Married To The Enemy Kingdom's Illegitimate Prince-Chapter 122 — Should I Warm You?

122

Cynthia stood before her bedroom window, gazing at the servants rushing below, busily preparing for the annual ball held by the king to celebrate the new year.

"Even when the country is in this state, he only cares about his parties," Cynthia snorted at the ridiculous attitude of the king.

He didn’t care about his people and it couldn’t be more obvious. The was a small amount of nobles in the country, resulting in a large number of commoners who starved on the streets, while some began to die.

Cynthia tried her best to help, sending Ying and his people with the resources she could find, resulting in Ying discovering her true identity.

"At least you aren’t like those nobles. You are truly helping instead of spouting nonsense. Actions speak louder and you have already proved your sincerity," he said, grinning at her as if nothing had changed— as if she hadn’t lied to him at all.

When she explained to him the reason behind her actions, he merely gasped and shrugged the matter off as if she had told him a joke.

Her arms crossed, a sudden flashback of her past life surged through her mind. A memory. Another memory she didn’t want to recall.

"Duke Ramsel," she murmured, recalling his presence at the banquet hall in her past life as well. She couldn’t recall which one it was, but she was certain he would be there this time. She had to consider the possibility so her revenge plan would be flawless.

A dry laugh escaped her lips. Never in her wildest dreams could her past self have imagined the mask her uncle wore in front of her. He never flaunted their blood relationship, yet she had assumed he was on her side—simply because Alistair, her stepbrother, had abandoned her.

Always a fool.

She mused.

Noticing a brown eagle approaching, Cynthia opened the window despite the cold breeze rushing in, sending chills through her.

With a flicker of light, the eagle returned to its original shape. Arlot stood behind Cynthia, wrapped in a thick layered golden coat.

"I hope it’s good news this time," she said, her voice low as she shut the curtains.

"Well... Uhm..."

Noticing his hesitation, Cynthia turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

"I’m listening, Arlot," she continued. Only this time, she stepped closer, her gaze locked onto his.

Gulping nervously, Arlot’s lips quivered.

"Are you cold? Should I warm you up before you can speak?"

Cynthia’s voice grew colder.

Arlot bit his lips. The lady before her had once again turned into the bloodthirsty young woman he knew during the war. She wanted answers and failure was not an option.

"Did you find that damned book or not?"

"I couldn’t... I searched the whole library... temples, even in other kingdoms but... it was just..." he paused to catch his breath. "Gone."

Cynthia inhaled deeply, suppressing her anger. She knew Arlot wasn’t at fault. He tried his best and he always did. It was the first time he had failed to execute her command. He did not live his life as his, but rather as if it was hers.

He put himself in danger for me.... I need to remain patient.

She told herself, clenching her fist.

"What about Ying and the rest? Are the preparations going well?"

"We have finished. We are waiting for your orders and we will attack as planned."

"Good," Cynthia said, her voice steady now, though her gaze remained distant. "Tell Ying and the others to stay on high alert. No mistakes this time."

Arlot nodded, but his fidgeting did not go unnoticed.

Cynthia narrowed her eyes.

"What else?"

He hesitated, clearly debating whether to speak.

"There’s... one more thing."

"Go on."

"Your uncle," he began, pausing to glance at her expression. "Duke Ramsel has sent a letter to the grand duke. I couldn’t find out what the content was as the letter was burned right after he read it."

Cynthia’s lips curved into a bitter smile.

Of course, her uncle wouldn’t sit idly by. The annual ball was the perfect stage for politics, manipulation, and betrayal—a game he had mastered long before she even knew what it meant to wield power.

"What could he want this time?"

"The usual—more influence, more leverage, perhaps," Arlot replied, his tone laced with contempt.

Her enemies were his, and he loathed everyone who hurt her.

Cynthia’s fists clenched tighter. Her uncle wasn’t just a thorn in her side; he was a snake, one that slithered through the cracks of every opportunity.

"Let him play his game as he wants," Cynthia said, her tone icy. "I’ll make sure he gets the attention he craves. But there can only be one winner and that will be me."

Arlot’s eyes widened slightly, unsure of her meaning.

"You... plan to confront him?"

"Confrontation is too mild a word," she replied. "It’s time we remind my dear uncle why the De Luminas household has ruled Eldoria For centuries."

Arlot hesitated again, shifting uncomfortably under her piercing gaze.

"You’re sure about this? The king might not side with you. After all, he married the duke’s daughter... If anything, this could strengthen your uncle’s position if the queen decides to help him."

Cynthia turned back to the window, her gaze falling on the bustling courtyard below. She had no illusions about the challenges ahead.

The king was a weak-willed man, easily swayed by whispers in the dark in her past life. But the king in this life wasn’t. She made sure Alistair wouldn’t abandon her. He owed her his life. She threw herself before countless arrows and blades to save him.

He wouldn’t— couldn’t betray her.

"Let him try," she said, her voice softer now, yet filled with an unshakable resolve. "By the time this ball is over, the Duke of Ramsel will wish he’d never set foot in that hall."

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the distant sounds of carriages arriving outside the palace gates.

"What should I do in the meantime?" Arlot asked, his tone cautious.

"Stay close to Ying," Cynthia instructed. "Ensure the preparations are flawless. If my uncle thinks he can manipulate everything around him, then we’ll show him how wrong he is."

"And the book?"

She sighed, the tension in her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. "We’ll find it eventually. For now, focus on the task at hand."

Arlot nodded, his confidence seemingly restored. As he turned to leave, Cynthia stopped him with a final word.

"Arlot."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Thank you. For everything."

Her unexpected gratitude caught him off guard, but he managed a small smile before bowing and disappearing into the violet light.

Once alone, Cynthia leaned against the windowsill, her breath fogging the glass. The memories of her past life lingered like a shadow over her thoughts, whispering doubts and fears she couldn’t afford to entertain.

But there was no turning back now. The upcoming ball was her stage, and she intended to use it to turn the tide in her favor.

As the first snowflakes of the evening began to fall outside, Cynthia whispered to herself, "Let the game begin."

***

Gasping for air, Lucian woke up from his sleep, disoriented. His shirt was soaked in cold sweat which also ran down his face.

Panting, he looked around, as if ensuring it was merely a dream.

Ever since he returned from his last mission, he kept having dreams. Cynthia died in those nightmares, every single time, by a strange shadow he couldn’t recognize. Over and over. Even when he tried to run her way to save her, his body wouldn’t move.

"It’s as if all this already happened and I can’t change that..." he mumbled, wiping off the sweat from his face. He couldn’t understand what was wrong but he knew he was to do something about it.

Lucian swung his legs over the side of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to him like a shadow he couldn’t shake off.

He didn’t understand why these dreams felt so vivid—so real.

The shadow, Cynthia’s lifeless body, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. It gnawed at him relentlessly, leaving him restless and on edge.

After a long moment, he stood, his muscles stiff and aching from the fever that had plagued him for days.

The second rune had occurred, his forearm burning faintly. He felt the electric tingling in his body, sensing the magic growing in his body.

Edric’s words echoed in his mind: "You need to be exposed to divine magic or a saintess to trigger another awakening."

But he hadn’t.

At least, not to his knowledge.

Why had his magic surged now? Why the fever? And why the nightmares? Was it something he had long forgotten about?

Lucian gritted his teeth, the frustration bubbling inside him. If there were answers, they wouldn’t come by sitting idly!

He quickly dressed, throwing on a dark coat to shield him from the chill of the night. There was one place where he might find some clue—one place that had always held the answers to questions no one else could resolve: the library.

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