#15. Twenty-Three
What happened afterward was almost painfully predictable.
Idren sent a marriage proposal to the Kingdom of Reden. It took about half a year to settle the details and set an official date.
Still, he was finally able to marry Ophelia around the following summer. Twenty-three. The perfect age for marriage.
As he prepared a warm-water port and a villa as wedding gifts, Idren felt a thrill of anticipation. He had never seen a woman as radiant as Ophelia at fifteen. And now, she was twenty-three.
He also remembered something Ophelia once said:
“I hope I’ll see you again next year.”
It had been quite a while since she said those words, admittedly.
But he was in a much better place now. The pathetic boy who couldn’t even claim ownership of his own body was long gone.
Idren believed, like others, that Ophelia would be pleased with the person he had become. A few years’ delay shouldn’t be much of a flaw.
But Ophelia’s response wasn’t what he had expected.
He had become so much better—undeniably incomparable to that ragged boy from before—yet she didn’t even look at him.
No, it seemed like she didn’t even remember him in the first place.
That realization drained all the strength from him at first. But Idren chose to interpret the situation positively.
He had been miserable back then. If she didn’t remember that version of him, then surely she only saw him as he was now.
Of course, it stung a little that something so irreplaceable to him meant so little to her. But memories don’t disappear just because you bury them.
So Idren said nothing. After all, who doesn’t want to look impressive to their first love?
But that approach had been wrong. He realized that now.
While he stayed silent, trying to appear like a suitable husband, he hadn’t gotten any closer to Ophelia. She had kept a wall up the entire time.
And in the end, didn’t she make the cruelest choice?
Now that he knew she didn’t want to get married—that thought stung—Idren wanted to let her live the way she wanted.
Of course, he still wanted to marry her. But her survival mattered far more than his desires.
If her family stood in the way of her will to live, then Idren could protect her from them. After all, when his own family had been the problem, she had stood by him.
And to convince Ophelia of this, he would have to explain his past—what had really happened.
It was humiliating to dig up such a wretched past, but that was fine. If it could help Ophelia, Idren was willing to bare even his ugliest truths.
Having washed away despair and found new hope, Idren lifted his head. Just after leaving Ophelia’s room, he had been shaken by the thought that she didn’t need him—but once he gathered his emotions, he felt alright again.
That was when he heard a piercing scream behind him.
“The Princess—!”
Realizing the scream came from the direction of Ophelia’s room, Idren turned and sprinted back the way he came.
But before he could reach the room, his vision wavered. He stumbled over the swirling black floor and collapsed.
The last thing he saw through the blur was the princess’s door flung wide open and people rushing inside.
When he opened his eyes again, he was lying under a bright blue sky.
Confused, Idren stood up. On the rocking boat, he staggered like a drunk. He saw colorful silks adorning nearby ships and flowers blooming along the shoreline.
Suddenly, a strong stench of seawater filled the air. His stomach lurched. Idren dropped to his knees at the edge of the boat and retched. Fenrel approached, eyes wide with concern.
And then everything unfolded just as he remembered.
The green-eyed knight asked if he was alright, his face full of worry. Idren grabbed him and demanded the date. The answer was one he had heard before.
“It’s the fourth month of the year. You’re on your way to the royal palace of Reden, Your Highness. You’re scheduled to meet King Dares and Prince Mahanas there.”
Upon hearing that, Idren shoved the knight away. Fenrel turned pale, watching as Idren covered his face with his hands and trembled.
Am I going mad?
He gripped his face and stared into the water, trying to make sense of it. Am I losing my mind? Is that why I’m reliving the same illusion over and over?
But the feeling of his skin beneath his fingers was too vivid.
Not just that. The lukewarm spring breeze, the overly vibrant colors—it was all too real. The intensity of it all choked him.
Looking down into the waves that seemed ready to rise up and devour him, Idren thought of one person.
Ophelia.
The last scene he saw—the door to her room flung open, people rushing inside—
As if something terrible had happened to whoever was within.
Despite the strangeness of everything, dread overwhelmed him.
It was clear now: Ophelia hadn’t been treated well in the palace.
Her maid had blamed her for jumping. Her family acted like it never happened.
The “solution” they came up with… He couldn’t forget the grotesque wooden boards crisscrossing her balcony.
Maybe… someone had actually hurt Ophelia.
That thought made his already racing heart threaten to burst from his chest. He retched again, staring at the churning blue sea.
Again, Idren rode a horse prepared at the dock and raced to the Reden palace. Fenrel, unable to stop his frenzied pace, followed closely behind.
When he arrived, the first thing Idren did was look up at the princess’s room.
Ophelia had definitely been there. He could still remember catching her as she fell.
But now, the balcony doors were shut, as if they had never opened.
That didn’t ease his mind. Dismounting, Idren strode across the palace garden. In the distance, Prince Mahanas came to greet him, visibly surprised.
“You’ve arrived earlier than scheduled. But right now…”
Idren brushed past him without a word and entered the palace. Fenrel called out, alarmed. Even he seemed shocked at the prince’s rudeness.
Idren didn’t care. He headed straight for the corridor where Ophelia’s room was. As he approached, he heard something shatter.
He prayed it wasn’t coming from her room. But things never went his way.
Soon, he saw a crowd gathered in front of the princess’s door.
Some who recognized him said something, but their voices didn’t reach him.
He pushed through maids murmuring and a sobbing handmaiden holding a broken flower basket. Dull crashing sounds came from inside.
Idren hurriedly knocked on the door.
“Ophelia! Are you alright?”
He couldn’t tell what was going on inside, but the sounds were deeply unsettling.
“Please open the door! Ophelia!”
As if hearing him, the door burst open.
A pale, thin hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. Before he could even register the touch, Idren was yanked into the darkness.
The room was shrouded in shadow. Looking around, Idren gasped.
“Are you alright? What is this…?”
It was chaos. The vanity mirror was shattered, a chair beneath it missing a leg. Crushed flower stems were strewn all over the floor.
Then he realized why no light entered the room: the curtain rod above the balcony door had broken, and the fabric now draped over the windows.
In the middle of it all, Ophelia stood, gasping for breath. When she saw him, she marched over.
“You, too… You came back, didn’t you?”
Her voice was hoarse and desperate. Before Idren could answer, she pleaded:
“Do you know why this is happening? Why… Why…?”
Then she lowered her head, covering her face like someone who had suffered great trauma.
Idren reached out to steady her trembling shoulders. That’s when she muttered:
“Why can’t I die…”
It sounded more like something she was saying to herself than to him, but he heard it clearly. A chill ran down his spine. Idren asked in a trembling voice:
“What… what did you just say?”
But Ophelia didn’t seem to hear him. She gripped her face and muttered like a madwoman:
“What is wrong with me… I can’t die… why, why…”
Seeing her like this, Idren realized something.
Nothing had happened to Ophelia.
She had done something.
With shaking hands, he grabbed her shoulders. Normally, he would never touch someone without permission—but this was no time for politeness.
His voice rose in alarm.
“…What did you do?”
