#29. Wipe Your Tears
The moment the words left his mouth, Idren realized how pathetic they sounded.
All this time, he had clung to the kindness Ophelia had shown him. And yet, he dared to speak as if blaming her?
There hadn’t been a single thing wrong in what Ophelia had said.
As always, she was clear and concise. With reason and honesty, she had cut straight through to his most vulnerable parts—sharp and clean, like a blade without unnecessary flourishes, her explanation merely a bonus.
“I don’t know what that day meant to you, but I truly had no hidden intentions.”
…It wasn’t like he didn’t already know that.
But unlike the rational Ophelia, his mouth didn’t listen to his brain. Idren soon found himself saying foolish things.
“If only you had passed me by like everyone else… if you had just laughed at me like the others… then maybe I wouldn’t have…”
Ah, how pitiful that sounded.
He couldn’t finish the sentence and closed his mouth. At this rate, he thought, it might be better if his tongue just turned to stone.
But it wasn’t how he truly felt. Idren had never once wished he’d never met Ophelia.
Even if her presence wounded him, as it did now, that fact remained unchanged.
Still, lies kept spilling from his mouth—because the woman before him was trampling over him far too cruelly.
At the same time, he realized how petty he was acting.
Trying to make her feel guilty by blaming her for his pain? Even a ten-year-old child wouldn’t stoop that low.
Shame flushed his cheeks. Idren turned his head, searching for something to fix his gaze on.
That was when his vision suddenly blurred.
Something wet fell from his eyes with a splatter. Idren froze in surprise. Could it be… was he crying?
He quickly bowed his head and blinked. While he couldn’t claim to be someone who never cried, it was the first time the tears had come so suddenly and without warning.
He wasn’t the only one caught off guard. As he hastily wiped at his wet eyes, Ophelia asked—her hand nearly brushing his nose.
“…Are you crying?”
Then, before he could say a word, she pulled her hand back.
The pale hand that had hovered in front of him quickly withdrew. She hadn’t meant to reach out—her action had been unintentional.
Ophelia pulled her arm back fully and leaned against the seat. Turning her head toward the window, she said coolly,
“Wipe your tears.”
Even now, she acted like a strict instructor. Idren turned away from her and wiped his eyes. Though he knew he’d been out of line, did she really have to be that cold?
Then again, wasn’t that just how Ophelia had always been?
Trying to calm his overheated thoughts, Idren took a deep breath and reminded himself: this was how Ophelia had always been. She was like a woman forged from the north wind and snow.
Knowing she was simply acting the way she always had, Idren tried to suppress his emotions.
Even if he claimed that he’d been made miserable because of her, Ophelia would merely find it pathetic.
He didn’t want to be a spectacle to her.
The reflection of his large hand wiping his face showed clearly in the carriage window. Without thinking, Ophelia groped around her chest, but of course, her outfit had no pocket to hold a handkerchief—it wasn’t even warm, let alone practical.
She furrowed her brow, realizing she had nothing to give him. The unexpected turn of events had caught her off guard.
She thought she was used to seeing people cry—but when tears suddenly spilled from those large golden eyes, she found herself unsure of what to do.
It wasn’t even the first time she had seen him cry. Idren had wept in front of her several times before.
But when she saw the man with that vacant expression letting tears fall, Ophelia couldn’t help but overlap his image with that of a boy from over a decade ago. It didn’t feel like she had made an equal adult cry, but rather like she had reduced a child to tears.
Without thinking, she had reached out—but then hurriedly withdrew her hand. She had just realized moments ago that this entire mess had started with meaningless kindness. She didn’t want to repeat that mistake.
That man is no child.
Staring out the window at the twilight sky, Ophelia reminded herself consciously.
Idren Yggdrasil was the same age as her. A man who had more than she did. He had grown up—his maturity evident in every part of his body.
Yet the discomfort wouldn’t go away. It felt as though she had unjustly bullied someone weaker than her.
She glanced at Idren’s reflection in the window.
He was now facing forward, having wiped away his tears. But his gaze landed just slightly off from where her reflection was.
Ophelia shifted her head a little more, avoiding the faint redness on his face. Without looking at her, he spoke.
“…I said something I shouldn’t have.”
A very adult thing to say. Ophelia felt slightly relieved that he wasn’t acting childishly.
Like most ordinary people, she didn’t want to feel guilt or a sense of debt over something unintentional.
Especially not when she couldn’t even pinpoint what she’d done wrong.
When he acted like an adult, it became easier to settle matters rationally. As she cautiously watched him for signs, Ophelia finally spoke.
“Um…”
But Idren cut her off before she could continue.
“Please don’t say anything.”
He took a deep breath. Ophelia couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad. All she could see from the window was the back of his neck, flushed red.
It would’ve been better if he’d just gotten angry.
The thought came instinctively, but she meant it. Anger, at least, she could deal with. Comforting someone, though? That wasn’t something she knew how to do.
And yet, after asking her not to speak, Idren also said nothing.
Silence fell heavily inside the carriage. For the first time in a while, Ophelia felt suffocated by it.
Thankfully, the carriage came to a halt before she drowned in the stillness.
When the coachman knocked on the door to announce their arrival, Ophelia glanced at Idren’s face, just in case any traces of tears remained.
But the man was surprisingly meticulous. His face was composed, as if nothing had happened.
He stepped out first, then offered her his hand with a calm expression.
His collected manner left her frowning without realizing it. But Idren didn’t tell her to fix her expression.
As he guided her over the flat stone path, he explained,
“This is the castle of Taeran, lord of southern Agllante. We’ll stay here for about three days to regroup and adjust our route.”
His tone was steady, as if nothing had happened in the carriage.
But Ophelia could sense the lingering moisture beneath it. His voice held that slight crack that only someone who’d just cried could have.
It made her feel even more uncomfortable. She replied, eyes lowered,
“Understood.”
“If you want anything, speak up now. It might be difficult to obtain once we’re on the move.”
“Got it.”
“There will be a banquet tonight. You don’t have to attend if you don’t want to.”
Ophelia wondered if he meant she should take the hint and skip it. As she hesitated, he added,
“I know you don’t have a good relationship with the southern lord.”
“…Me?”
“I heard you slapped Taeran not long after we married.”
She tried to recall it, but nothing came to mind.
Even the name Taeran didn’t sound particularly familiar.
Being from southern Agllante, he must’ve been close to Reden, so they might’ve had past dealings—but it still seemed strange. Ophelia furrowed her brow slightly.
Without even turning to look at her, Idren let out a small sigh. Just like when she had forgotten the marriage vow, he seemed to think she’d forgotten something she ought to remember.
“After the incident with you, Taeran was exiled and executed.”
“…Why?”
Idren stopped walking.
He turned to her with a look that seemed to ask if she was seriously asking that question. Ophelia looked into his gold eyes, now completely dry.
He gazed down at her, half his face tinged with twilight, and sighed once more.
“The southern lord was powerful, and you had no reputation to speak of.”
“…”
“I couldn’t risk leaving any embers behind. So I had him killed. Do you understand?”
Before she could answer, he resumed walking. Since he still held her hand, Ophelia had no choice but to follow.
As the golden gates of the castle neared, he whispered in a low voice,
“If you think you might slap Taeran again, skip the banquet. I don’t want to kill another lord just for taking your side.”
