Chapter 14 –
Would the land look like this if the sea swallowed it whole? Tears streamed endlessly down Ophelia’s cheeks.
It would’ve been better not to know anything at all.
Ariel’s circumstances. And the fact that someone she believed was a friend knew all her secrets.
How must she have looked in his eyes—being the one who helped Ariel, the real savior of Ian, now dead—while she, unworthy, sat at Ian’s side, wallowing in misery? How pathetic must she have seemed?
But more than that, what hurt most was that she could no longer consider him to be on her side.
She thought he was her one and only friend. But that, too, had been her own naïve assumption.
Even after being burned by Ian, she still hadn’t learned her lesson.
From that day on, Ophelia closed her heart completely. If it hadn’t been for the timely coincidence of Alais regaining his memory and preparing to return to the Magic Tower, she wouldn’t have seen his face again for a long while.
“Funny how I’m suddenly remembering all of that now.”
Some time had passed since Alais left for the Magic Tower. Ophelia sat quietly, idly spinning her quill, lost in thought.
Even assuming she had come back to the past, that was something that had happened quite a while ago. After Alais left, it took some time before she resolved to die.
“At first, the letter felt unfair.”
No—perhaps “complicated” would be the more accurate word.
She had learned too many things she didn’t want to know. And, overwhelmed by sorrow and grief, she had directed it all like arrows toward Alais.
But only after he had left did she realize.
Even if the bond was shallow, the difference between having someone by your side—someone who didn’t make you uncomfortable just by sitting next to you—and being utterly alone was vast.
Because he had been there, Ophelia had been able to go on.
And after she found herself missing even that paltry warmth, she realized it no longer mattered what Alais had truly thought of her.
Back then, what Ophelia needed was something to hold onto—and Alais had become that anchor.
But that didn’t mean she had opened her heart again.
Proof: even now, she hadn’t told Alais everything.
If this had been the old her, she probably would’ve poured her heart out and asked for advice.
Her index finger, which had been rhythmically tapping the cover of a book titled The Mysterious Mermaid Tales, suddenly stopped. Her cool gaze, full of thought, settled on her fingertip.
She was recalling the expression of the person who had once held that very hand.
“Yes… he wore that same expression back then too.”
The reason she had suddenly dredged up this dusty memory—was because of the look on Alais’s face before he left the room.
He had looked a bit flustered. Slightly awkward.
Just like the face he had made when he saw Ophelia crying.
She hadn’t wanted to care what others were thinking, but now she was dying to know—what was going through Alais’s mind when he made that face?
As if it were some kind of key she had dropped along the way.
“No way. That can’t be it.”
Ophelia clenched the fingers she had been staring at. Enough with the useless thoughts.
She reopened The Mysterious Mermaid Tales.
But it wasn’t to the page she had been looking at earlier when Alais had entered. She flipped past a couple more, and a hidden note she had written peeked out from between the pages.
As the title suggested, The Mysterious Mermaid Tales was a compilation of old oral stories about mermaids, and thus not particularly helpful for practical information.
That was expected, since it wasn’t a book intended to convey factual knowledge.
Even Lilith had teased her when she saw Ophelia reading it.
—“Mermaids? I didn’t know Her Highness had a taste for such dreamy nonsense.”
—“We’re by the sea, might as well.”
—“You’re so relaxed. Anyone would think you’re here on vacation. I’ve been running around verifying reconstruction materials!”
Despite her complaints, Lilith was still a legitimate high noble.
She often voiced her displeasure at being stuck doing troublesome work for a low-born imperial princess like Ophelia.
—“If you’re so resentful, why don’t you try becoming a princess yourself? If you can’t, just go tell Father I’ve been enjoying my vacation.”
Not that Ophelia ever blinked an eye at her sarcasm.
Besides, if you dig deep enough, even silly old books can offer something useful.
While reading, Ophelia noticed a recurring pattern.
In the tales where both mermaids and sirens appeared—
“They follow the same structure.”
Though there were slight variations, the general storyline was always the same: when the protagonist is lured into danger by a siren—often described as a beautiful voice from the sea—it is a mermaid who comes to save them.
Whether mermaids were altruistic or simply hated sirens wasn’t clear. But if these stories were true, it seemed sirens didn’t like mermaids very much.
“Though it’s probably not true.”
Still, it was worth noting down—especially since she would have to meet with the leader of the sirens once the sun went down.
Ophelia wanted to be as prepared as possible.
Was there anything else worth noting? As she flipped through the pages, a knock sounded at the door.
Who could be visiting her now?
Hurriedly, Ophelia hid the book and her notes and tidied up the desk before calling out.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and a cheerful-looking man stepped in. Ophelia immediately recognized him.
“Haider.”
“I was wondering what I’d do if you weren’t here—but lucky me, no need to search.”
Haider, the Lord of Ladin, strode into the room holding a wilted flower that looked like it might make a gardener weep—and a letter.
Only then did Ophelia remember something she’d forgotten, distracted as she’d been with Alais.
“Ah. Today was the day.”
The day Haider had invited her to a party under the pretense of a welcome ceremony.
It wasn’t exactly a pleasant memory—perhaps that’s why she had unconsciously tried to erase it.
Her gaze, now icy cold, landed on Haider.
Clueless as ever to what she was thinking, Haider smiled and extended the letter and the dying flower.
“Nothing major—just a party at my villa today. Since Your Highness happened to arrive in Ladin around the same time, I thought it might be a good occasion to double as a welcome ceremony. Would you accept the invitation?”
It sounded noble—“a welcome ceremony,” “a party.” But Ophelia knew exactly why Haider was really trying to bring her.
—“Didn’t I tell you? A princess is nothing. You think the imperial family’s worth anything if they send some woman as an inspector? They wouldn’t dare get involved directly, so they send a girl!”
Judging by what he drunkenly spouted to his friends, he had made a bet.
Even if Ladin was somewhat outside the Empire’s grasp, the countryside was still the countryside. When a royal came to visit, people were supposed to show respect.
Haider wanted to prove he could handle a princess—and bringing her to the party was supposed to be that proof.
And for him, it was a bet he couldn’t afford to refuse.
If he had declined, it would’ve been solid proof he feared the Empire.
“A fox barking where there’s no tiger… How fitting.”
Back then, she hadn’t been unaware of his intentions when she agreed to attend.
She’d thought there must be some ulterior motive. But still, part of her had hoped.
Haider had been so kind. Maybe—just maybe—he truly wanted to welcome her. Maybe he was reaching out to her, who had come all alone.
Even though she had supposedly closed her heart, looking back now, she realized just how much she still hoped for people.
It was a bit funny. Ophelia let out a quiet snort without meaning to.
Seeing this, Haider raised a brow.
“What is it?”
“Oh… it’s just funny.”
“…What?”
Ophelia turned her eyes from his slowly fading smile. Her voice was icy and tinged with sarcasm.
“I’ve worked under many local lords before, but you’re the first who refers to my welcome ceremony as ‘just happening to coincide.’ Is that Ladin’s idea of royal courtesy?”
“H-haha. Perhaps Your Highness is just used to the capital’s extravagance—”
“Extravagance?”
At her retort, Haider’s shoulders stiffened. A cold sweat ran down his back.
How could someone so small radiate such pressure? Her piercing blue eyes seemed to stab through him. Ophelia took a step forward, speaking slowly and clearly.
“Finances and cultural policies in the capital are overseen by His Majesty, my father. If you disagree, I’ll be sure to pass it along. Lord Haider of Ladin—shall I ask again? Did you say it was extravagance?”
“N-no.”
He had misspoken. Realizing this, Haider cursed internally.
He had heard that the First Princess was quiet, unassuming, and easy to handle. Who had spread such utter nonsense?
Haider clenched his teeth.
“To think I’m being overpowered by a mere woman.”
In all his years as the lord of Ladin, he had never experienced such humiliation.
But worse than the humiliation—was that his plan was crumbling.
“I was supposed to bring her to the party and crush her confidence.”
When word spread that the First Princess was coming to Ladin, the nobles had stirred. To those who rarely visited the capital, a royal was like strawberries in midwinter—rare and precious.
Had he not rushed to spread rumors that she was the daughter of a mere maid and disregarded by the imperial family, her room would’ve been swarmed by now.
So to someone like Haider—who strutted around Ladin like a king—it was necessary to publicly cut her down.
“She looks troubled. Probably never experienced anything like this.”
And yes, Ophelia knew all of this. But that didn’t mean she had any intention of complying.
