"The part where the male lead regrets everything after the female lead dies and spirals into madness before finally offing himself. The dopamine and the tears hit all at once—seriously."
In her previous life, Cynthia had an older sister who had complete trash taste in fiction.
Because of the war, there were air raids practically every other day, so holing up at home reading novels or webtoons was their only joy back then.
"A 'let's all die together' ending? You perv. How can you like something like that?"
"This is the good stuff, I'm telling you. Just try one bite. It's pure bliss."
"Ugh, you're like a trash can that gobbles up every filthy thing in the world. This life is awful enough—why would I want to read that crap too?"
"The male and female leads hate each other at first, but then she dies, and he realizes his feelings while reading her last letter. That part hits so damn hard."
"Ah, I can't handle spicy stuff like that."
If she'd enjoyed reading things like that herself, she'd probably be rolling around in some hopelessly angst-ridden world right now.
But in the end, she'd landed in a romcom, a healing story, a salvation-type world—so she was the winner!
Unaware that this place was anything but a healing story—more like a lethally hazardous one—Cynthia strolled down the corridor with a beaming face.
"Is my sister living a new life somewhere too?"
"Hey! If we survive by sheer luck again, you better swear by the River Styx you'll read that book I told you about! I even read 'Adorable Sunshine Lady Beats Everyone' like you recommended! I'm seriously so mad!"
It was a novel her sister loved enough to pitch even on the verge of death.
And yet, she hadn't even told her the title.
Hopefully she's playing the role of a fairy in the 'Adorable Sunshine Lady Beats Everyone' by now.
And our older brother, who was a soldier… I wonder if he ended up in the manga, One Piece, he loved so much?
"Ah."
Cynthia, lost in her memories, suddenly stopped with a serious expression.
Then she turned around and retraced her steps, returning to Masera.
"By the way, I don't know where my room is. Are we sharing one?"
Masera tilted his head and looked at her expressionlessly.
"Are we close enough to do that?"
"We should be. We didn't have the ceremony, but we're already legally married. You're really just shy, huh?"
No matter what she said, he didn't seem fazed at all. Definitely not normal.
She held out her hand and asked,
"But we're close enough that you could walk me to my room, right?"
"Too much trouble."
He cut her off with a smiling face. Cynthia pouted, puffing her cheeks and glaring up at him like an angry little animal.
"Mean… I'll just have to get my hands on a floor plan or something…"
Muttering to herself, she turned around.
Cynthia's sheer clueless cheeriness was enough to trigger Masera's competitiveness and stubbornness. The corners of his lips curled slightly.
"Let's see how long that carefree attitude lasts."
After the wedding, he planned to show her what kind of terrible choice she had made.
He was looking forward to seeing her fall into despair and helplessness.
* * *
A maid, speaking in stiff military tone, led her to the room.
She firmly emphasized that the bride and groom would use separate rooms until the ceremony.
"Please call if you need assistance."
"I need help with unpacki—"
Before she could finish, the maid had already left.
Understandable. She probably just wanted to clock out early.
Cynthia looked around the room, grinning from ear to ear.
"This is great."
The joy of finally having her own room washed over her. In her past life, she'd always had to share one with her sister.
None of the servants from the Count's house came to help her unpack or attend to her. Maybe because they were all here to keep an eye on her.
"I see there's no need for freezers here."
The room was nice, but freezing. She pulled the bell cord to summon a maid.
"There's not enough firewood. Maybe it's because the room faces north, but it's really cold."
In response, the maid shook her head with a blank face.
"The current amount is sufficient."
Cynthia glanced at the three logs placed inside the fireplace, then looked back at the maid.
Was this… that classic rofan being bullied by the servants cliché?
"It's clearly insufficient."
"Per internal regulations, the daily firewood amount is fixed."
Regulations? What kind of rich household, living in a mansion like this, rations firewood like a boot camp?
Was this Scrooge's house or a military survival drill?
"Then… have you been surviving these bone-chilling temperatures with just that much firewood?"
At Cynthia's concerned expression, the maid looked momentarily flustered.
"If you're worried about getting in trouble, I'll go fetch it myself."
With determination, she strode out of the room. The maid's voice followed in a panic.
"My Lady, what are you… do you even know where it's kept?"
"I know. It's in the south-facing garden storage, right?"
Firewood for the fireplace has to be dried thoroughly in sunlight.
Ten-plus years of servant experience. Cynthia's brain full of random trivia was really coming in handy.
"What brings you here?"
In front of the south-side storage, a woman who appeared to be a senior maid asked.
Cynthia answered brightly.
"There's not enough firewood, so I came to get more!"
Struggled to pull out a bundle of logs, I turned to the woman.
"What kind of tyrant expects people to endure a freezing night with so little firewood in this day and age? This house even has a child living in it. The labor union and child welfare groups would not be happy…"
The senior maid clasped her hands politely.
"Brigadier General Masera is not that kind of man. In fact, I believe my lady's room was allocated more firewood than others."
Ah, so she thought Cynthia was being greedy and demanding extra.
"There were only three logs. You're welcome to come see for yourself."
The senior maid's face stiffened. At last, she seemed to understand what was going on.
"…Please forgive me. I apologize on behalf of my subordinates. Most of the staff here harbor resentment toward the royal family. I ask that you forgive them with a generous heart."
Her tone suggested, 'You're that bad royal, aren't you?'
"That's understandable. Not everyone in the world has to like me."
Raising your voice or creating a nasty scene wouldn't work here. That was the amateur move.
"I understand. I tend to get that treatment due to my unique appearance."
With a sorrowful look, Cynthia met the woman's eyes. She could see the woman's pupils shaking as they stared at her silvery-white hair and crimson eyes.
"I—I'm not prejudiced. When I first saw you, I just thought you looked beautiful."
The true master defuses conflict with a smile, subtly shifting guilt and discomfort onto the other party.
In Cynthia's experience, it was always better to avoid confrontation when possible.
Fighting wouldn't end well. She needed to get along.
She glanced at the woman's strong arms and spoke.
"Thank you, Dahlia. Your amber eyes are beautiful, too."
"You know my name?"
"Everyone introduced themselves when I first arrived, remember?"
"You remembered all those names at once?"
Surprise was audible in Dahlia's voice.
Cynthia only smiled in response.
Truthfully, she just happened to remember Dahlia's name—her brother's old dog had been named Dahlia Kim.
"Dahlia, will you be my personal maid?"
"If you order me to do so, I suppose I have no choice…"
She sounded like a subordinate reluctantly obeying an unreasonable order.
Hmm. I thought she was almost won over, but the resistance is strong.
On the way back with the firewood, Cynthia again ran into the sharp-tongued, black-haired boy.
"Hi there!"
She greeted him cheerfully, but the child bared his fangs like a hissing cat.
"Why are you still here? Go back to your own house!"
"Why?"
"This is my house!"
"It's legally my house too. We're family now."
"I was family before you got here!"
After a fierce back-and-forth, Cynthia made a suggestion.
"Want to flip a coin for it? If it lands tails, I'll leave."
"Okay."
She tossed the coin high, then clapped her palms together to catch it.
"Alright, time to check!"
The boy puffed out his cheeks when he saw the heads side. He held up three fingers.
"We have to do best of three, like a real match."
Accepting his terms, she flipped the coin two more times—but it landed heads again both times.
Even when he tossed it himself and it landed heads, the boy looked furious and teary-eyed.
Dahlia gave Cynthia a look like she was watching a childish grown-up.
"It's not a scam. I'm just lucky with this kind of thing."
It would've been nice if she could've won big at gambling and lived well, but luck always comes at a price.
She smiled warmly at the child.
"Don't chase me out, okay? I'm all alone too."
At her words, the child's peridot-colored eyes wavered.
"You don't have family either, big sis?"
"It's as good as not having one. What's your name?"
With a trace of kinship in his gaze, he finally spoke.
"Eugene."
"A noble name. Whoever gave it to you must love you very much."
At her comment, Eugene suddenly pouted and stomped his foot.
"I still don't like you, big sis!"
Then he ran away at full speed.
Guess I'll have to make that cranky little kitten one of my targets to conquer and scoop up into my basket.
Cynthia imagined Eugene crying and clinging to Masera's sleeve one day, begging him not to kill her after the truth came out.
That should stop him from actually going through with it, right?
Masera looked at me as if I were invisible, and the staff in the residence were cold.
Eugene gave me a frog that had been hibernating as a gift, and when I was happy about it, he ran away in embarrassment.
Everyone treated me coldly, but just being able to eat well and stay in a warm room was more than enough to make me happy.
'Between 'labor with warm encouragement' and 'rest amidst cold treatment,' I'd absolutely choose the latter.'
"This is the life!"
While lying on the bed and enjoying the peace, there was a knock followed by the door opening.
"Here is the cocoa you requested."
Dahlia had brought warm cocoa.
I immediately sat up and took a sip. It tasted like water that had briefly been introduced to chocolate.
Dahlia had this kind of mishap fairly often. At first, I thought she might be doing it on purpose to mess with me.
But after seeing the laundry she had folded into a complete mess, I concluded long ago that she simply wasn't suited for housework.
"Thank you, Dahlia."
"And this… I'm so sorry. I was ironing, and I accidentally…"
She held out a dress with a round, scorched hole.
"Ironing is actually really hard, huh? It's not easy at all."
I'd had trouble too when I was told to use a frying pan with charcoal in it and a branding iron.
"I truly apologize. I'll try to fix it immediately."
She repeatedly apologized as she pulled out a sewing kit and started threading a needle.
She seemed determined to patch it up with a piece of cloth somehow.
"Hmm, Mmm."
With a serious look, Dahlia struggled to get the thread through the needle.
I offered her a tip.
"Try wetting the end of the thread to make it pointy?"
"I'll give it a try."
As I watched her struggle, I noticed something unnatural about the way Dahlia moved her right hand.
If she left the military at such a young age… it must've been due to a medical discharge.
Most likely, nerve damage from an injury.
The residence had many others bearing the scars of war—like the gardener with difficulty walking, the butler with a deep scar, or the coachman who couldn't speak.
Even after protecting the country, people probably turned a blind eye to those suffering war trauma.
Masera does have a good side, I guess.
"Take your time."
I quietly waited until she finished.
After I'd finished the chocolate-scented cocoa and the snowfall outside had stopped, the repair was finally done.
Dahlia wiped sweat from her forehead and handed me the dress.
"Sorry, but I can't stop laughing!"
The moment I saw the pink dress patched with clumsily checkered fabric, I burst into laughter.
It reminded me of a pair of jeans my grandma used to mend with loud, colorful patches.
Dahlia looked embarrassed.
"If you could wait until payday, I'll compensate you properly."
"It's okay, I was getting tired of this dress anyway. Let's just say it got a makeover."
In truth, I had never even worn it once, but I smiled as if it didn't matter.
"In exchange, on your day off, come to the shopping district with me. Let's get parfaits together."
"…Alright, I understood."
With an awkward face, Dahlia scratched the back of her head.
"Thank you for your consideration, my lady."
* * *
The Residence's Utility Room.
The maids were gossiping about Cynthia during a short break.
"So the princess has arrived. She even uses a parasol just to step outside for a moment. Can you believe it?"
"What are those attendants doing anyway? They're like noble ladies' maids—won't lift a finger."
Dahlia stayed silent as she folded towels.
"It's laughable. The royal family who drove the people into hell were all executed, and now just because she's the last one, they're calling her a princess based on bloodline?"
"But she's marrying Brigadier General Vicente, who supposedly hates the royal family more than anyone. Don't you think that's kind of pitiful?"
Just as Cynthia had guessed, most of the staff in the residence hated her for her royal blood.
"Dahlia, when you burned her dress, did she get mad or hit you or anything?"
To someone's concerned question, Dahlia shook her head.
"She didn't seem like the type to get angry."
"No way. She just pretends to be nice—word is she had one of the Count's attendants beat a young maid in private. Absolutely vile."
Hearing this, Dahlia tilted her head.
Would someone who laughed so kindly even after her dress was ruined do something that nasty in secret?
"Once the wedding's over, her tyranny will be over too."
Another maid crossed her arms, predicting Cynthia's miserable married life.
Dahlia stepped outside, unable to listen to any more. She couldn't explain the strange feeling in her chest.
At that moment, one of the Count Queensguard's attendants approached with a curious smile.
"You're my lady's personal maid now, right? Since this place is full of male soldiers, you'd better look after her properly. Don't want any rumors spreading. Her behavior is rather flighty, you know."
As he said this, he pointed to his head to imply she was empty-headed.
Dahlia asked with a blank face,
"Your name is Charles, right? Are you really saying this for the lady's sake?"
"Of course. She smiles so sweetly all the time that there were even rumors she was having… a thing with her older brothers."
Scandals involving siblings were targets of intense public condemnation.
Dahlia realized he was deliberately spreading this rumor.
With the intention of it reaching the Brigadier General's ears.
Gossip always becomes more distorted and exaggerated the more it travels from mouth to mouth.
"Don't chase me out. I'm all alone."
Dahlia recalled Cynthia's lonely words and turned away without replying.
The more she interacted with her, the more she couldn't shake the sense that behind Cynthia's gentle smile was a sadness nobody else saw.
"Report everything. Even the smallest details."
From what she ate to what she said—Masera had ordered detailed reports.
Were even vile slanders supposed to be included in that report?
Dahlia let out a deep sigh.
* * *
Count Queensguard's Residence.
From the day Cynthia left for the capital, Edford had been consumed by grief and anger.
After seeing the invitation to Cynthia's engagement ceremony, he immediately pestered Helene.
"Helene, you said Cynthia asked you to convince her to run away with me."
"I did my best to persuade her. But now that the engagement ceremony is happening, it's too late to turn things around."
Helene, who had finalized her engagement to a Duke and was soon heading to the capital, replied calmly.
She glanced at her brother—his pug nose, small eyes, and squat build—and hesitantly added,
"You could definitely meet… I mean, try meeting someone else."
"I don't have eyes for any other woman."
Neither do they have eyes for you, Helene muttered inwardly.
"Cynthia seemed to like that man too."
At that, Edford recalled Masera's handsome face.
"She obviously got swept away by his looks. Doesn't even realize he's a cold-blooded demon."
Trying to mask his jealousy with logic, Edford pressed her.
"Don't you have any good ideas? Crash Cythia's engagement party and get the engagement canceled or something!"
Helene showed no interest.
Feeling ignored, Edford raised his voice.
"Hey! Your marriage to the Duke is settled now, so you're brushing this off like it has nothing to do with you, huh? I'll expose everything—that it was a fake, that it's a scam marriage! That'll ruin your marriage too!"
Helene was usually good with words.
Edford knew that, which was why he was threatening to ruin her engagement if she didn't help persuade Cynthia.
"Ed."
With a gentle smile that didn't match her twisted lips, Helene replied.
"Enough already."
"What?"
"You never say anything to Carlos or Father. Why do you only whine to me?"
She stood up and glared at her brother coldly.
"Unfortunately, the only way I can rise higher is through a marriage based on bloodline. And knowing that, you'd still use my engagement as a bargaining chip?"
Helene thought of her past, raised in a rural estate and groomed to be the perfect bride.
She knew exactly why the Duke wanted to marry her.
'He must be thinking of restoring the monarchy.'
She gave him a sharp warning.
"Father is someone who always follows through. You know that, right?"
Edford recalled Father's warning: 'If you interfere, I'll kill you.'
Helene's voice dropped to a sinister murmur.
"And I'm our father's daughter. If you cross me, you'll see something worse than hell. Think carefully."
"…Urgh."
Startled by the rare, sharp tone from his usually composed sister, Edford was speechless.
'She's really marrying that bastard? Leaving me behind?'
Still clinging to regret, he stewed over it right up until the day he had to travel to the capital for the engagement.