Ophelia still vividly remembered the day she first met Haslen.
It was less than a week after being informed of the engagement.
After finishing his discussions with the Rackmatas, Dareth finally seemed to remember to tell his daughter about the engagement, as if it was an afterthought. Naturally, there was no refusal.
When the day came to meet her betrothed, Ophelia was absolutely terrified.
Since it was her father who chose him, she feared her betrothed would be like Dareth - or even more wicked and vile, given her father's satisfaction.
However, the betrothed she met in person was completely different from what she had imagined.
"Greetings, Your Highness."
The boy, a full head taller than her, was slender with a gentle voice.
Bowing deeply in greeting, when he raised his head, Ophelia could see clear, emerald green eyes. Like dew on summer grass, those transparent eyes simply reflected her as she was.
"My name is Haslen Rackmata."
And the boy offered her a bouquet of flowers. Pale pink roses were bundled together, wrapped in fine silk.
It was a truly beautiful bouquet, but flustered, Ophelia forgot to thank him.
The betrothed she had envisioned was someone utterly spiteful, more monster than human.
She had not expected such a well-mannered boy with a pleasant voice.
Conversing with him in the gardens that day, Ophelia realized his outward appearance was not the only aspect that defied her expectations.
The boy's personality was as gentle as his looks. He spoke softly and politely throughout, respecting her views in their conversation.
After he left, Ophelia cradled the pink roses for a long while. Though the fragrant, fluttering petals were not new to her, the warmth from the giver felt novel.
Her betrothed returned around the time the roses had dried prettily.
Ophelia gladly accepted the lavender peonies he gave her this time, not forgetting her thanks.
The boy was as kind as when they first met, and smiled at her often. His beautifully dimpled smile was like the sunlight of a spring day.
After the second meeting, Ophelia looked in the mirror and tried to imitate the boy's smile. Because he wanted to see that smile even when he wasn't around.
But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't smile like that in the mirror.
After several meetings, exchanging flowers and small gifts, and even going together to the fields behind the palace, Ophelia admitted it. That smile that seemed to let sunlight through was uniquely his, her fiance.
Around that time, she had started calling him by name. Haslen. The gentle-sounding word suited its gentle owner.
But where there is light, there is also darkness. If the times with Haslen were daytime, then the rest were all night.
If the boy was like spring sunshine, when he left, Ophelia was left to freeze in bitter cold.
Her brother Mahanas heaped all sorts of abuse on her, treating her as he pleased, while their father Dareth turned a blind eye to his son's behavior. That selfish, greedy king only cared for his own luxury and indulgences.
Ophelia had not realized how grueling that life was until she met Haslen. But after knowing the boy, all of it felt incomparably colder and sharper than before.
She had lived in that gap since birth, but Ophelia was gradually feeling suffocated by them.
Just walking the palace hallways made her dizzy and breathless, and she had nightmares every other night, usually featuring Mahanas.
Only Haslen could dispel the darkness weighing on her.
On the days he visited the palace, even Mahanas who treated her like a plaything, and the greedy, vulgar Dareth, were mindful of him. They had to pretend she was a precious daughter to extort a higher bride price.
Though she felt guilty deceiving the boy as they demanded, Ophelia could not bring herself to reveal the truth.
"If you don't behave properly, Haslen Rackmata will abandon you," Mahanas always threatened her on the days Haslen visited.
"Do you know how highly regarded he is? He would have been just as affectionate if some other girl was by his side instead of you."
Until then, Ophelia was terrified by those words.
In reality, Haslen was someone who had grown up receiving immense love, and was kind to everyone as a result.
Ophelia thought her betrothed had every right to be friendly to anyone, but she did not want to lose his affection directed solely at her.
If fear showed on her face, Mahanas would add with satisfaction:
"So get your act together and behave like the well-bred princess you are. Act like the beloved daughter you were raised to be."
Of course, Ophelia knew that Haslen was not someone who changed just because he knew what had happened to her.
But just because he didn't change didn't mean their engagement didn't change either.
Haslen would still remain her friend, but the Rackmata would want a daughter from a better family instead of her.
And when he left, all she was left with was cold and darkness.
Ophelia wanted to stop shaking.
So she tried to act as if she was loved as best as she could, but it was not easy to pretend to be in a position she had never been in before.
It wasn't just her. No one in the palace had ever loved her, so on the day Haslen came, the entire palace creaked.
Ophelia hoped the boy wouldn't notice the crack. The fear of being trapped forever in the cold night even overwhelmed the guilt of lying.
But the discovery came from an unexpected place.
* * *
It was a summer day when Ophelia was eleven years old.
At that time, Haslen was abroad with his father, so Mahanas had no hesitation in waving his hands.
Still, it was rare for him to hit her face, but the drunken Mahanas seemed to see nothing before him that day.
Red-faced from drinking since midday, he barged into the princess's chamber and plopped onto her sofa.
"That arrogant Rackmata clan, putting on airs just for having some money..."
Ophelia tried to leave the room to avoid her clearly vexed brother. But as soon as she neared the door, Mahanas flew into a rage.
"Where are you going? It's all because of you that their family acts so arrogantly."
And he firmly grabbed both her wrists. His vise-like grip painfully crushed her wrists.
Ophelia reflexively furrowed her brows.
Seeing that, Mahanas immediately raised his voice.
"Now even a lowly thing like you Dareth look down on me? You lowly thing?"
Next, he violently shoved her backwards. With ten years' more age and bulk than her, Ophelia could not maintain her footing.
It was then that her head struck the door behind her.
The heavy impact made her vision go black. Ophelia staggered and crumpled. Mahanas seized her shoulders, clearly intending to straighten her up.
Fearing the impending pain, Ophelia unknowingly raised her arms.
The tip of her hand grazing Mahanas's face was the trigger.
"You lowly worm...!"
When she came to, Ophelia was lying on the bed.
The physician in the room examined her head upon seeing she had awoken, to check for any issues.
Catching her reflection on the vanity mirror, Ophelia saw her cheek was swollen and red. But the physician dismissed it, saying her head was unharmed and no facial bones were broken.
The throbbing cheek and burning humiliation made Ophelia finally break into sobs. The physician and maids exited once she started wailing.
Alone in the room, her crying caused her bruised face to sting. Unable to help it, Ophelia stemmed her tears and brooded in resentment while curled on the bed. She could not understand why she had to endure such treatment.
But she could not protest this unfairness.
Mahanas was the heir who would inherit the throne, and ten years her senior. While he was a robust young man, she had not even reached adulthood yet and was utterly helpless to survive outside the palace.
After a long while of weeping, Ophelia rose from the bed and went outside. Lying idle only made her feel more suffocated.
Draping a shawl over her swollen cheek, Ophelia headed to the fields behind the palace. Since few ventured there, she escaped to that place whenever she could not bear Mahanas or Dareth.
It was while sitting under an old oak, dabbing at the tears that would not stop, that someone called out to her.
"Your Highness?"
It was a voice she could instantly recognize anytime. The affectionate voice she should not be hearing now made Ophelia start, and she looked up in alarm. From afar, a tall boy was rapidly approaching. It was Haslen.
Startled, Ophelia abruptly stood up. She hurriedly dashed deeper into the fields, unable to show Haslen her bruised face.
But the boy was two years older than her and far better at running.
By the time his footsteps closed right behind her, Ophelia had no choice but to stop.
Once she halted, Haslen also stopped advancing. He asked gently,
"Your Highness, is something the matter?"
.jpeg)