#4. Haslen
2023.12.04
Ophelia still vividly remembered the day she first met Haslen.
It had been less than a week since she was informed of her engagement.
After finishing countless conversations with Rachmata, Dareth suddenly remembered to tell his daughter about the engagement—as if it had slipped his mind. Refusing, of course, was never an option.
When the day to finally meet her fiancé arrived, Ophelia was terrified.
Since Dareth had chosen him, she feared he would resemble her father. Judging by Dareth’s satisfied expression, the fiancé was likely just as wicked and cruel—perhaps even worse.
But the fiancé she met in person was entirely different from what she had imagined.
“Good day, Princess.”
The boy, a head taller than she was, had a slender build and a gentle voice.
When he bowed politely and looked up, Ophelia saw clear green eyes—eyes like dewdrops on summer leaves, transparent and reflecting her just as she was.
“My name is Haslen Rachmata.”
Then the boy offered her flowers. A bouquet of soft pink roses, wrapped in fine silk.
They were truly beautiful, yet Ophelia was so flustered she forgot to thank him.
She had expected her fiancé to be something of a monster—mean, scowling, and cruel. A boy so handsome, with such a pleasant voice, had never even crossed her mind.
That day in the palace garden, as they spoke, Ophelia realized it wasn’t just his appearance that defied her expectations.
The boy was as kind as he looked. He spoke gently throughout their conversation and respected her opinions.
After he left, Ophelia held the pink roses in her arms for a long time. Though she had seen fragrant, delicate petals before, she had never received such kindness along with them. It felt unfamiliar.
Haslen returned around the time the roses had dried beautifully.
Ophelia gladly accepted the lavender peonies he brought this time. She remembered to thank him too.
He was just as kind as during their first meeting and often smiled when he looked at her. His dimples curved in a way that reminded her of spring sunshine.
After their second meeting, Ophelia tried to imitate his smile in front of the mirror—because she wanted to see it even when he wasn’t around.
But no matter how hard she tried, the reflection never managed to show a smile like his.
After several meetings, flowers, and small gifts—and after they walked together in the fields behind the palace—Ophelia finally admitted it: that sunshine-filled smile belonged to Haslen alone.
By then, she had started calling him by name. Haslen. Even the way the word rolled off the tongue was soft, just like its owner.
But where there is light, there is always shadow. If time with Haslen was day, then all other moments were night.
When the springlike boy left, Ophelia was plunged into a terrible cold.
Her brother, Mahanas, treated her however he pleased and constantly hurled insults. Her father, Dareth, turned a blind eye. The selfish and greedy king cared only for luxury and indulgence.
Before meeting Haslen, Ophelia hadn’t even realized how difficult her life was. But after knowing him, everything felt colder and more cutting than before.
She had lived in those shadows since birth, yet now it felt like they were slowly choking her.
Even just walking the palace halls made her dizzy and breathless. At night, she had nightmares every other day—usually starring Mahanas.
Only Haslen could drive away the darkness that crushed her.
When he came to the palace, even Mahanas and Dareth—usually so cruel—watched their behavior. Pretending to have raised a cherished daughter meant they could demand a higher bridal price.
Ophelia felt guilty about deceiving Haslen on their orders, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth.
“If you don’t behave properly, Haslen Rachmata will abandon you.”
Mahanas always threatened her like that on the days Haslen visited.
“You do know how promising he is, don’t you? He would have been just as kind even if it were another girl beside him, not you.”
Back then, those words frightened Ophelia.
Haslen truly had been raised with love, and he was indeed kind to everyone.
She believed he had every right to be kind to anyone—but that didn’t mean she wanted to lose the special tenderness he gave only to her.
Whenever fear showed on her face, Mahanas would smirk and add:
“Keep your head on straight and act like a well-bred princess. Like a daughter who’s only ever known love.”
Of course, Ophelia knew that Haslen wouldn’t change just because he found out what she endured.
But the fact that he wouldn’t change didn’t mean their engagement wouldn’t.
Haslen might stay her friend, but the Rachmata family would surely prefer a girl from a better house.
And if he left, all that would remain for her was the cold and the dark.
Ophelia wanted to stop trembling.
So she tried her best to act like someone who had been loved. But pretending to be what she’d never been wasn’t easy.
It wasn’t just her. No one in the palace had ever loved her, so the entire place creaked and groaned whenever Haslen visited.
Ophelia prayed he wouldn’t notice those cracks. The fear of being trapped forever in the cold night overwhelmed even her guilt about lying.
But the truth was revealed from an unexpected place.
It was the summer she turned eleven.
At that time, Haslen had gone abroad with his father, and Mahanas was merciless with his hands.
Even so, hitting her face was rare—but drunk and enraged, Mahanas didn’t care.
Drunk from midday, his face flushed, he barged into the princess’s room and took over her sofa.
“Arrogant Rachmata—acting high and mighty just because they have some money…”
Ophelia tried to leave the room to avoid her disturbed brother. But as soon as she neared the door, Mahanas glared and shouted.
“Where do you think you’re going? Who do you think is the reason your fiancé’s family dares to act so cocky?”
He grabbed her wrists tightly. His grip hurt, making her frown in pain.
Seeing that, Mahanas yelled louder.
“You dare look at me like that? You think you can disrespect me now?”
Then he violently shoved her backward. With his strength—ten years older and much stronger—Ophelia couldn’t stand her ground.
Her head hit the door behind her.
The impact made everything go dark. She staggered and curled up, dazed. Mahanas grabbed her shoulder, clearly trying to force her upright.
Fearing the next blow, she instinctively raised her arm.
Her fingers grazed his face—and that was the trigger.
“You worthless insect—!”
When she came to, she was on the bed.
The doctor in the room examined her for head injuries as she woke.
When she looked in the mirror, she saw her cheek was swollen red. But the doctor said there was no damage to her skull or facial bones, so it was “fine.”
But the burning pain in her cheek and the humiliation hurt more than anything, and she finally burst into tears. The doctor and attendants quietly left the room.
Alone in her room, sobbing, the pain grew worse. She tried to calm herself, curling up in bed, silently asking why she had to suffer this way.
But there was no one to complain to—not even about how unfair it all was.
Mahanas was the crown prince, ten years older, a strong young man. She, on the other hand, was still not of age and had no skills to survive outside the palace.
After crying for a long time, Ophelia sat up and left her bed. Staying still only made her feel more suffocated.
To hide her swollen cheek, she wrapped her face in a shawl and headed to the field behind the palace—a place few people visited. It was her escape when Mahanas or Dareth became unbearable.
Sitting under the zelkova tree in the field, wiping her tears again—
Someone called her.
“Princess?”
It was a voice she would recognize anywhere. A gentle voice that shouldn’t have come just then.
Startled, Ophelia looked up. From afar, a tall boy was running toward her.
It was Haslen.
She jumped to her feet in shock and dashed deeper into the field. She couldn’t let him see her bruised face.
But he was two years older, and much faster.
She heard his footsteps just behind her and had no choice but to stop.
When she did, Haslen also halted. He spoke gently.
“Princess… Did something happen?”
