#26. This Is Just Too Much
Ophelia turned toward the voice calling out to her. A man near the ship was looking around. Realizing that he was the one who had called for her, she approached him and said,
“I am the Princess of Reden.”
The man then asked for her permission and boarded the ship. Only then did Ophelia notice that he was wearing the livery of the Egelbamot Imperial Family. The outer cloak had hidden it from view earlier.
The man, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, bowed deeply as soon as he faced her.
“Greetings, Your Highness. I am Bahamal, servant of His Highness the Second Prince of Egelbamot, Nettefel Luntalis. I have been sent to deliver a letter to the Princess of Reden by my master’s command.”
Nettefel was an old friend of hers. Though they hadn’t kept in close contact, he was one of the very few people she could call a friend in her life.
But in her previous life, she had never received a letter from him at this point in time. Ophelia furrowed her brow.
“Nettefel wrote to me?”
“Yes. In fact, His Highness was traveling south to Reden, but upon hearing that your ship was heading north, he dispatched me.”
“I see.”
As one travels up the canal between Reden and Aglanté, it eventually meets a large river connecting Aglanté and Egelbamot. The servant must have come from that region.
Had Nettefel traveled to Reden during this time in her past life?
Ophelia searched her memory, but nothing came to mind.
Then it struck her — in her previous life, she hadn’t been allowed to leave the Reden royal palace until the carriage from Aglanté arrived.
And she hadn’t had a devoted servant to relay outside news either, so it was entirely possible she simply hadn’t known that Nettefel had come to Reden.
But if he had come to Reden, why hadn’t he visited her? He had always made the effort to see her even when she was in Aglanté.
She didn’t have much time to dwell on it. A shadow fell across her from behind.
“Greetings to the Grand Prince of Aglanté.”
Startled, Ophelia turned. Idren was standing behind her, holding her cloak in one hand.
He frowned slightly and gestured for the servant to leave. The servant, understanding the unspoken command, stepped off the ship.
Ophelia glanced at the man who was now pouting childishly as he approached her. She had something to say to him anyway. She looked around for the table where she had left the candy bag — her piece of evidence.
“You, earlier—”
Before she could finish, Idren pulled off the cloak she was wearing. Ophelia frowned at his give-and-take antics.
Just as she was about to say something, he draped something new over her shoulders — a cloak he had just brought.
“A new coat.”
Then he lightly tapped her furrowed brow with a finger, as if to say, Don’t frown so much.
“If you keep staring at me like that, you’re going to bore a hole through my face.”
Ophelia glared at the man who was apparently worried about something that would never happen — even if she punched him with all her strength.
“Did you just touch my face?”
“We’re engaged, aren’t we? Can’t I touch your face? If you’re unhappy, you can touch mine.”
He even tilted his head slightly toward her as if to offer the opportunity.
Ophelia didn’t touch his face. If she ever did, her hands would be too weak — she’d need a proper tool.
Instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered,
“We’re not married yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Idren raised one brow and replied,
“Strictly speaking, we practically are. Think back to the vows we exchanged.”
Ophelia tried to recall the contents of the wedding vow they had made at Yggdrasil Castle. But none of it came clearly to mind.
She had simply repeated the words told to her, performed the gestures instructed. She might remember a Reden-style marriage vow, but not one composed in Aglanté’s archaic language.
Looking up at the man staring at her with hopeful anticipation, Ophelia quietly confessed,
“I don’t remember.”
“…What?”
“I said I don’t remember it.”
Idren stared at her, lips pressed into a firm line. Ophelia thought he might actually shake her back and forth out of frustration. The expression on his face looked ready to explode.
But surprisingly, he restrained himself. Instead of grabbing her shoulder, he tugged at the cloak draped over it.
“This is just too much.”
Then he pulled the cloak’s ribbon tightly around her neck — a possessive, exaggerated gesture. Ophelia stared at the man who was tying it with far more emotion than necessary. His entire body screamed I’ve been wronged, except for his mouth.
She hadn’t forgotten the vow on purpose, but it was clear she couldn’t afford to leave him sulking when their journey was far from over. She softened her voice and asked,
“So what did the vow say?”
“Never mind. You’ll find out eventually.”
Then why bring it up if he wouldn’t explain it? Ophelia blinked in confusion at his reaction.
Ignoring her, he turned and asked, expression sour,
“Why is Luntalis’s servant here?”
“My friend sent him.”
“…You’re saying he’s your friend?”
Instead of answering, Ophelia stepped off the ship. As she approached, the waiting servant handed her the letter.
“His Highness the Prince hopes you will reply as soon as possible.”
She opened the envelope and immediately understood why Nettefel had said that.
The letter asked whether she could meet him for lunch the next day — before her party went further inland, suggesting they anchor mid-canal and dine together.
It was a suggestion perfectly reasonable between friends. But her schedule was no longer hers alone.
She looked back — just in time to see Idren disembarking as well.
Ophelia held the letter out to the man who had followed her off the boat. He skimmed the contents written in Redenese and asked,
“Are you planning to meet him?”
“If the schedule allows.”
“…And if it doesn’t?”
Ophelia stared at the man clearly preparing to object. They were already moving ahead of schedule — surely they could spare time for one lunch.
Idren, catching her gaze, shook his head. “I’m joking.”
“He might be your only friend. I won’t get in the way. But you’re not going alone.”
The servant, still bowing, quietly added,
“If it’s about safety, you needn’t worry. His Highness the Prince—”
“I did not give you permission to speak.”
Idren cut him off coldly, then turned to her, bowing his head slightly. His star-bright eyes, now shadowed, fixed on her.
He said her name — Ophelia.
“There isn’t a single woman in the world who leaves her fiancé to dine alone with another man.”
“…”
“So make your choice. Go with me — or don’t go at all.”
* * *
That evening, just before sunset, a small boat sailed up the Sahar Canal between Reden and Aglanté.
It soon entered the Manos River, where a large, opulent ship bearing the seal of House Luntalis was anchored.
As the smaller boat neared the royal vessel, a rope ladder made of netting was lowered. Bahamal climbed it.
Once he reached the deck, he realized his master was already there. He bowed deeply.
“I have completed the task, Your Highness.”
Footsteps approached. Recognizing them as his master’s, Bahamal kept his gaze on the ground. A soft, melodic voice spoke.
“Well done. You may raise your head.”
Moved by the kindness in the voice — far too gentle for a mere servant — Bahamal looked up.
A beautiful young man with dazzling blond hair stood before him.
His red eyes, unmistakable as those of a Luntalis, held a calm smile. Bahamal stared at him, almost entranced.
The Luntalis were all beautiful, but his master was different. He had an aura that pulled people in — like a ripe, ruby-red fruit.
“Is there something wrong with my face?”
“I—I apologize!”
Realizing his rudeness, Bahamal quickly bowed again.
After a few earnest apologies, the young man waved a hand dismissively with a benevolent smile. “It’s fine. I just wondered why you were staring.”
“More importantly, what did Ophelia say?”
He used her name like an old friend.
Bahamal hurriedly replied,
“Her Highness the Princess of Reden has accepted your proposal.”
“Really? I’m glad. I’ll get to see her face again after such a long time.”
The young man’s radiant smile seemed bright enough to light the world.
But Bahamal also had news his master wouldn’t be pleased with.
Pained by the thought of spoiling his joy, he added,
“However… she said she will not be coming alone. She’ll be accompanied by her betrothed.”
