surprisingly balanced and delicious.”

The Count, who had been keeping a wary eye on the Dowager Duchess, was caught off guard. Edford stepped in with a scolding tone.

“How dare you call something the Dowager Duchess prepared ‘rustic’? That’s a high-class dish eaten by the nobility of Medea!”

Cynthia gave him a sweet smile.

“But it’s not a high-class dish. It’s a commoner’s dish.”

“Why would a high noble eat a commoner’s meal? Use your head for once.”

Edford openly grumbled. He wouldn’t have minded if Cynthia got kicked out by Masera for exposing her own ignorance.

“Cynthia, you shouldn’t judge things just by appearance. Even a child’s messy drawing can turn out to be a priceless work of art.”

Helene, pretending to be dignified, lightly jabbed at her ignorance too.

Cynthia shook her head.

“Helene, this is ‘stargazy pie’—a festive dish from coastal fishing villages. Back when snowstorms stopped everyone from fishing and folks were starving, there was this old fisherman who braved the storm to catch sardines for everyone. The village made this dish to honor him.”

The moment she finished speaking, the black-haired noblewomen, including the Dowager Duchess, all widened their eyes.

“Princess… How do you know that? It’s a dish we used to eat during festivals when we were little girls. Hardly anyone knows about it these days. Do you have a special interest in Medea?”

For the first time, the Dowager Duchess’s previously icy voice warmed ever so slightly.

“I’ve always felt deep respect and admiration for Medea. The tea culture is lovely, and the country is rich with diverse cultural expressions. I also think the chivalry and kindness toward the vulnerable show the strength of its civic values. Come to think of it, the refinement and poise that you and the young ladies embody… it’s like Medea itself.”

Cynthia spoke smoothly, sharing what she knew without hesitation.

Of course, she conveniently left out the part about Medea’s brutal colonial plundering.

In truth, she’d binge-read everything she could find after hearing Helene’s mother-in-law was from Medea’s royal bloodline. She had originally planned to win over Helene’s in-laws too—but the more she read, the more she realized the country reminded her of one she’d known in a previous life, and that sparked a genuine curiosity. She even pestered someone to take her there on their honeymoon.

Naturally, cold-hearted Masera had completely ignored her.

‘Eugene also has black hair and green eyes just like these Medean nobles.’

“…Goodness.”

The Dowager Duchess’s green eyes grew misty. She was clearly struggling to maintain her composure and dignity through the swell of emotion.

Cynthia noticed the slight furrow in her brow—the kind that forms when you’re holding back tears—and thought to herself,

‘She married abroad. She must miss her home.’

Even the fact that she’d gathered her sisters to stay at the Duke’s estate said enough.

It’s like a foreigner living abroad suddenly hearing someone rave about how great Korea is, praising kimchi and soybean paste—how could you not feel moved?

“I was planning to go to Medea for my honeymoon. As you probably know, there’ve been a lot of circumstances in the way… but I’m finally going to visit the place I’ve always dreamed of. I’m so happy.”

Cynthia added a wistful smile to her words, and the ladies could no longer resist the wave of human empathy, sympathy, and maternal protectiveness.

“I have a villa in the northern region. The coastline and the natural scenery are absolutely breathtaking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, she has to go to the capital. I’ll arrange for her to stay at a royal family’s luxury hotel.”

“No, no! We’re family through marriage now! She should stay as an honored guest in the royal palace. I’ll send a message to the palace myself…”

The noblewomen eagerly began fighting over who would host Cynthia on her honeymoon.

‘…I told you we’re not going on a honeymoon.’

Masera quietly sliced his sardine pie, swallowing his dismay along with the sardines.

💟 Translator Notes 💟
So, the “stargazy pie” is a legit thing. Here’s a little snip from wikipedia:

The pie originates from the fishing village of Mousehole in Cornwall. As with many parts of Cornish heritage, a legend has appeared about its origins. In this case, the pie is served to celebrate the bravery of Tom Bawcock, a local fisherman in the 16th century. The legend explains that one winter had been particularly stormy, meaning that none of the fishing boats had been able to leave the harbour. As Christmas approached, the villagers, who relied on fish as their primary source of food, were facing starvation.

On 23 December, Tom Bawcock decided to brave the storms and went out in his fishing boat. Despite the stormy weather and the difficult seas, he managed to catch enough fish to feed the entire village. The entire catch (including seven types of fish) was baked into a pie, which had the fish heads poking through to prove that there were fish inside. Ever since then, the Tom Bawcock’s Eve festival is held on 23 December in Mousehole. The celebration and memorial to the efforts of Tom Bawcock sees the villagers parading a huge stargazy pie during the evening with a procession of handmade lanterns, before eating the pie itself.

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