Chapter 5. The Fragrant Olive and Death
December 5, 2023
His voice was so gentle that Ophelia nearly told the boy everything without even realizing it.
In truth, she wasn’t the beloved princess everyone believed her to be. To Mahanas and Dareth, she was nothing more than expensive livestock to be sold off.
But if she told him that, Haslen would break off their engagement and look for someone more valuable. So the words rising to her throat couldn’t be spoken.
There were only certain things she could allow herself to say.
“Go back. I don’t want to see anyone today.”
And, despite herself, Ophelia sniffled a little. Her face hadn’t dried yet from before anyway.
Haslen didn’t speak another word. She heard the sound of his retreating footsteps, and once everything around her went quiet, Ophelia assumed he had left.
It was for the best—she couldn’t let him see her in such a pathetic state. But believing she was alone made her feel unbearably cold and miserable. She wiped her face clumsily and turned around.
But behind her, where she had expected emptiness, the boy was still standing. Her eyes widened at the sight of him turned away, standing at a slight distance.
Realizing she had turned around, Haslen spoke softly.
“I thought… maybe it would be okay if I didn’t look at your face.”
At those words, Ophelia couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. Haslen flinched at the sound of her sobbing, but he didn’t turn around.
Wiping her ruined face half-heartedly, Ophelia asked,
“Why did you come back early?”
The boy hesitated before answering.
“Because your birthday is coming up.”
Her birthday was indeed at the end of the seventh month, so he was right.
“…You didn’t have to do that.”
“But I wanted to.”
The simple statement, filled with quiet affection, struck her so deeply she was left speechless. She didn’t want to break the moment by saying anything at all.
Haslen continued gently, not pressuring her to respond.
“Honestly, I didn’t expect to see you today. We hadn’t planned to meet, and I heard you weren’t feeling well…”
Hearing that, Ophelia thought to herself: It would’ve been better not to meet. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.
As she remained silent, the boy cleared his throat lightly.
“So I just came to the back garden you showed me last time, and like magic… you were here.”
“…”
“May I turn around? I have something I’d like to give you.”
She should’ve said no. She should’ve told him to go.
But she couldn’t bring herself to speak, and so missed her chance. The boy slowly turned to face her.
When she saw his pale green eyes widen, Ophelia took a step back. She pulled her shawl tighter around her face.
“D-Don’t look. It’s ugly…”
But this time, Haslen wouldn’t let her run. Striding over to her, he asked in a trembling voice,
“Who did this to you?”
Ophelia felt his fingertips brush against her cheek.
With a careful hand, Haslen gently pulled back the shawl covering her face. Her bruised and swollen features were fully revealed.
At that moment, Ophelia realized she could no longer deceive the boy. Gripped by fear, she stammered,
“Are you… going to break off the engagement now?”
Terror washed over her at the thought of losing him. Now that he’d seen how pitiful she was, surely he’d go find someone better.
Haslen looked at her with an expression that said he didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched so long, Ophelia felt like years had passed.
Her anxiety grew heavier with each passing second. And when he finally spoke, she’d already prepared herself for the worst.
But once again, Haslen’s answer defied her expectations.
“No.”
His voice was small but firm.
“I’m going to marry you, Princess.”
Then he gently brushed her cheek. Despite his careful touch, Ophelia couldn’t help but wince as his long fingers passed over her wounds.
“Did you put any medicine on?”
“…Yes.”
Though the tears had surely washed it all off, she didn’t add that part.
As he tenderly wiped away the tears from her eyes, Haslen asked,
“Could you tell me who did this?”
“…”
“I’m not trying to pressure you, I swear. But you’re hurt so badly, and I just… I’m upset…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. Because then she suddenly threw her arms around him and began to cry.
Haslen seemed surprised, but he said nothing—he just held her back.
That day, Ophelia cried in his arms for a long time. Knowing someone cared about her wounds made her tear up all the more.
Haslen gave her all the time she needed to cry—but he didn’t forget what was important.
In the end, Ophelia had no choice but to tell him the truth.
“My brother did it.”
She was still afraid Haslen would leave her. But she couldn’t keep hiding her feelings any longer.
Mahanas had pushed her far past her limits, and all she wanted now was comfort from someone.
Once she began to speak, the truth came spilling out.
“It’s not the first time. He’s been like this for a long time…”
And then she realized she’d been deceiving people all this time, keeping up appearances with her family. She apologized.
“I’m sorry. I’m not the loved princess you thought I was.”
Even afterward, she vividly remembered the fear she felt at that moment. Haslen said he wouldn’t leave her, but the terror of being rejected never left her heart.
But the boy, who always exceeded her expectations, ended her fear with just one sentence.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d gone through all of this.”
How kind he had been.
In that instant, as if it were fate, Ophelia became certain that no one in the world could ever make her feel the way he did. Just as nothing could replace spring itself, neither could anyone replace him.
That day, the boy placed a ring on her finger. It was adorned with a deep blue gemstone. He had bought it while traveling abroad with his father, because she came to mind.
As he gently held her hand, he said in a quiet voice:
“One day, I’ll give you an even more beautiful ring. Beneath the fragrant olive tree.”
It was as good as a proposal. In Reden, there was a tradition: on the day of the wedding, the groom would place a ring on the bride’s finger under a fragrant olive tree.
Ophelia remembered even the slight blush on his face as he said it. She had engraved it deep within her heart because she wanted to believe it so badly.
But his words were never fulfilled.
Ophelia remembered how their story ended—vividly.
A few years later, when she turned twenty-one, Haslen Rachmata was executed. Her cruel brother had sentenced him to death. The charge was “assaulting a royal,” all because Haslen had dared to intervene when the prince struck her, and had accidentally touched him in the process.
The Rachmata family tried to save their heir, but they had recently suffered several business failures and no longer had the influence to succeed.
Not one of the many people Rachmata had helped stepped forward. Ophelia couldn’t understand it.
The Rachmata family had done so much. They took in orphans and the poor, neglected by the state. When the king and princes tried to raise taxes for their own luxury, Haslen had stood against them without hesitation. None of the other nobles had dared do such a thing.
But now, cornered and helpless, everyone turned their backs on Ophelia and Haslen.
With nothing left but her body, Ophelia begged in front of her brother’s palace. She knelt, lay flat on the ground, bowed her head like the lowest of servants, and pleaded.
Rain and morning dew soaked her through. Her soft body blistered and festered, but she didn’t move. Her limbs grew stiff and cold as ice, but she didn’t flinch.
Mahanas mocked her, pressing her head down with his foot.
“You’re groveling like a worm to save another worm.”
Haslen had never been a worm. If anyone resembled one, it was her brother. But Ophelia said nothing.
If she could save Haslen, she could endure anything. Even if they told her to crawl through filth or live in a stable like livestock, she would have done it.
But her endurance meant nothing.
That day, Ophelia learned that even begging had weight.
A princess with nothing held no value—even her kneeling meant nothing.
In the end, Haslen was executed. The rain, which had fallen for days, finally stopped, and the sun came out for the first time.
To see her fiancé one last time, Ophelia dragged her battered body up the palace watchtower. Far off in the distance, the execution grounds came into view.
When the head of the boy who had once promised her forever beneath the fragrant olive tree fell, Ophelia collapsed.
She screamed his name like a madwoman. But the tower was too high, and her cries never reached the ground.
Just like her desperate will to save him, her anguished cries died in vain.
Sitting on the cold stone, Ophelia watched the people of the capital throw stones at her fiancé’s head, displayed on a pike. The blood vessels in her eyes burst and blurred her vision, but she took in every single face.
