The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
A breeze from somewhere stirred Cynthia’s silver hair like sea foam.
The kiss between the princess and the war hero was beautiful—like a scene from a painting. Even those who had watched with amusement at first found themselves genuinely moved by the youthful pair.

“What the hell were you thinking? That was a clueless stunt—you’ve only made things worse for the Grand Duchess.”
One noble rebuked another—the same noble who had encouraged the kiss between the couple.
They were the ones who had previously spoken to Cynthia condescendingly in Medeian, all from vassal families loyal to the Grand Duchess.

“Come on, it was obvious Brigadier Visente doesn’t like her…”
“Obvious where? Are you blind? It’s so obvious you’ve never been in love before.”
Masera’s expression might’ve been as unreadable as always, but the way he looked down at Cynthia told a different story.

Another noble added sheepishly,
“Honestly, the Brigadier is impressive, sure—but how could you not like that princess? She’s lovely. Innocent. Kind of like a harmless flower blooming by the roadside. I even felt a little guilty earlier.”
There was something about Cynthia that drew people in.

Meanwhile, watching the couple from afar among the other royals, the Grand Duchess Charlotte quietly set down her glass with an unreadable expression.
The last surviving royal of a fallen monarchy—rumored to have been hiding in the north.
Since showing herself in society, she must have endured endless disdain and mockery.

And yet, for someone with such a tragic backstory, Cynthia was bright, unbothered, even unblemished.
‘Strange. Unless she’s a master of survival tactics...’
Just then, someone broke her train of thought.

“Charlotte, I heard some good news about you lately. You’re to be Queen soon, aren’t you?”
At the relative’s question, she forced a reluctant smile and shook her head.
“Well… Mother only hinted at it. Nothing’s been confirmed.”
“As a cadet branch royal with a low succession rank, this is your one chance to reach the top.”

“For your brother too—you must become Queen, for the Grand Duchy’s future.”
The Grand Duchess clenched her hands as she recalled her mother’s words.
Her ambitions were high—and she didn’t want to become someone’s possession.

“The Grand Duchess has exceptional analytical and intelligence-gathering skills. She would be a great asset to any intelligence agency.”
All Medeian royals were required to serve in national defense, and Charlotte had once worked as an intelligence officer in the military.
That was when she met then-Colonel Masera—who was the first to truly acknowledge her abilities.

From that day on, the Grand Duchess stopped following a path laid out for her and began to chase a dream of her own.
‘I don’t need the best husband—I need someone who will recognize me as an equal and ally.’
* * *

A gust of wind swept past, carrying the graceful melody of a distant ensemble.
‘That man actually did it. He kissed me—like a grown-up kiss.’
Still dazed from the kiss, Cynthia wobbled a little. If Masera hadn’t steadied her, she might’ve collapsed on the spot like a fainting sunfish.

“I-I…”
“What.”
Masera casually wiped his lips with his finger and asked, as if nothing had happened.

Why did he look so sensual right now? Was it the uniform? Or was it just the blush in his ears—because of the cold, or because of the public kiss?
Her cheeks were burning too. She was probably red as a strawberry by now.
‘I can’t even look at him.’

She ducked her head and sipped her now-lukewarm tea.
She could feel Masera watching her, resting his chin on his hand from across the table.
She deliberately avoided his gaze—until a royal handmaiden approached and spoke.

“Princess Cynthia, Her Majesty the Queen has invited you to a cream tea party.”
“Cream tea party?”
“It’s served between afternoon tea and dinner. Think of it as an appetizer.”

They’d had black tea after breakfast, were drinking more now—and were going to drink even more later?
It had to be a country obsessed with tea. Just like how Koreans drink iced Americanos even in winter.
After the maid gave the time and location and left, Cynthia glanced at Masera.

“Looks like I’m expected at a cream tea party between afternoon tea and dinner.”
“I heard everything.”
“Well then, I guess I should get ready to meet Her Majesty.”

With that, she bolted from her seat and fled faster than light.
‘Calm down, heart!’
As she ran, she rubbed her lips furiously.

Having just experienced her very first kiss in her second life, she was a mess inside. Her pounding heart and flushed face felt embarrassingly exposed.
* * *
Left alone, Masera gazed at Cynthia’s fleeing back.

“Hah.”
He had just publicly expressed his affection like she’d wanted—so why did she look so mortified?
Suddenly, the scowl on his brow softened.

“I think I’ve found a good strategy.”
That chatterbox had been quiet for nearly five minutes.
Smiling wickedly like a tactician who’d cracked the code of victory, he felt oddly satisfied with her red cheeks and flustered expression—and wanted to see them again.

A few nobles approached to speak with him, but he was too lost in the memory to respond.
* * *
Time passed, and the tea party began.

The Queen had invited high-ranking nobles, royals, and the Grand Duchess Charlotte.
‘As long as that foolish girl doesn’t make a mistake before Her Majesty…’
Charlotte watched Cynthia’s bright smile and the Queen’s gentle one.

The Queen seemed understanding—but anyone who crossed her would pay dearly.
With a single gesture, she could burn a nation to the ground.
“Perhaps it’s because Princess Cynthia is about my daughter’s age—I find her quite endearing. The Bariesa dynasty, after all, is a distant branch of mine. Our royal lines were once connected long ago.”

“That’s right. If you trace the lineage, the descendants of the great empire from two thousand years ago scattered across the continent to found new kingdoms. Technically, Your Majesty and I are something like eighth cousins by marriage...”
Most royal lines were interconnected by blood.
As Cynthia chatted casually with the Queen about vague familial ties, a certain count interrupted.

“I’ve heard tales of Your Highness’s fortune. And of your ability to read minds—most intriguing. How wonderful it would be to see such a power in action.”
He was implying that, like the Bariesa royals of old, Cynthia might be luring people in with grand delusions.
“It was just coincidence… Things got exaggerated somehow.”

To everyone’s surprise, Cynthia denied it. Then added with a sweet, innocent smile,
“As if such a thing were real. Maybe it’s just that everyone here is unusually pure-hearted? Perhaps it’s because of the Queen of Frost legend? Count, do you like myths and superstitions too?”
“Ah, n-no… I, uh…”

“I’ll get you a feng shui charm that brings in money next time. I bought a few from a souvenir shop. They say sticking one on your door brings prosperity. Hahaha.”
The count blinked in confusion at Cynthia’s cheerful laughter.
Even though her words carried a subtle jab—‘You actually believe in that?’—her bright, harmless expression made it impossible to get angry.

“Ahaha…”
Just then, the Queen, who had been quietly observing, burst into laughter with a hand over her mouth.
The others followed, even those who didn’t understand Lutemian.

“But how is your son’s leg, Count? I heard he was injured.”
At Cynthia’s sudden question, the laughter died instantly.
Clink—

A teacup spoon fell as the count’s face went pale.
“H-how do you know that…”
His son’s recent fall from a horse and resulting leg injury was a tightly kept secret—no one had been told. In elite circles, getting hurt in a basic skill like riding was shameful.

“It was a secret? Oh no, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Cynthia ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) looked genuinely apologetic.
But the count couldn’t shake the feeling that her crimson eyes could see straight into his soul.

“Truly, the ability to read minds—”
“I told you, there’s no such thing.”
The more you deny it, the more believable it sounds.

Unable to meet Cynthia’s eyes any longer, the count turned his head away.
‘That princess… She does have something. Those rumors didn’t just come from nowhere!’
As the terrified count looked away, Cynthia casually picked up a scone and took a bite.

‘I just happened to overhear a servant mentioning it earlier.’
She thought the count seemed superstitious and had planned to give him a recovery charm from a souvenir shop—nothing more.