Chapter 77: Chapter 77

My heart pounded with nervous anticipation.

There wasn’t even time to go over the lyrics in my head. We had to head up the stairs soon.

The ladies waiting for me asked,

“Doris! Are you okay? Will you be able to sing?”

“If you feel like you’re going to faint again, just move your lips. We’ll split the parts and cover for you!”

Despite their words, their expressions were bright. It seemed the second song had gone splendidly.

That only added to the pressure.

What if I ended up ruining their performance?

But just before the external curtain closed as the stage was set for the new act, I spotted familiar faces in the audience. The moment I saw them, my heart felt a little lighter.

‘I already said it earlier. Even Tristan managed to do this.’

Trusting in the knowledge and skills I had built, stepping forward before people, and fulfilling my duty.

I could do it.

The announcer spoke.

“The third song is about to begin. ‘False Flowers.’”

We all adjusted our masks and stepped onto the stage.

The violin bow swept across the strings, signaling the start of the song.

***

Tristan was not a man prone to regret.

Even if he went back in time and made a different choice, there was no guarantee it would lead to the best outcome.

If a mistake had been made, all he had to do was be more cautious in the future.

…At least, that was what he thought. That any event that should never happen again could simply be prevented moving forward.

Dori!

Doris Redfield had collapsed.

An even worse outcome than when she had been covered in dirt and injured in the hunting grounds.

Now that I think about it… there were signs.

He had noticed—if only vaguely—that Doris’s soft, delicate silhouette was being swallowed by the world around her.

And yet, he had done nothing but watch.

Because it was a matter between her and Natalie? Nonsense. She was Natalie’s sister, but she was his fiancée. Even without interfering in their sibling relationship, he had both the duty and the opportunity to notice her struggles and step in.

But he had ignored all the signs.

And as a result, she collapsed.

She regained consciousness quickly, and the physician had assured them she was fine. But he never expected to find himself again in the position of sitting by her bedside, watching her sleep.

“…Ha.”

And to think the cause might have been the very dress he had given her. The moment he realized that, he had to fight the urge to rip the gown apart with his bare hands.

But regret was meaningless now.

He had already made up his mind—he would not let Doris out of his sight again.

And just when he had settled on that, she threw a new challenge his way.

“I want to go.”

Not even five minutes after waking up, she wanted to get on stage.

Absolutely ridiculous.

He had almost pushed her down onto the bed right then and there, but remembering that the maid and the ladies were present, he sent them away first.

He had planned to persuade her briefly, and if that didn’t work, he had half a mind to tie her to the bed.

Yet in that brief span of time, he was the one who ended up being persuaded.

"The victory Your Highness achieved at the hunting tournament was the rightful result of your efforts."

How could he not waver in the face of such words?

"I ask Your Highness to watch over my stage. Will you come and see it?"

Her eyes—like fresh blades of grass in the sun—shouted the words as loudly as her voice did.

Tristan, you cannot refuse me.

In the end, he found himself nodding as if he had been bewitched.

This choice could lead to troubling consequences.

But for now, at least regarding this choice—he was certain he wouldn’t regret it.

And just before she left for the stage, her parting words had added even more certainty.

"I’m truly glad I got to show Your Highness this dress before anyone else."

"Then, I’ll be going now!"

Doris disappeared down the corridor. The pale blue hem of her dress, which he had brushed the dust from with his own hands, swayed like rippling waves. Watching her go, he nodded in satisfaction.

I really chose well. Though after this performance, I should probably order her a bigger-sized dress…

He couldn’t use her favorite color twice in a row. When she returned, should he ask about the style she preferred instead?

As he mulled over it, another thought suddenly resurfaced in his mind.

‘T-this really isn’t an important question, but… Why did you go to Maria earlier?’

When she first asked that, he had been too embarrassed by his true reason—I wanted to know what you like—to think much about the question itself.

But with a clearer head, something about it seemed odd.

I distinctly asked both Rick and Maria… but she only mentioned Maria.

Maria was certainly eye-catching, but surely, she hadn’t failed to notice the broad-shouldered man sitting right beside her.

And the way she had prefaced her question—‘This really isn’t an important question, but…’—was often a sign that the opposite was true. That it was actually very important.

Even recalling the look of relief on her face when she heard his answer…

No way…

Jealousy.

The realization hit Tristan’s mind like a flashbang grenade.

"Aaaaaahhh!"

A strangled mix of a cheer and a scream burst from his lips. His delayed reasoning finally caught up, and he clamped his hand over his mouth. His thigh throbbed, meaning he must have slammed his fist against his leg without even noticing.

But the writhing joy in his chest far outweighed the pain.

AAAAAHHHHH!

Doris—Doris Redfield—

She was jealous because of me!

This was bad. There was no way he could sit quietly through her performance. Could he dash backstage and kiss the back of her hand? No—if not her hand, then her foot, at the very least—

The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor snapped him back to his senses.

They weren’t Doris’s usual quick, light steps.

Forcing his face into a neutral expression, he opened the dressing room door.

“A-Ah, my apologies. …I was bitten by a mosquito. I’m fine now.”

“I understand!”

The lady walked away.

Tristan exhaled slowly, watching the trailing hems of dresses disappear down the corridor.

Calm down.

What was important now was fulfilling his fiancée’s request.

He would go watch her.

He would witness the results of her efforts.

He had never seen the original opera, but he had heard summaries of the four songs through his eldest brother and the musicians who frequently visited the palace.

The first song was ‘Such a Beautiful Spring.’ The ladies of high society sang about the arrival of the social season and the indulgence of the nobility.

The second was ‘A Butterfly Takes Flight,’ a song about a stunning new actress appearing on the theater scene like a comet.

The third was ‘False Flowers,’ where the noble ladies—fearing that their season’s greatest catch, the male lead, would be stolen by the actress—succumbed to envy and jealousy.

The fourth was the actress’s lament, as she suffered at their hands.

Honestly, just hearing the summaries pissed him off.

So the writer wanted to sell a love story but wasn’t competent enough to craft an actually compelling romance, so they just dumbed down all the side characters?

He would have to see the whole production, but as of now, it was hard to look forward to.

Exactly the kind of story my narcissistic brother would pick.

Most annoying of all was the third song.

Not only was the premise of noblewomen envying a beautiful commoner infuriatingly shallow—imagining his fiancée playing such a character was…

…No. Doris asked me to watch. I’ll focus on seeing how she performs the role given to her.

Darkness settled beyond the windows. The stage’s back window opened, letting in the glow of the lights. The masked ladies mimed dancing to an upbeat violin melody before they began to sing, one by one.

“Oh my, what a butterfly of a girl has arrived. Who could have invited her?”

“She’s not even a noble. Who could have invited her?”

Their chirping voices repeated the words. Just as he braced himself for the usual, tiresome jealousy—

A lady in a pale blue dress stepped forward and sang.

“Ah, how enviable. To be loved by someone so dignified.”

"How enviable. She must receive a pure wildflower every day."

…Huh?

The lyrics were clearly saying envy.@@novelbin@@

But from their lighthearted tone and playful gestures, there wasn’t even a trace of actual jealousy.

If anything, they were openly mocking the male lead—a man who indulged in every luxury of noble life yet sought purity only when it came to love.

It’s almost as if they’re pitying the heroine for being loved by a man like that. This was completely different from what he had expected based on the song list.

Slightly bewildered, Tristan glanced at the crown princess sitting beside him.

Her eyes, fixed on the stage, had curved into a soft, amused expression—almost as if she had just received a delightful surprise.

Did she know about this?

Then… what about the second prince? How was he reacting?

Tristan, determined to observe his own beloved, turned his gaze toward Percival, who had deliberately taken a seat up front to get the best view of his lover.