‘Why does this keep happening?’
Masera was lost in thought.
He couldn’t let his guard down for even a second, or else he would be blindly led by Cynthia’s intentions, with everything going exactly the way she wanted.
Just like how he was now getting dragged to an impromptu honeymoon in Medea.
[“The youngest is much more useful than her sister. She’s sociable, and her attitude and expressions are so charming.”]
[“Her sister only knows how to put on airs. She’s so stiff and uptight, it’s unbearable. How is someone like that supposed to mingle in high society?”]
Though Cynthia fully understood the Medeian conversation between Madam Hills and Madam Verace—both sisters of the Dowager Duchess—she pretended not to.
Realizing from context that the women were comparing Cynthia and herself, Helene smiled and chimed in.
“I’d love to visit Medea someday. They call it the land of gentlemen, after all.”
With her lengthy experience in high society, Madam Verace could tell it was just a nicety and asked casually.
“Do you know why it’s called the land of gentlemen?”
“Because they value refinement, elegance, and etiquette,” Helene answered confidently.
‘Wrong. That’s a misinterpretation.’
Cynthia pressed her lips together, recalling something she had read.
The term was a euphemism that emerged when the gentry class—those between commoners and nobility—accumulated wealth and began leading global trends. In Medea, gentry men in black hats, suits, and carrying canes were especially prevalent.
The traditional aristocracy didn’t appreciate the label.
[“Pretending to know when she knows nothing.”]
Madam Hills sneered in Medeian, feigning admiration.
Cynthia raised her glass with a smile.
“That’s right, Sister. The Kingdom of Medea didn’t abide nations that failed to show them proper respect. They used to send fleets just to teach etiquette.”
The off-color joke made Madam Hills and Madam Verace burst into hearty laughter.
Count Queensguard and his two sons, not fully grasping the joke but sensing the mood, laughed along anyway.
Masera didn’t laugh. He was too busy debating whether he should eat the sardine head sticking out of his pie.
“You really are an amusing princess.”
“Oh, I do like cheerful people. Her Majesty also enjoys comedy and often invites jesters to her parties.”
Helene couldn’t understand how Cynthia was the one getting all the attention.
How could a maid, who hadn’t even received a proper education, know things like that?
Even jokes require a certain level of knowledge to land. If you’re not careful, they can come off as rude.
Trying to blend into the cheerful atmosphere, Helene spoke up.
“Cynthia, you seem to have taken an interest in Medea and studied it. Then you must be curious about jellied eels too, right? I think you’d like it—would you like to try some?”
Having already sampled jellied eels herself, Helene expected Cynthia to recoil.
Jellied eels were made by chopping eel into pieces and turning it into jelly. Its appearance was grotesque, the texture unpleasant, and the fishy smell overwhelmingly strong.
“Oh, I’ve only heard rumors about it. Have you tried it yourself, Sister?”
“Yes. Why don’t you give it a try too?”
Cynthia stared straight at Helene.
Assuming Cynthia felt cornered, Helene smirked inwardly.
‘Let’s see her choke it down while pretending she’s fine. She’ll be lucky not to gag as soon as it hits her tongue.’
“I’ll pass. I’d rather have more of the stargazy pie. It’s really delicious.”
Contrary to her expectations, Cynthia declined firmly.
Helene’s expression faltered—she had assumed Cynthia would accept just to impress the ladies.
“Why? I thought you loved Medea so much…”
“Tastes differ. You don’t eat our homeland’s broccoli rice either. Does that mean you hate the where you were born?”
At Cynthia’s reply, Helene couldn’t find a retort and clenched her skirt tightly.
Imagining the fishy taste made Cynthia shiver slightly. In her previous life, she had eaten more than enough cheap canned fish. There was no need to become a bizarre-food enthusiast when there were tasty things right in front of her.
The Dowager Duchess, watching the exchange, waved her hand dismissively.
“Helene, don’t push her. I can’t eat that either. Even locals tend to avoid it.”
‘So she gave it to me just to mess with me?’
Helene clenched her fists, forcing a smile.
Later, Edford bravely tried the jellied eels, only to turn pale and run out of the room.
Cynthia teasingly offered some to Masera as well. He silently ate all of it and then said just one thing.
“I’ve never tasted anything quite like this before.”
* * *
“Father, what exactly did you instruct Cynthia to do?”
After the meal, Helene stormed into the Count’s room to confront him.
She was certain he had ordered Cynthia to study up on Medea and curry favor with the Ducal House.
“What do you mean?”
“Those snooty people seem to be completely taken with her.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
Count Queensguard shrugged, looking genuinely puzzled.
Even if it was all just a pretense, Cynthia was his daughter for the time being. If the Ducal House looked favorably upon her, it was a gain, not a loss.
“Helene, it seems you haven’t been getting along with your in-laws. Not even with the Duke.”
“They look down on me by default. How am I supposed to get along with people like that? They’re stiff, blunt, and you can’t even tell whether they’re joking or mocking you.”
She hadn’t realized any of this until she came to the capital.
The Count had always said people were desperate to marry into royal blood, that it was incredibly valuable.
But it turned out that value only applied when someone was treated as property—it didn’t guarantee any kind of special treatment.
“They’re royals from a powerful and proud nation. You should’ve tried to be more charming. Cynthia, having spent years as a maid, knows exactly how to read the room and win people over. That’s something worth learning.”
“You’re telling me to take lessons from some lowborn maid?”
“Servants often have the best survival instincts.”
To Helene, who had never bowed her head to anyone and had been doted on all her life, it was an unbearable blow to her pride.
The Count stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Still… was that girl always so brazen? She seemed completely shameless.”
“How would I know? Why would I care enough to know a maid’s personality?”
Their worlds were so different, she’d never paid attention to Cynthia to begin with—there was no way she’d know what the girl had originally been like.
“Teaching her about Medea was probably Brigadier General Vicente’s idea. He rose from the very bottom as a war orphan, so he knows how to play society well.”
The Count gave a faint, amused smile as he looked at Helene.
“All we need to do is make good use of the favor those beneath us earn through their hard work—just like we always have. Keep in mind what I’ve always told you: petty inferiority and jealousy only end up destroying the person who holds them.”
* * *
Meanwhile, Carlos sat nursing a glass of whiskey, deep in thought.
‘A custom-made dress worth the price of a house?’
It might have been done for show, but his instincts as a man told him otherwise.
‘There’s a real chance something is developing between them.’
If they ended up falling in love, she’d never come back.
“Of course, once I get what I want, I’ll return her to you. By then, you’ll be leading a massive railway enterprise.”
That had been one of the Count’s conditions.
But there was one thing Carlos hadn’t told his father.
‘No matter how I look at it… it’s too perfect to be coincidence. Even the engagement ceremony was like that.’
Back then, he had taken Cynthia to a casino and won big.
The next day, he’d gone alone and lost everything. But when he took her with him again, he miraculously recouped his losses. Still, it seemed like there was a cap—he couldn’t win beyond a certain amount.
Cynthia had once told him something cryptic: “If you spend your luck on gambling, you’ll lose something far more precious.”
‘I’m getting her back. Especially if she’s truly a lucky woman.’
* * *
Night eventually fell. It was finally time for bed—and that meant sharing a bed with Masera.
If either of us suddenly ran off now, the carefully built image of a “happy engaged couple” would come crashing down.
Masera seemed to be thinking the same thing.
“I can’t come across as a thoughtless fiancé who leaves his betrothed alone in a strange place.”
“Right, I won’t run off either. Let’s both try to look like people who think things through.”
To be honest, I was a little scared to be alone.
I followed Masera into the room and stared at the bed—it was practically the size of an Olympic field.
“Look how big the bed is. If we sleep on opposite ends, it’ll be like sleeping in separate rooms, right?”
“I’ll take the sofa.”
I’d tried to reassure him, but he still seemed on edge.
As he took off his uniform jacket, his tone turned firm.
“Don’t even think about laying a hand on me.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“No.”
…Pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.
Will we make it to morning in one piece?
💟 Translator Notes 💟
“눈꽃 브로콜리” literally means “snowflake broccoli,” and often 눈꽃/snowflake is added before ‘cheese’ to mean “shredded cheese”. Shredded broccoli is colloquially called ‘broccoli rice’ – so, that’s why I went with that translation.
Jellied eels is a traditional English dish that originated in the 18th century, primarily in the East End of London. The dish consists of chopped eels boiled in a spiced stock that is allowed to cool and set, forming a jelly. It is usually served cold. (src: wikipedia)
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