#17. How Do You Feel?
Ophelia remained seated on the bed until the sun had set. She didn’t allow anyone to enter her room, so the wreckage she had caused stayed as it was.
She didn’t eat, nor did she change out of her torn clothes. She just sat there until the darkness settled.
To be honest, she had expected Mahanas to barge in and slap her. Her violent brother had never failed to meet such expectations.
But Mahanas never came, even after hours passed.
She would rather be beaten quickly and get it over with, so when no one showed up even as night fell, Ophelia began to feel irritated.
The marriage was ruined anyway. After what she said, any man in his right mind—especially someone like Ydren Sigurasil—would never marry her.
And the kind of men who could offer similar terms would surely prefer someone else. Objectively speaking, Reden was not an ideal country for forming marriage alliances.
Of course, Mahanas would still be desperate to sell her off and likely find another man from somewhere. But he would never get what he wanted.
No one would willingly buy a broken product.
Ophelia lay down on the bed, half-covered by a crumpled blanket. Staring at the ceiling, she thought about what would happen next.
In a few weeks, creditors would descend upon Reden. The people who had loaned money to the king and prince of Reden were likely running out of patience by now.
Those who had already taken the palace treasures as collateral would soon realize there was not a single gold coin left in the royal treasury. It was inevitable—everything had been used to repay the bridal price.
Ophelia planned to watch the chaos unfold from those overdue debts. She wouldn’t come out of it unscathed either, but that was fine. Pain no longer drained her patience.
Only fatigue did.
Her eyes traced the bedpost holding up the canopy. A part of her wanted to hang herself again. If that could bring an end to this exhaustion, she’d do it gladly.
But she had already failed twice. And without even knowing why. Attempting it a third time without understanding the cause wasn’t an option.
She had thought Ydren Sigurasil might know something, but he still seemed completely clueless.
And yet, he was experiencing the same phenomenon. Maybe they’d have to put their heads together to uncover the truth. But Ophelia didn’t want to face him again.
Ydren had a knack for making people uncomfortable. It was typical of people who were so absorbed in their own emotions that they tried to drag others into them too.
She figured she could think about the time-reversing issue after Reden had collapsed. With her eyes closed, Ophelia sighed softly. Just thinking about those shimmering golden eyes gave her a headache.
That was when someone knocked on the door.
There was a sharp, almost commanding quality in the knock. Still keeping her eyes closed, Ophelia remained silent. The door was barred anyway…
“I know you’re not asleep,” came Ydren’s voice as he rattled the doorknob.
Startled, Ophelia shot up.
“What are you doing?!”
“Open the door. If you don’t, I’ll force it open.”
What the hell was he talking about? Frowning, Ophelia approached the door and asked,
“Are you insane?”
Maybe she was right.
Ydren smirked to himself as he heard her footsteps approach.
But Ophelia had made a fool out of him too many times for him to care anymore. He’d decided to stop caring about how he looked in her eyes. Whether she called him a madman or a fool—it was all the same.
He soon heard the sound of the latch being lifted. The door flung open, revealing Ophelia’s scowling face.
“Do you have no manners at all?” she asked sharply.
“There’s none between us, so let’s not split hairs.”
Without waiting for permission, the man strode into the room.
He moved so naturally that Ophelia forgot to kick him out. As he stood in the middle of the room, surveying the wreckage, she grabbed his wrist.
“Get out. Now.”
“Those shards are sharp enough to hurt if stepped on.”
“I said get out!”
“You do have servants in the palace. Why didn’t you have them clean this up?”
“Ydren Sigurasil!”
Only then did he turn to face her. His bright golden eyes met hers in the dim room. Something about that clear gaze made Ophelia feel strangely uncomfortable.
After a long stare, he asked,
“How do you feel?”
“What?”
“I asked how it feels to be ignored by someone.”
Before she could respond, Ydren picked up the broken leg of a chair. The sharp edge of wood in the large man’s hand made Ophelia flinch slightly.
Ydren pushed the debris toward the wall, then used his foot to sweep the glass shards into a corner.
Ophelia stared at the intruder in disbelief as he calmly cleaned up the mess she had made. She couldn’t understand why he was doing this.
Regardless, Ydren continued tidying the room. He gathered all the sharp fragments into one place and even picked up her fallen shawl and curtain, hanging them over a chair.
Once the room was somewhat navigable, he turned back to her.
“I’ve realized that no matter how much I think about you, you don’t think about me.”
“You come here in the middle of the night just to whine like a child?”
“Is that how I sound to you?”
Ydren’s eyes swept over her. When his gaze fell on her calf, visible through her torn dress, Ophelia suddenly realized she was injured.
The pain followed belatedly, and she frowned.
“Does it hurt?”
“None of your business.”
As if expecting her answer, Ydren pulled a cord beside the broken vanity. A servant soon arrived.
“Bring water, a towel, and some ointment for abrasions,” he ordered.
Ophelia, glaring at the man who acted like the master of her room, said,
“I don’t need any of that.”
Ydren acted as though he hadn’t heard her.
When the servant returned with the supplies, he forced her to sit on the bed—the only piece of furniture still usable.
Setting the tray on the nightstand, he took her leg. Ophelia tried to shake him off, but his hand was immovable, like stone.
He removed her right shoe and placed her foot in the basin. As the water touched her skin, she shoved his shoulders with both hands—and realized he was heavier than he looked.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! I said I don’t need it!”
He said nothing, gently wetting her leg. The cold sensation made her shiver involuntarily. His calloused fingers lightly scrubbed the dried blood. As he looked down at her shin, he asked,
“The water’s cold. Is this what you wash with here?”
Instead of answering, Ophelia grabbed the basin and hurled it.
With a loud thud, the brass basin rolled across the floor, water splashing everywhere—even onto the man kneeling before her.
But Ydren didn’t blink. He didn’t loosen his grip on her leg, nor did he get angry.
Instead, as if nothing had happened, he wiped her leg with a towel, applied ointment to the wound, and wrapped it in clean cloth.
His composure didn’t relieve her frustration—it only made it worse. Ophelia folded her arms, just to keep herself from punching him in the jaw out of impulse.
Once he finished and dried his own chin with the used towel, she asked,
“Do you have no pride?”
Ydren stared at the woman who, to his knowledge, had never shown such open hostility before. She was now glaring at him without hiding her contempt.
Had she ever been so clear about her feelings before? Probably not.
It wasn’t easy being proven wrong by someone every step of the way.
With a bitter smile, he set the towel on the nightstand.
“You’ve always done whatever you wanted.”
And maybe he had come here determined to provoke her tonight. Ydren continued to speak, while Ophelia wondered if she should throw the medicine case at him.
But no matter what she threw, it seemed he wouldn’t even flinch.
As she racked her brain on how to get rid of this uninvited guest, he said,
“Then I’ll do what I want, too.”
Clink. The tray landed softly on the nightstand as he raised his head. His deeply shadowed golden eyes locked onto hers. Whether it was due to the time or the angle, nothing seemed to reflect in them.
And then came the unbelievable words that pierced her ears:
“Tomorrow, I will pay the remaining bridal price to the King of Reden.”
