Chapter 357: The Real and the Fake Princess Consort

At the banquet, everyone is busy currying favor with the Holy Lake Knights.

This allows Henwell and Kleios to quietly enjoy the food, though not everyone fails to notice Henwell’s unusual presence.

Among the elegantly dressed ladies and wives, a few take note of the two men.

Henwell is tall and imposing, while Kleios is a handsome man with a ponytail.

Though their clothes aren’t flashy, they fit perfectly, highlighting their aura.

A woman who looks to be in her early thirties approaches them.

After a quick glance, she extends her palm toward Henwell.

Henwell, who just picked up some fruit, hesitates briefly before placing the fruit into the woman’s hand. “If you like it, then it’s yours to eat.”

The noblewoman, expecting a formal hand-kissing gesture, is caught off guard by Henwell’s bold move.

For a moment, she freezes in place, then glances bewilderedly at Kleios.

Kleios thinks for a moment and offers her another piece of fruit.

Only then does the noblewoman snap back to herself, glaring fiercely at the two before tossing the fruit onto the table and turning away.

Their antics dampen the mood for the other ladies who had been hoping for some attention.

Still, some women, eager for a challenge, prepare to try again.

But their plans are interrupted by an unexpected visitor.

A woman in a black dress approaches the table, causing the ladies’ expressions to shift dramatically.

Envy, jealousy, mockery, anger, and fear—all these emotions flash openly across their faces, and some begin whispering among themselves.

The woman in black pays no mind to their attitudes and calmly selects some food.

Henwell glances at her, she looks to be in her early twenties. Even behind the veil, her beauty is clear.

Noticing Henwell’s gaze, she turns toward him. “Your face is unfamiliar. Which noble family are you from?”

Henwell bows slightly. “Just a knight lord from a small, unknown place.”

She continues, “I thought so. You’re not a local noble, or you wouldn’t dare speak to me like that. I’m Monica. Some call me Lady Jorkson. Nice to meet someone who isn’t afraid to die.”

Henwell raises an eyebrow. “So you’re the princess consort! Talking to Your Highness shouldn’t be a death sentence!”

Monica is twenty-six years old, born into the Dienbos family. She’s the daughter of the Ika Grand Princess’s uncle. In other words, the youngest daughter of Count Lierul.

A few years ago, she married the fourth prince of the Lumir Duchy. Shortly after their wedding, the fourth prince fell ill and passed away.

Monica didn’t remarry. Instead, she inherited the late prince’s lands and titles, keeping his name as part of her own.

Within noble circles, she’s widely disliked, with all kinds of rumors swirling around her. Some even say she inherited the Grand Princess Ika’s bad luck and is a new generation’s bringer of disaster.

They claim the fourth prince died because he married her.

These accusations are clearly excessive and sparked outrage from the Dienbos family. Even the Grand Princess Ika herself was furious when she heard the gossip.

In response, the Lumir Duchy took serious measures, eliminating several of the gossipmongers.

This finally quieted the rumors significantly.

Still, many nobles keep their distance from Monica.

The host of today’s banquet, Baron Hodith, is a peripheral member of the Dienbos family.

That’s why Monica shows up to support the event; otherwise, she rarely leaves her lands and seldom even leaves her castle.

Now that Henwell recognizes her identity and still dares to speak to her, Monica grows even more curious.

She stares at the tall man before her. “You really aren’t afraid? Maybe that’s just because you don’t know what’s happened to me. If I told you I’m truly a cursed woman, would you still stand here and talk to me?”

Henwell lifts a glass of wine. “A curse? Who dares to curse Your Highness? That’s quite bold.”

Monica chuckles softly and asks another question. “Everyone says I brought about my husband’s death. Don’t you think there’s some truth to that?”

Henwell shrugs. “Accidents happen every day. You can’t blame a curse every time someone dies. That kind of feudal superstition won’t do.”

A cold smile curls at Monica’s lips. “What if I told you my husband’s death really is connected to me? What if I said I poisoned him myself, would you still dare to keep talking to me?”

Henwell smiles calmly. “If that’s the case, then maybe the fourth prince really deserved to die.”

Monica looks at Henwell in shock. “Who exactly are you to say something like that?”

Henwell bows slightly and takes her hand, offering a mock hand-kiss. “Henwell, honored to meet the princess consort.”

Monica freezes for a moment, then realization dawns. “So it’s you—the lord of Blood Hill! No wonder you have the Holy Lake Knights escorting you, no wonder you don’t care about these things.”

Henwell pours a glass of wine and hands it to her. “Princess, as I said, it doesn’t really matter who I am. The fourth prince died of illness, that was his fate. If you did poison him, then he brought it on himself. After all, for a noble-born wife with such refined upbringing to poison her own husband, he must have done something truly unforgivable.”

Monica scoffs. “Sounds like a line cooked up by men who’re all drooling over me.”

Henwell shrugs. “Your Highness, you’re wrong to accuse me. I have a fiancée—soon to be my wife. How could I be interested in any other woman, let alone you?”

Monica’s tone turns serious. “I need your help with something. I’ll pay you handsomely.”

Henwell shakes his head. “Sorry, I can’t agree to that, Your Highness.”

“I haven’t even told you what it is! Don’t you want to know what I’m offering?”

Henwell takes a sip of wine. “I don’t want to get involved in the Lumir royal family’s affairs. There’s no reason for me to know the details or the reward.”

Monica fixes Henwell with a hard stare. “I’m not Monica. She’s dead. I’m her maid, and I’m here to avenge her. Some people who deserve to die haven’t died yet.”

Henwell narrows his eyes, studying her. “That sounds like quite a story. But it’s your story, not mine. Like I said, I don’t want to get involved, at least not now. When I do, it won’t be for your revenge, but for my own interests.”

He adds, “When I do step in, many will die. Among them might be your enemies, maybe even your friends. Whether you’re the princess consort or not, since Lumir recognizes you as such, I’ll call you that. But whatever you want to use me for, the outcome might not be what you expect.”