The Male Lead isn't Following the Script!-Chapter 308: No Chance For Reconciliation?

Benedict had barely made it three steps down the grand staircase when he heard the shuffle of boots and the low, excited murmurs. He slowed his pace, dread already crawling up his spine like a premonition he couldn’t shake off.

By the time he reached the bottom, he saw them—half a dozen men and women gathered in the well-lit chamber, lit by the glow of ornate sconces. Familiar faces, he did not know them that well, they were simply acquaintances. Well used to, until the pupper Benedict allied with those followers of the third prince.

Now, they were smiling at him like he was a beloved brother.

"My lord Duke!" One of them, a man in a burgundy doublet with a crest Benedict didn’t bother identifying, stepped forward. He clapped Benedict on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. "What a wedding! What a decisive, daring move. You’ve changed the game for all of us."

Benedict opened his mouth, mind still reeling, throat raw with the words he wanted to say. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I was controlled. But the voices tumbled over his attempt.

"A brilliant demonstration of loyalty to the third prince," another declared, beaming. "We always knew you were too smart to stay shackled to Cassian’s ambition."

A young lady with dark hair and a silver circlet nodded earnestly. "Marrying the Saintess was exactly the leverage we needed. With the Holy Temple on our side, no one can dispute our claim to the succession."

The tides could change at any moment, and these fools thought they already won. Benedict shook his head.

His stomach twisted. All he wanted was to get to the palace, to find Cassian and tell him the truth—that everything he’d done was the result of the forbidden magic. That he was awake again. That he was ready to help fix this catastrophe.

Cassian helped me once, he thought, almost dazed. He stood by me when the northern lands were suddenly left barren. He gave me the chance to prove myself, not as a duke’s son, but as a man who could lead.

And now he’d betrayed all of it.

He pressed a palm to the nearest column, steadying himself as another lord clapped him on the back, oblivious to the storm in his head.

"I—I appreciate your words," Benedict forced out, voice hoarse. "But I have urgent matters at the palace."

"Oh, no doubt," the burgundy man agreed, misinterpreting completely. "You should be seen there tonight. Show them that you’re not afraid to stand by your actions. That you’ll defend your choice to the Emperor himself."

The lady with the circlet leaned closer, her expression bright with admiration. "You’ve nothing to fear. We’re behind you, Duke Benedict. All of us."

Behind me, he thought numbly, or using me as their shield?

But he didn’t have time to argue. He couldn’t explain the truth in this hallway—he wasn’t even sure he had the words.

He took a careful breath. "Thank you for... Your support." He forced each syllable out. "But I must go."

He stepped forward, trying to slip past, but they shifted again, all warm smiles and eager hands on his arms.

"One last thing," said the man in burgundy, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Cassian will come to reclaim his position. He’s too proud to let this slight pass. You must be ready to show strength. The moment you waver—"

Hah... They really wanted him to go against Cassian and support the third prince. But the third prince was a mere child, and the Emperor was not getting any younger.

"Duke?" Seeing that the Duke looked dazed, they tried to get his attention.

He swallowed hard, lifted his head, and looked them in the eye.

"I am always ready," he lied.

He pushed past them and practically ran towards the entrance.

Benedict gritted his teeth, the tension in his jaw almost painful as he pulled the carriage door shut behind him. The muffled cheers of those third prince loyalists still echoed in his ears like a curse he couldn’t scrape off his skin.

He sat there for a moment, staring at his gloved hands, hoping they would stop shaking.

The driver cleared his throat politely, waiting for instructions.

Where do I go?

To the palace... or to her?

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of Adeline. The memory of her face, so bright with faith in him once, so disappointed and wounded the last time they spoke, made something twist painfully in his chest. If there was anyone whose forgiveness he wanted most, it was her. Even more than Cassian’s.

But what right did he have to expect her to see him?

He clenched his fist in his lap. She must despise him. He had broken her trust over and over again. He had let her believe he was the kind of man who would abandon her—who would chase Annora so blindly that he’d forget everything else.

I didn’t do it on purpose, he told himself desperately. I was controlled. My mind—my body—none of it was truly mine.

But would that matter to her? Would any of his excuses or explanations soften what she must have felt every time he passed her by without a glance, every time he pledged himself to Annora instead of standing at her side?

The carriage seemed too small suddenly, the walls pressing in on him. His chest heaved. He wanted nothing more than to go straight to Adeline and explain himself, but... He could not. Not right now.

Cassian.

Cassian, whom he had betrayed. Cassian, who had once called him a friend, a brother-in-arms. Cassian, who was probably dealing with the fallout of this entire disaster even now.

If there was any chance to make amends, any hope of regaining the smallest measure of honour, it began there.

Cassian helped him when he was dealing with a crisis, when the Northern fertile lands suddenly became barren, it was Cassian who stood by his side. He needed to meet him.