#27. What Does It Matter
“By fiancé, do you mean the Crown Prince of Aglante?”
“Yes.”
At that, his master looked up at the air and sighed. Ah…
“So he… became Ophelia’s fiancé.”
Noticing the faint trace of shock in the young man’s voice, Bahamal quickly added,
“Her Highness the Princess clearly seemed like she wanted to come alone. But the Crown Prince who was with her…”
“Shh, Bahamal. Show respect. He’s the Crown Prince of Aglante.”
Then the young man murmured in a sorrowful voice, “Unlike me… he is a king with a country.”
Bahamal watched as the beautiful youth leaned weakly against the ship’s railing. The twilight sun spilled behind his back, making the moment even more poignant.
And Bahamal began to feel hostility toward the Crown Prince who had brought such sorrow to his master.
It had been nearly ten years since his master had fallen for the Princess of Reden, his childhood friend.
Bahamal knew how much effort his master had put in to make her his bride. Though his master rarely showed his true feelings to others, he had trusted Bahamal enough to let him in.
And yet… this was how it ended?
Unable to hold back his sense of injustice, Bahamal blurted,
“How could the Prince of Reden do this? After all the effort Your Highness has made…”
“You can’t blame the prince. I just wasn’t enough.”
Then the young man added softly, “It’s no wonder he didn’t like me. I’m illegitimate, and…”
“The Crown Prince of Aglante is also born of a concubine.”
“But he has a country of his own.”
The young man furrowed his brow. Bahamal could read the pain in those beautiful eyes. He rushed to his master’s side. The closer he got, the more vivid the sorrow became.
Kneeling before him, Bahamal looked up at his master with reverence, as though before a divine figure, and began to comfort him.
“Your Highness, please do not grieve. The Prince of Reden has clearly made the wrong choice. You are no less than the Crown Prince.”
The young man looked down at him with sadness and placed a hand on his head.
“No, Bahamal. I am less than him.”
Because he knew how much pain lay behind those words, Bahamal lowered his head and sobbed. His master gently stroked his head.
That gesture felt so sacred that Bahamal couldn’t contain his emotions.
Netephel Runtalis laid his hand on his follower’s head and looked up at the sky. The sun-drenched twilight had turned the heavens red.
Looking up at the red and blue sky, he murmured,
“At least for now… I am less than him.”
Though his words were cold, devoid of the earlier wistfulness, Bahamal, lost in tears, did not hear them.
* * *
Inside the carriage heading toward a nearby lord’s castle, Idren looked at Ophelia, seated across from him. She was leaning her chin against her hand, gazing out the window. Her blue eyes, tinged with golden sunlight, blinked rhythmically.
As he looked at her twilight-lit cheeks, Idren recalled what had happened before they boarded the carriage.
“So choose. Whether you will come with me or not.”
To be honest, Idren had expected Ophelia not to like his words.
Before time rewound, during their three years of marriage, Netephel Runtalis had always been a frequent guest of Ophelia’s.
Even though Idren knew that the young, unmarried prince often visited Sigrazil Castle and his wife’s villa, he had never said a word.
First, he lacked the courage to meddle in Ophelia’s relationships. Second, he knew full well there was nothing romantic between them.
Though Idren had never personally spoken to the prince, Ophelia had spent years seeing him.
Idren, unloved by his wife, was still in a position to recognize if she ever fell for someone else.
But Ophelia’s blue eyes had always remained serene. Even up to the moment before her death.
Someone in love wouldn’t look like that. That was something he had come to realize from looking in the mirror every day.
Even so, Idren had inserted himself between Ophelia and the Second Prince of Egelbamot out of pure selfishness.
In his past life, he had always disliked Netephel’s visits. Even though he knew there was nothing romantic, he still couldn’t accept it.
He didn’t want to repeat that jealousy in this second chance. So he acted selfishly.
But contrary to his expectations, Ophelia accepted his offer without resistance.
“What’s there to choose about?”
She had said in an indifferent tone, and before he could respond, she gave an order to the prince’s attendant.
“Go tell your master that my fiancé will accompany me.”
It would be a lie to say that didn’t affect him.
Even though he knew there was no emotion behind her calling him “fiancé,” Idren felt a small joy at the word. The fact that she dismissed his proposal as trivial didn’t bother him one bit.
Ophelia glanced sideways at the man smiling like a fool.
Unlike him, who looked completely at ease, her mind was in turmoil. If Netephel had also come to Reden in her previous life, why hadn’t he come to see her?
She had known him for a long time. Every year, Runtalis, Sigrazil, and Mevasa gathered for a summit at Egelbamot, and that’s where they met.
Though a prince, Netephel was not born of the Empress and was constantly bullied by his siblings.
His older half-brother, the Crown Prince of Egelbamot, led the bullying. The sisters merely watched.
So Netephel was always alone. And so was she.
Ophelia remembered how timid she was as a child. Until she met Haslen, she barely knew how to talk to others. No one at the palace would talk to her.
So it was only natural that the two misfit children clung to one another.
Of course, Mahanas didn’t like that she played with Netephel. If she had to socialize, he insisted she befriend Egelbamot’s princesses or Aglante’s princes.
But Ophelia didn’t want to do as he asked. The princesses didn’t suit her, and the princes were like mini-Mahanases.
They laughed while using vulgar language and trampled the weak without remorse.
So Ophelia secretly spent time with Netephel. Since children’s and adults’ meetings were strictly separated at the summits, Mahanas never realized.
Of course, on their way back to Reden, once he got a report from her assigned attendant, he would erupt in anger.
Ophelia feared that, but she couldn’t bring herself to ignore Netephel.
The lonely boy, always hunched over and unable to fit in, was like a mirror of herself. They were both wounded in the same place, always drifting, never understood.
Time passed, and Haslen entered her life. Her first fiancé taught her gentleness. Through him, she began to hope that she might escape from the grips of Mahanas and Dareth.
Though she later realized that hope alone wasn’t enough, at the time, it kept her going.
Even then, Netephel remained alone.
She began to grow tired of the summits, especially since she could no longer see Haslen there. But Netephel lived all year just waiting for those meetings.
When she realized that they valued their friendship very differently, Ophelia felt guilt.
Back then, even the slightest emotional wound brought her pain. Now, she could watch someone die without shedding a tear—but not then.
Eventually, Netephel noticed the change before she could even hide it.
* * *
One summer, when they were twelve, the boy sat in the field where they always met in secret and asked her,
“Am I the problem?”
Though it was phrased as a question, there was certainty in his voice.
“Everyone has someone… but not me. My family hates me. They say they’d be happier if I didn’t exist.”
The boy lowered his gaze and mumbled,
“So many people can’t all be wrong, can they…”
Ophelia tried to comfort him. “It’s not your fault.” But even if she believed that, she had no idea how to prove it.
When she said that, Netephel turned to her with red eyes and asked,
“If I’m not the problem, then why am I the only one alone?”
“You’re not alone, you—”
“You don’t need to comfort me, Ophelia. I’m glad you got engaged.”
“Because I knew it. Unlike me, you were never the problem.”
Then Netephel stood and left her behind in the field.
That night, Ophelia never saw him at the banquet.
People said he had finally taken the hint and disappeared. That he never belonged there to begin with. That things were finally clean again.
