The rain fell endlessly.
Irene leaned against the window of the carriage, gazing out at the blurred cityscape of the capital, her golden eyes half-lidded with melancholy.
It was so much better back in the frontier barony when she was a kid—freedom, no rules, and definitely no annoying banquets like this!
The current Marquis Raven had, just over a decade ago, been merely Baron Raven—a minor noble from the countryside.
No one really knew why, but after a small border skirmish with the Empire, Cecil Raven suddenly rose to the forefront of the continent’s military affairs.
Her command style was wildly unorthodox, nearly incomprehensible.
At one point, the royal military headquarters had outright scolded her:
“Is this how you conduct war? You’re gambling with your subordinates’ lives!”
Yes, gambling.
And she always won. Not once had she lost.
Like now, for example—her adjutant Rachel was currently riding in the same carriage as Irene, grumbling:
“If it hadn’t suddenly started pouring and triggered a landslide that buried most of the Imperial army, we’d probably be prisoners right now.”
Irene’s mother, Marquis Raven, was in the front carriage, politely chatting with the palace envoy.
Probably worried that her daughter would cause trouble, she’d sent Rachel along to keep an eye on her.
And now Rachel was venting freely to the young lady—complaining about just how unreliable her commanding officer was.
Every single battle relied purely on dumb luck!
She had no grasp of strategy whatsoever!
And the worst part?
She always somehow won anyway!
That alone was enough to drive every so-called tactical genius insane.
Take the former Grand Marshal of the Empire, for example—he lost three battles in a row in the most absurd ways imaginable.
The last one was so bad he coughed up blood on the spot and died after returning to the capital.
“A general’s success is paved with a mountain of corpses.”
That string of miserable defeats became the foundation of the Marquis’s fearsome title: The Kingdom’s War Goddess.
Irene couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she listened.
“This time was a landslide… Before that, it was a flash flood… Then it was a horde of monsters that conveniently broke up the enemy’s formation… And before that, wasn’t it the enemy commander dying from food poisoning after drinking spoiled chicken soup?”
Irene extended her fingers, ticking them off one by one, listing her mother’s “glorious” military achievements like some kind of twisted nursery rhyme.
Sure, they’d won.
They were decisive, overwhelming victories.
Even the most skeptical generals were left speechless.
But the sheer absurdity of how they happened was enough to leave anyone stunned.
“If the Marquis keeps gambling like this, what if one day her luck runs out? We’ll all be buried with her!”
Rachel, the fearless warrior who’d once stood unmoved amidst thousands on the battlefield, actually teared up at the thought.
Who could understand this pain?
Serving under Marquis Raven meant you needed a heart of steel and nerves of titanium.
And yet—after so many consecutive victories, the military no longer dared to criticize her “unorthodox” tactics.
No one wanted to get slapped in the face a hundred more times, after all.
Irene glanced sideways and waved a hand lazily.
“General Rachel, what’s the point of telling me this?”
The concerns were valid, sure.
But how was she supposed to talk her mother out of it?
If she so much as opened her mouth, her mother would shoot back with a simple:
“Do you know anything about military tactics?”
And just like that, Irene would be silenced.
Besides, Irene had her own problems to worry about.
So all she could do was pat the poor woman’s shoulder and offer some half-hearted comfort.
That said, Irene was at least a little excited about the upcoming royal banquet.
Because she’d get to see her beloved “fiancée” again!
“I’ll get to see Viel again…”
“Milady, I believe you mean His Highness, Prince Will.”
“…Right.”
When she was little, Irene had been engaged to the crown prince, Will.
But that prince… had zero manliness.
Back when they were kids, she’d tricked him into crossdressing a few times, and the worst part?
He actually enjoyed it. The more he wore, the more excited he got!
At the time, Irene had thought he was just a soft, harmless little boy.
But as the years went by, her beautiful-girl radar began sounding the alarm.
There’s no way a guy should have a figure like that!
What kind of “chest muscles” jiggle like those?
And no matter how hot the weather got, Will always wore that signature military uniform of his—a pretty obvious way of hiding something, if you asked her.
By now, Irene was ninety-nine percent sure that her so-called fiancé was actually a fiancée.
Tonight, she decided, she’d quietly confirm it for herself…
*****
Eternal magic lamps streamed like rivers of light across the vaulted ceiling.
Crystal chandeliers spilled golden brilliance over the malachite-tiled floor.
Light danced between the epaulets of military uniforms and the hems of silk gowns, while floating orbs swayed gently with the rising notes of string music.
Viel stood at the entrance of the banquet hall, greeting the arriving nobles.
Tonight, the king would not attend due to illness, so all matters of the banquet were left to the crown “prince”—her.
Her pale blue hair was trimmed impeccably, her lake-blue eyes gleaming like fire-lit sapphires beneath the chandelier’s glow.
A pristine white officer’s uniform cloaked her entire figure, flawlessly concealing every trace of femininity.
From the outside, there was nothing to give her away.
And yet—her expression flickered with restrained irritation, all because of one person:
“That shameless woman! I completely misjudged her!”
Just as Viel grumbled inwardly, she suddenly sensed someone approaching from behind—her instincts kicked in, and she twisted away, narrowly avoiding a sneak attack from behind.
An assassin?!
The thought barely flashed before her hand was already hovering near the intruder’s throat.
Only to find the “attacker” smiling brightly, waving at her with the most infuriatingly casual:
“Heyyy, wifey~!”
“WIFEY!?”
Viel nearly exploded on the spot.
Who’s your wife?!
To the rest of the world, she was still supposed to be a man!
What the hell did this idiot think she was doing, shouting things like that?!
She glared daggers at Irene, whose face was lit up with a carefree smile—as if the word “shame” had never once entered her vocabulary.
Irene sighed internally.
She’d planned to sneak up behind Viel and grope her chest to finally confirm her suspicions…
But Viel’s reaction time was insane! She dodged it like it was nothing.
And that just further highlighted how utterly useless Irene was as an F-rank adventurer.
“You—come with me.”
Viel grabbed Irene’s wrist and dragged her forward without another word.
Irene blinked, a bit puzzled.
What’s up with Viel?
Why does she look like she’s about to murder someone?
It was just a harmless little joke between fiancées, right?
Wasn’t it normal to tease each other a little?
But then Viel’s voice came from ahead—calm and cold, like frost sliding across steel:
“I heard everything about what happened to you.”
“Wow, the rumors really do spread fast.”
Irene blinked in surprise.
Even just the departure of a support-role nobody from an adventuring party had somehow reached the ears of the crown prince.
No wonder they were an S-rank team—information network included.
Bathed in the golden glow of the banquet hall’s lights, Irene looked a little shy, her cheeks slightly flushed.
But Viel’s voice rang out, cold and sharp:
“Do you not feel even a shred of shame?”
Shame?
“Why should I feel ashamed?” Irene asked, blinking innocently.
“We parted on good terms, right? I didn’t owe them anything.”
In fact, she believed she was doing them a favor.
Only by kicking out the weakest link—herself—could they find a stronger recruit to help them chase their dream of becoming the continent’s number one party.
Viel was speechless with fury.
She had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that Irene might show some regret, some basic understanding of responsibility.
But this? This was just… shameless!
Is this woman really fit to be the future queen of a nation?!
There was no helping it now.
With a sigh, Viel took Irene by the hand and led her to the center of the banquet hall.
The nobles in attendance instinctively stepped aside, creating an open space between the chandeliers.
Irene’s cheeks turned pink.
Wait… is this—an invitation to dance?
So bold!
Right here, in front of everyone?
She looked up at Viel with anticipation in her eyes, only to meet a face as cold as the northern sea.
And then—
“Cruel-hearted. Narrow-minded. Addicted to gambling. Constantly cheating. Morally degenerate. Squanders the party’s shared resources. Displays questionable romantic inclinations…”
Under Irene’s stunned gaze, Viel rattled off the charges like a prosecutor reading a war crime tribunal.
The list seemed endless, a poetic barrage of shame.
By the end of it, she was nearly breathless.
Then, she lifted a hand and pointed directly at Irene.
“Someone like this is unworthy of becoming the future queen! I hereby announce the annulment of my engagement to Irene Raven!”
Tftc!
If you love them then that is a massive mistake!