The Contract Marriage for Attilenta's Revenge - Chapter 66

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Atilenta’s Vengeance Through a Contract Marriage – Episode 066
The man who had caressed my hands, shoulders, and hair with such tenderness was now pressed close against my side without my noticing.
How natural it felt.
“Of course. There’s no point throwing away a life needlessly. You already know that my brother doesn’t trust me.”
I accepted his touch without resistance, as if it were the most ordinary thing.
Yet my mind continued working through what might unfold next.
If Henrik was brazenly employing such a tactic, there had to be a purpose behind it—but what plan did he have that made him let this slide?
“……Shouldn’t you stop him?”
Henrik’s eyes, which had lost their smile, felt suddenly cold.
“I’m certain Resitcha has no intention of finishing me off with a cheap trick like this.”
The moment I heard that cynical, final tone, I understood.
“This has happened before, hasn’t it? You already noticed the poison in the wine, and Resitcha surely knows that you know.”
“Yes. This is the first time since I returned from the battlefield. What he’s doing now is probably—well, I have a few guesses.”
I caught the hand that had been impulsively stroking my hair. My grip was far weaker than his, but he stopped at once.
“This time I’m here with you. Tell me, please. So I can prepare.”
Yet Henrik’s answer was surprisingly slow in coming. He propped his chin on his hand and began absently tracing his own lips. He looked almost troubled.
Why was he hesitant to speak? He’d rarely done so with me before.
“……How did you handle it last time?”
“I didn’t react at all until I left for the battlefield. That’s what he wanted anyway.”
Intellectually, I understood. But it did nothing to ease my worry.
“This time I’m not sure if he’ll get what he wants, but for a mere warning… it seems oddly considerate.”
He clearly didn’t intend to tell me the reason now. Rather than press further, I stepped back. There would be another opportunity.
That evening, Resitcha sent a letter inviting us both to the Opera House.
The timing was absurd.
The message was straightforward: let us deepen our brotherhood by attending an opera depicting the tale of Bwendia, a most noble pretext.
“Tell him I’m grateful.”
Henrik walked into the reception room but didn’t sit, instead addressing Resitcha’s servant with a detached tone as he glanced them over.
The servant bowed respectfully without complaint.
“Very good, Your Highness.”
Once the servant had slipped silently from the room, Henrik immediately outlined his precautions for me.
“I’ll ensure you don’t find yourself alone with him, but stay close to me at all times. If I need to step away, I’ll assign you a knight. Just remain in your seat.”
“I’ll take every care, Your Highness.”
I gently covered the back of his hand with mine. Henrik nodded and grasped both my hands firmly—like someone desperate to confirm my safety whenever the moment arose.
The day of the opera arrived quickly. The Opera House, situated in the heart of the bustling district and lavishly decorated from its very entrance, gleamed white under the sun like a palace itself.
The surrounding area was crowded with spectators and loud with noise, but with the knights escorting us, finding our seats proved easy enough.
As I sat in the upper box where I could see everything below, Henrik whispered softly.
“I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’ve been curious about it for so long, so I’m quite looking forward to it.”
Henrik offered me a smile as gentle as filtered sunlight, visible only to me, then drew even closer to my side.
“Good.”
According to Henrik, this opera was undoubtedly the most celebrated artistic work in the realm, its plot concerning how the Black Dragon Bwendia had drawn close to someone he held dear.
Yet rather than dealing with innocent romantic sentiment, the story was one of tragedy.
Bwendia, who had embraced the fervent prayers and pure devotion of this land’s people, and the one person he had finally captured—yet who could not escape death.
Devotion, sincerity, and tragedy.
I was genuinely curious about this tale. In this vast, sprawling space, only the stage was lit, and as the actors took the boards, the performance began. I found myself naturally absorbed by the flowing narrative and the earnest performances.
The backdrop was draped entirely in black cloth, dim and shadowed. There were surprisingly few ornamental flourishes or lavish decorations, yet I was drawn steadily into the unfolding story, which moved like a gentle song.
As I leaned slightly forward toward the railing for a better view, something suddenly caught my eye.
“……Your Highness. Henrik.”
Without thinking, I seized the lapel of Henrik’s coat. He immediately turned his head toward me.
“Hmm?”
“Down there—is that Resitcha and his fiancée? What are they doing there?”
Below where we sat was generally dark, but the scene currently being performed was brightly lit, so the faces of those seated before the stage were quite visible.
I couldn’t possibly miss Resitcha with his striking honey-blonde hair. Moreover, he had brought along Kirchia, the dancer from the Temple who had revealed herself during the Sword Dance performance.
It was curious enough that they weren’t seated in the upper box with us, but what caught my attention more was that these two, who usually kept their distance at formal gatherings, now sat quite close to each other.
“Sitting in the lower section has its own significance. It’s an opera about Bwendia, and there’s the pretext of seeing the stage from nearby.”
Henrik rested his chin on his hand and swept his gaze over the stage below.
“Though……his fiancée is surprising. He might consider this a private affair.”
“He didn’t bring her to the gathering at the Temple. And she’s supposed to be a dancer with her standing there……”
A strange question flickered through my mind. Could he be openly displaying that they’re truly about to marry?
Though this wasn’t an official banquet, he could easily parade it before all the nobility gathered here to see the opera.
“Does she wear a ring from Bwendia as well?”
“As far as I know, it’s different from yours, but it certainly carries magic woven into it. He must have wanted to take responsibility for her safety.”
I found myself touching my lips unconsciously. They felt dry somehow. My gaze remained fixed on Resitcha and that woman.
“In any case, both rings have been passed down through the Royal House for generations.”
Then others seeing the ring on my finger would draw the same conclusions when they saw that woman.
That both Royal House brothers had taken the women they needed into their lives. That no one could carelessly drive a wedge between them.
Yet a question gnawed at me: did Resitcha truly love that woman?
Now they sat together in what seemed an intentionally intimate way, choosing seats in the lower section as though they were close.
“When I saw her at the Sword Dance Performance, I naturally assumed it was merely to secure the Temple’s support.”
If Poznan was right, then even if the Temple refrained from making political statements, they couldn’t very well refuse to back a woman who had allies there.
Henrik regarded me with an unreadable expression.
“You really are thorough, aren’t you?”
I understood what he left unsaid: ‘about matters like this.’
“That’s what I came here for.”
“I’d hoped so.”
His face bore a bittersweet expression. Yet that bitterness and wistfulness were expressed only very faintly.
Even as he remained wary of Resitcha, part of him clearly wished for me to feel at ease and enjoy myself here.
After all, we’d rarely ventured out alone together like this before.
So when he slowly drew me into his arms, I simply accepted it.
It was warm and gentle.
“…People are watching.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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