Married To The Enemy Kingdom's Illegitimate Prince Chapter 123 — A Sharp Blade

"How are the preparations for the annual banquet coming along?" Lucian asked, breaking the heavy silence at the dining table.

Cynthia seed to have been avoiding him ever since their return from his last mission, when his nightmares began—vivid, as if they were long-forgotten mories resurfacing, robbing him of sleep.

He had given her space, doing his best not to intrude on her evident discomfort. She was still hurt when he rejected her ’love’ for him. Even so, she had helped him, likely because of those lingering feelings. The thought squeezed his chest, making it harder to breathe, but he couldn’t bring himself to ntion it again.

"Yes, it’s almost ready. We have another two days left," Cynthia replied, her tone calm and composed as always.

Seeing her act as if nothing had happened only deepened Lucian’s pain. He gritted his teeth, clutching the spoon in his hand.

"I had—"

"I’ve finished eating," Cynthia interrupted, rising from her seat. "If you’ll excuse ," she said with a slight bow before turning on her heel and leaving the dining hall.

Left alone in the dining hall, Lucian dropped the utensil in his hand onto the table and rose to leave. His appetite had diminished ever since the nightmares began haunting him, gnawing at his mind as though they would consu him whole. He tried his best to suppress them, but they lingered, persistent and unrelenting.

He had searched relentlessly through the books in the library, but his efforts yielded nothing. Finally, as his frustration reached its peak and he was on the verge of giving up, he turned to his closest confidants for answers.

"Maybe it’s a ghost?" Glain whispered, loud enough to be heard.

"Perhaps you’ve wronged soone innocent, and now they’re haunting you. But... that couldn’t be, Your Highness..." Adrian sighed, ruffling his hair anxiously.

"Maybe it’s your past life!" Dylan had exclaid with far too much enthusiasm.

The glares the group had thrown Dylan’s way were unforgettable, even for Lucian.

In Selvarys, the concept of a past life was considered absurd. The Temple taught that humans had only one life, which ended with death—the bitter, inevitable truth.

And yet, Lucian couldn’t shake the feeling that the answer to his tornt might lie in one of those ridiculous suggestions.

But which one?

"Your Highness, we have completed the rebuilding of the marketplace. However, another problem has arisen... People are siding with the Gionhart household to take over the Duchy..." Glain hesitantly whispered.

Lucian found himself seated in the audience hall, his thoughts a blur. He couldn’t even recall when he had arrived there.

"Uh... We should..." He paused, his mind drawing a frustrating blank.

Is it the lack of sleep?

He glanced at the mirror to his left and noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, a stark reflection of his exhaustion.

"Leave us alone for now. We will discuss the matter once again after the annual banquet. At the mont, our priority is to focus on the king who is pleased with our work. We need to give him gifts befitting him," Cynthia sneered, her eyes glimring with all the evil plans she had reserved for Valerian.

With a bow, the group exited the room, closing the door behind them.

"What is wrong with you, Your Highness?" Cynthia asked, raising an eyebrow. She had tried her best to ignore it, but she could no longer turn a blind eye.

She was busy preparing with Arlot, Ying, and his group, yet Lucian’s worsening exhaustion was impossible to overlook. She needed him to be fit—otherwise, the satisfaction of defeating him would be diminished. It would feel like cowardice to attack him at his weakest, and the thought alone made her blood boil with disgust.

Inhaling deeply, Lucian resorted to a person he had started to trust– Cynthia.

"Have you ever..." He paused, shaking his head.

She would think it’s ridiculous.

He mused, biting his lips nervously.

"You can tell what is on your mind," her voice low, she kept her gaze locked onto his, wondering what secret he might be keeping from her this ti.

"I... I have a guest who is supposed to visit," Lucian finally said, his breath slightly quickened, abandoning the thought entirely.

Cynthia raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to specify who the guest was, but a knock on the door interrupted them.

"Your Highness, a woman has arrived and says you permitted her to co here," Phil announced.

"She’s here," Lucian muttered.

Rising from his seat, he was followed closely by Cynthia as they exited the audience hall and walked behind Phil.

As they reached the entrance, Cynthia ca to an abrupt halt, her steps faltering when she noticed a familiar figure standing before her. A strand of blonde hair peeked out from beneath a thick gray jacket that draped the woman’s fra.

Slowly, the woman lowered her hood, revealing a face Cynthia could never forget.

Her pulse quickened, and her breath caught in her throat. She froze, unable to utter a word, even as Lucian spoke to her.

"Cynthia!"

Hearing him call her na snapped her back to reality. For a mont, she questioned whether he had truly spoken it out loud—it had been so long since he had last done so. This was only the second ti.

"Y-Yes?" she managed to whisper.

"This is... Lilith," Lucian said, gesturing toward the young woman standing in the hallway. She wore a shabby green dress, her hair slightly dishevelled, yet her gray eyes shimred like polished diamonds.

Cynthia stared at Lucian, her expression impassive, though she struggled to summon even the faintest smile.

Why has he brought this woman to the mansion again?

Just when she thought everything was finally falling into place, he had once again undone it all with a single act.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and stord off, heading straight to her bedchamber. The door slamd shut behind her, echoing through the empty corridor.

He will never change.

She repeated the thought to herself as if trying to convince her own heart not to ache. But the pressure in her chest was unbearable as if she couldn’t draw a proper breath. The suffocating sensation only fueled her frustration. She paced the room, trying to unravel her emotions and figure out her next move.

What was Lucian thinking? Why bring her here—the very woman for whom he had wanted to divorce her in her past life?

"Don’t tell he’s planning to divorce so soon," she murmured, the words barely audible as a soft gasp escaped her lips.

"Your Highness, I want to revise the plan," Arlot stated as soon as he appeared inside her room.

However, what he saw was far from a woman preparing to battle. It was a lady who seed to be unsure of her actions.

It will not be good if she remains like this while we execute the plan.

Arlot thought, slowly approaching her. He cleared his throat before speaking in a low voice.

"What happened?"

Although he asked, she didn’t respond and simply walked to her desk. She grabbed the papers on which she had written the detailed plan and handed it over to Arlot.

"I believe you can read."

Her voice icy, she snorted.

Arlot knew she wasn’t upset with him yet his heart stung. She hadn’t spoken to him this rudely in the past. What could have caused it? He would only wonder without asking her.

"Your Highness... You are going against Selvarys," he began. "Against King Valerian, against the grand duke," he paused.

"And?"

"What will you do if he stands in your way? Will you kill him as well?"

"Yes," Cynthia gritted between her teeth, clearly enraged.

"But... He is your husband despite all. Why would you even do all this? Did he hurt you?"

"Hurt?" Cynthia snorted. "Every pain I’ve ever felt is connected to Selvarys. I shall destroy everything, everyone and then shall I avenge my..." she paused. She couldn’t say her family because her brother in this life was alive, unlike her past.

Arlot’s expression softened, though his concern deepened.

He had never seen her like this—so consud by anger and bitterness that it seed to eclipse the cunning precision she was known for. The person from the rumours he thought didn’t exist seed to be standing in front of him.

"Your Highness," he began cautiously, his voice creaking, "revenge is a sharp blade. If wielded carelessly, it can wound the hand that holds it. It is also said to be a burning fire... one that burns down everything on its way, even forgetting where it started, burning even its roots."

Cynthia laughed dryly, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

"And what if the hand holding the blade no longer cares for its own wounds? What if it desires nothing but the annihilation of those who’ve inflicted countless scars? And mostly, what if I don’t mind burning in this hatred and revenge I sought all my life, for the past decade?"

She slamd her fist against the wall aggressively, a slow crack forming on the wall.