#6. A New Betrothed
2023.12.06.
After losing his heir, the House of Lachmata left Reden. It was an unavoidable decision—they were at risk of being branded traitors and destroying the entire family.
Ophelia heard the news while locked in the princess’s chambers. At that time, she had been acting like someone who had lost her mind, so Mahanas had confined her there.
Imprisoned, Ophelia stopped caring about what entered her mouth or what clothed her body. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the execution platform from the watchtower.
It made no difference whether she was awake. If the death of her betrothed was the nightmare of the night, then the day was merely a world where he had already died.
Then, one day, a marriage proposal came for her.
It had not even been a year since her fiancé’s death.
Late in the afternoon, Mahanas came into her room. As usual, he was drunk, but unlike before, he seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood.
Knowing her brother had entered, Ophelia didn’t even look at him. Instead, she curled up under the covers on her bed.
Once, she would’ve watched him closely, afraid he might lash out for no reason.
But since losing her betrothed, Ophelia had lost the will to protect herself. It was as if the instinct to make safe choices had broken down inside her.
“Ophelia.”
When Mahanas called her name and approached the bed, she thought he might grab her by the hair.
But instead, he sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped, and the familiar scent of the tea he always drank mixed with alcohol wafted through the air. It made her stomach churn.
Disgusted by everything about her brother—his voice, his smell, even his clothes—Ophelia curled herself tighter. Mahanas placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Sister.”
His gentle tone made her feel like vomiting. Lying on her side, Ophelia stubbornly stared ahead. A thick glass vase on the windowsill glinted in the sunlight.
Then Mahanas began to speak, words as rotten as spoiled fruit.
“I’ve brought you a new match.”
Even upon hearing that, Ophelia didn’t take her eyes off the vase. It shimmered gold, inlaid with tiny jewels, and looked extremely solid and heavy…
Mahanas kept talking.
“He’s nothing like that worm before. This one’s magnificent. He’s the co-king of Aglante, no less—”
By the time she regained her senses, the vase was shattered, and her brother—face streaked with blood—was glaring at her, red with fury.
That day, Ophelia was slapped twice. Normally, Mahanas would’ve kicked her several times, but he restrained himself.
She knew why—he couldn’t risk damaging the goods he planned to sell to the co-king. And knowing that, the restraint brought her no comfort.
After that, she did everything she could to refuse the marriage.
But the one person who would have respected her will was already dead. Her opinion was irrelevant.
At last, on the day she crossed Reden’s borders for the wedding, a large crowd gathered to watch the royal procession.
Ophelia observed every face that threw flowers and confetti in celebration. Two years earlier, those same people had hurled stones at Lachmata’s only son.
The co-king of Aglante was decent—surprisingly so, given Mahanas had approved of him.
Her husband never raised a hand to her or made unreasonable demands.
Perhaps distrustful of his foreign wife, he handled domestic affairs entirely on his own.
She didn’t mind. Though he didn’t entrust her with matters of state, he gave her a land to rule freely. It was small compared to Aglante as a whole, but vastly richer than all of Reden.
Without that wealth, it would’ve been much harder to drive Reden to ruin.
The gold from her husband’s gift was used to strangle the very brother who had sold her to the co-king. Mahanas, who sought to profit from her marriage, was ultimately undone by it.
When a string of investment failures caused Reden’s national debt to spiral beyond control, Mahanas came to her.
Unlike before, he approached cautiously. Ophelia pretended kindness, already holding the noose that would finish him.
“This is the last time I’ll help you. I can’t do anything more.”
Had it been her, she wouldn’t have trusted someone who once tried to smash her skull with a vase—but Mahanas did exactly as she said.
Once she confirmed he couldn’t escape by any means, she pulled the rope tight. The slow strangulation was almost satisfying.
Even the royal treasury ended up pledged to her. Then Mahanas came again.
Ophelia deliberately ignored him, knowing that despair after waiting is far more bitter.
They met again only when he was near death from anxiety.
His face pale—unimaginably so—Mahanas begged the moment he saw her.
“Ophelia, my sister. Just one more time. Help me.”
What a pathetic plea it was.
Ophelia showed him just how worthless a penniless prince’s knees were.
When he finally realized his current ruin was his own doing, Mahanas screamed and lunged at her in madness.
She laughed and threw him out, giving him nothing.
Though cast out like a beggar, Mahanas eventually came back. The weight of his debt had crushed even his pride.
Ophelia never saw him again.
Not long after, she received news of his death. He had been drinking in a tavern incognito and got caught in a brawl.
When she heard the rumor in secret, she seized the Reden royal assets. Leaving not a single coin behind, she stripped them of everything.
The dead prince would be buried without a coffin. It was more than his vile nature deserved.
The night she heard of Mahanas’s death, Ophelia smiled and fell asleep. The fruit of long-suffering patience was sweet.
But rest, she believed, would be sweeter still.
She drank one of the potent poisons she’d kept for years and closed her eyes.
It seemed everything had ended—
—until she opened her eyes again, in the princess’s chamber in Reden.
Now, Ophelia could no longer ignore her situation.
For some reason she couldn’t understand, she had returned to the past—specifically, the most dreadful time: right before her wedding.
She didn’t know why this had happened. She had always doubted the existence of gods, miracles, or fairy tales.
So why?
She wanted to scream at the sky but lacked the strength. Holding onto hatred with all one’s might preserves revenge—but also erodes everything else.
Though she still cursed Reden and Mahanas, Ophelia had no desire to relive that long, dreary life.
She curled up with her eyes shut. Crimson twilight slipped through the nailed-down windows.
* * *
Standing before a white wooden door, Idren wondered why he was there.
He was back at the room he’d been kicked out of the day before.
After being expelled from Ophelia’s chamber by her own hand, Idren couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her cold blue eyes, glaring through the door crack, lingered in his mind.
Though they weren’t close, he had never seen Ophelia wear such a hostile expression.
It made him feel guilty, as if he had caused it. Along with guilt came shame.
And yet, wasn’t it Ophelia who had wronged him—treating him like less than a stranger for over three years, only to one day take her own life?
His guilt was irrational.
Still, Idren couldn’t help but feel he had to apologize. Ophelia would never admit fault, so the burden fell to him.
He wasn’t proud of his passive stance—but he had grown used to disappointing himself. Pride had been thrown away too many times for the sake of the most desperate form of love.
Once he decided, it was better for his mental health to act than to ruminate. So Idren resolved to apologize at breakfast the next day.
But Ophelia didn’t come to breakfast. Instead, he faced the King of Reden—who looked nothing like his daughter—and a prince who resembled their father.
There was much he wanted to ask them, but he put it off for now. First, he had to resolve the matter with Ophelia.
As soon as breakfast ended, he went to her chamber. He wanted to confirm she was safe and deliver his apology.
But once he stood before her door, hesitation crept in.
He should have brought flowers, at least. Feeling the emptiness of his hands too late, Idren took a deep breath—
And knocked on the door.
