#3. The Betrothed
December 3, 2023
She was sitting at the dressing table.
As her maid brushed her hair, she chatted away.
“His Highness the Northern King has come nearby. He’s handsome and young—Princess, you must be so happy to be marrying someone like him.”
Despite her impertinent tongue, her hands moved delicately. Through this, Ophelia realized she was meant to meet someone.
But she had no will to speculate who it was. Ophelia tilted her head slightly. Though she had stopped tormenting herself, her mind remained foggy from not eating or sleeping properly.
The maid, noticing her movement, straightened her head and scolded her.
“You can’t be like this, Your Highness. Your hair will get messed up.”
The girl, a year or two younger than her, picked a flower from the basket on the vanity.
Ophelia looked into the mirror. The maid was sticking faint and soft flowers into her hair.
As she stared at the mirror, Ophelia noticed that a corner of the room was glowing brightly.
Turning her head to find the source of the light, she heard the girl muttering something, but it didn’t register.
The light illuminating the floor came through the glass doors of the balcony. Realizing it was sunlight, Ophelia slowly stood up. Like someone possessed, she opened the balcony.
Unfiltered sunlight poured in.
Blindingly white and bright, the sunlight felt like deep water. It enchanted those who faced it.
Staggering slightly in its glow, Ophelia sat on the balcony railing. From beyond, someone shouted. She waved a hand to silence the maid. She wanted just a moment to savor the sunlight in silence.
The girl in the shadows glared at her briefly and then left. Soon after, soldiers entered the room. They spoke, though Ophelia could barely hear them, but still found them annoying.
She muttered,
“Shut your mouths. You’re making me want to jump.”
Maybe they did as she asked. The sunlight was so dazzling that she couldn’t tell. From where she stood, the other side appeared only dark and shimmering.
But even if they had gone silent, the noise in her head didn’t go away. Trying to shake off the ringing in her ears, Ophelia looked up. The sky came into view.
For a moment, it was as if she had plunged her head underwater—her ears went numb. Keeping her head tilted back, she threw her body backward.
At least, she thought she did…
Now sitting on the princess’s bed, Ophelia held her forehead and furrowed her brows.
She was now listening to Idren Yggdrasil’s scolding.
“Have you gone mad? Why did you jump—”
Such words echoed above her.
So noisy. How can a person be this loud?
Ignoring his narrowed brows, pale face, and sharp, rapid speech, she thought—Was he always this talkative?
The man who had once been her husband, but was not anymore, seemed to have far too much to say.
And just when she was waiting for him to shut up, a single line pierced her ears:
“If you hated the marriage that much, you should’ve said so earlier. How did you endure the disgust this whole time?”
That sarcastic tone made Ophelia snap her head up. His eyes, blazing with anger, looked down at her.
Ophelia twisted her lips.
“You’re saying I should have said something earlier?”
Idren flinched at the sharp glare she threw him. It was the first time she had looked at him like that.
But wasn’t it a reasonable thing to say? Folding his arms, Idren looked down at the small woman before him. Wearing nothing but a thin dress, Ophelia looked more miserable than he had ever seen her.
She was someone who wouldn’t even count that as clothing.
A surge of emotion rose in him. Idren clenched his jaw.
How dare they dress her like that? After all the dowry they received… this is how they treat her?
Then he realized—he was seeing the situation too one-sidedly. That look was still a form of grooming.
It may have reflected more the intentions of her attendants than her own, but the flimsy dress and flower petals were, in their way, an attempt at adornment.
Still, the reason she looked so pitiful was because she was painfully thin.
When he caught her falling from the balcony, his heart had nearly stopped.
Ophelia had felt so light she hardly seemed human. Seeing her with eyes closed like a corpse filled him with dreadful fear—and made him realize this was real.
There was no time to understand how it had come to this. He simply carried her back to the princess’s room, afraid even to hold her too tightly in case he hurt her.
Her maid had opened the door with a tearful face.
“I’m sorry… Her Highness has been depressed lately…”
As if that’s an excuse.
Even if she had failed as a proper servant, she was still of some use.
After entrusting Ophelia to a physician, Idren asked the maid a few things. She looked hesitant, turning her gaze away, but when he mentioned royal deception, she finally confessed.
“Her Highness has been like this since about a month ago…”
From that, Idren realized Ophelia’s condition stemmed from their engagement. That was exactly when the betrothal had been confirmed and the dowry negotiations began.
Realizing this made his chest burn with fury.
He had to restrain himself from barging into her room to interrogate her. So many questions filled his throat.
You hated marrying me that much you tried to jump off a balcony?
How could you?
What are you so unhappy about?
Is once not enough for ending your own life?
Though they had yet to discuss that fact, Idren could tell Ophelia also knew about the future.
In their previous timeline, Ophelia had been completely unscathed when she married him. If she had ever jumped from a balcony, she wouldn’t have been.
So, the Ophelia who had never married him had at least never tried to hurt herself like this.
That made him all the more furious.
So what if he said a few biting words?
I didn’t misspeak, Idren told himself, staring directly into the eyes of the woman glaring back at him.
That was when Ophelia suddenly rose from her seat and grabbed his wrist.
Her hand, thin as a dry twig, held tight enough that he couldn’t shake it off. It was the first time Ophelia had touched him to express her will.
While he was too stunned to react, she opened the door and pulled him outside.
Just before the door closed, Idren saw her eyes flashing with a chilling light through the narrow gap. She glared at him and spoke coldly:
“You’re the one who sent a marriage proposal to my father, not to me. So how was I supposed to refuse?”
Slam. The door shut.
It was only then that Idren realized—he’d been kicked out.
Ophelia leaned against the door, gasping for breath. Her head throbbed.
Trying to suppress her rising irritation, she took a deep breath and stepped away from the door. Her eyes landed on the balcony, now sealed shut with wooden planks.
Staring at the firmly nailed window, she slumped onto the bed.
That man’s mocking voice echoed in her ears:
“If you hated the marriage that much, you should’ve said so earlier. How did you endure the disgust this whole time?”
Idren Yggdrasil didn’t know.
In the past, she had refused the marriage over and over. As much as she could, as best as she could.
Recalling how all those efforts had ended, Ophelia dragged a hand across her face. The sudden heat made her eyes sting.
Rubbing her face for a while, she plucked the flower stems from her hair and threw them to the floor. Her whole body ached, as if her senses were coming back.
Damn you, Idren Yggdrasil.
She had never felt such strong emotion toward him before, but now, rage surged from within. Shivering, Ophelia curled up under the covers and buried her face.
He speaks without knowing anything.
She, more than anyone, had never wanted this marriage. She had a fiancé—someone she had truly promised herself to.
Not the King of the North, but someone else entirely.
Curling into herself, Ophelia closed her eyes. Pale green eyes and walnut-colored hair shimmered in the darkness.
Slowly, she added life to that image. A smile like an autumn wheat field, warm hands, a gentle voice.
After painting the most vibrant memory of that beautiful young man, Ophelia whispered his name.
Haslen.
Her cracked voice echoed faintly in the room.
Haslen Lakmata was the only son of House Lakmata.
Ophelia had been engaged to him since they were ten.
At the time, House Lakmata was the most powerful noble family in Reden. Though not royal, they were ancient and had grown wealthy through trade between the inland kingdoms.
Ophelia’s father, King Dareth Mebasa of Reden, had long set his eyes on their wealth. Reden’s treasury was too small to support his vanity and greed.
As he schemed how to seize the Lakmata fortune, he remembered that his daughter was of similar age to their heir.
And so, he betrothed the princess to Haslen of Lakmata.
It was a move entirely driven by ambition. He planned to exploit Reden’s custom that the groom’s family must pay a dowry to take the bride.
The king calculated the benefits of selling off his daughter in every direction—but never once considered what it would do to her.
Ironically, that engagement became a salvation for the unhappy princess.
