#35. Aren’t I Quite Lucky?
Before he could even grasp the situation, an arrowhead lodged itself in his leg. Burning pain shot through him, and Taeran screamed, clutching his leg.
Startled by its master’s loud cry, the horse reared and threw him to the ground. Taeran tumbled onto the dirt, blinking through the pain. He saw the king approaching, descending from his horse.
Taeran instinctively crawled away the moment he saw the young man holding a dagger. It was a survival reflex.
But the king’s boot found his back faster than he could gain distance. The hard riding boot pressed down on his soaked back, soaked from fear and pain.
The king placed a foot on his back and gripped Taeran’s neck. Leaning down, he whispered softly:
“To think I can cut off your hands and silence your mouth before they reach Ophelia. I must be very lucky.”
But Idren knew it was already too late for those words.
In his previous life, Taeran Rohos’s hands and mouth had already reached Ophelia. And Idren had killed him too easily, unaware of that fact.
It was already rare for him to be in her good graces, and yet this pathetic man had made him do something foolish. Irritation bubbled up inside him.
As Idren hesitated, thinking of what to do with the man in a way that would meet Ophelia’s standards, Taeran stammered desperately:
“If you do this to me, Prince Mahanas won’t stay quiet.”
“Mahanas?”
Idren tilted his head. Realizing the king had reacted to Prince Reden’s name, Taeran hurriedly nodded.
The young man looked down at him for a moment, then said with a slight tilt of his head:
“Did you know? Ophelia hates that prince.”
Then, as if declaring he would not allow even a twitch of movement, the king shifted his posture. A firm knee pressed hard into Taeran’s back.
Even from his shadowed face, the gleaming golden eyes flashed. Taeran could see vivid rage in that smile.
Still holding his neck, the king said:
“And one more thing — I think she hates you too.”
A gloved hand slowly slid down Taeran’s shoulder and arm. The light touch sent a chill down his spine. The king continued in a melodious, almost cheerful tone:
“I once heard that a marriage goes smoothly when your spouse shares your tastes.”
He whispered, “Ophelia dislikes you. And I’m not that fond of you either. Isn’t that fortunate?”
Even amidst the fear of death, his voice sounded disarmingly gentle.
Then the king snapped his thumb backward. The cracking of bone made Taeran scream in agony. The king coldly turned the dagger in his hand, a motion used to prep a kill — something Taeran recognized as the way one would prepare a hunted animal.
As Taeran thrashed in despair, the king grabbed the back of his head and slammed his terrified face into the dirt. The forest finally fell silent.
✦ ✦ ✦
Netepel, seemingly glad to see his old friend again, talked nonstop during the entire meal.
Ophelia was used to this behavior. He had often been like this in her past life too. Whenever they ate together, conversation always took precedence over food.
Luckily, Netepel was the one driving the conversation this time as well.
Ophelia only gave minimal responses, picking at her food. Even so, Netepel continued reminiscing about their childhood.
“Does the food not suit your taste?” he asked.
“No, the food’s fine. I just ate not long ago.”
Still, Ophelia found this social interaction tiring. Netepel was a longtime friend, and she knew she ought to be kind to him — but she had long forgotten how to be gentle with others.
If it had been Idren in front of her, she would have just done as she pleased. The thought came to her out of nowhere.
Though not exactly close, Idren was consistent no matter how she acted. Even when she smashed objects or flung basins, he never said a word.
As she thought about whether that was neglect or tolerance, her gaze fell to the plate. Neatly sliced southern fruits were arranged there.
It was then that Netepel asked again:
“What are you thinking about?”
“…Nothing special.”
“I thought your fiancé was coming with you today.”
“He had something to take care of. Told me to go alone.”
Netepel tilted his head. Golden hair shimmered and slid down over his shoulder.
Watching him, Ophelia thought that his long hair suited him well. His soft, graceful features matched it.
With a tilted gaze, Netepel asked:
“Are you tired?”
“Not very. Just a little.”
Even though she’d slept well, she was still weary. She recognized this fatigue as part of herself. It had been embedded in her since her previous life.
Her nose stung faintly. Setting down her utensils, Ophelia let out a small yawn. Netepel offered a suggestion.
“Then let’s stop eating and go see a play?”
“A play?”
“Yeah, a shadow play. We’ve prepared one.”
“You can sit in a comfy chair while watching it — good for rest,” he added with a bright smile.
Ophelia stared quietly at his pale, beautiful face, then nodded. Alright.
The play was set up at the back of the ship. Netepel guided her into a small tent. Made of thick fabric, it was designed to clearly display the shadow performance.
Only one attendant entered with them, due to the cramped space.
Inside, Ophelia sat on a large, plush chair. Just as Netepel had promised, it was comfortable.
Netepel sat beside her and gestured to the attendant, who brought a soft silk blanket. Taking it, Netepel gently draped it over her.
As Ophelia played with the soft fabric on her lap, she remembered the man’s coat that had wrapped around her shoulders yesterday. The blanket was softer, but colder.
Soon, soft music began and the play commenced.
It started in a small village.
There, a cursed boy lived, and only one girl was kind to him.
The villagers warned the girl not to associate with the boy. She ignored them, and they threw stones at her.
Unable to bear seeing his only friend suffer because of him, the boy left the village in secret one night.
He crossed rivers filled with stones, climbed mountains ablaze with fire, and flew through skies frozen in ice.
At the end of his journey, the curse was broken, and he gained treasure and talent in return for his trials.
Now grown and magnificent, the boy returned to the village to find the girl — his only friend.
But the village had been taken over by a black dragon.
The dragon exploited the people, demanding sacrifices. The girl, poor then and now, was chosen as a sacrifice.
Hearing this, the boy rushed to rescue her. The skills he had gained aided him on his quest.
After defeating the black dragon, the boy confessed his love to the girl.
As the black silhouette knelt on the small stage, Netepel leaned toward Ophelia’s shoulder and whispered:
“I wanted to show you a shadow play.”
Ophelia remembered that he had often said similar things in her past life. Every time he gave her something, he said it was because he wanted to do it for her.
She appreciated the sentiment, though it had become a bit worn with repetition. Without taking her eyes off the stage, she nodded slightly. Netepel smiled faintly and added:
“It’s not just a line. Ever since you told me Hasslen once showed you a play…”
Then he stopped. He must have remembered that the person with that name was no longer alive.
As the girl joyfully accepted the boy’s proposal on stage, Ophelia recalled those now-distant days.
From the time he was a young boy, Hasslen would always send her white shoes and a blue dress on her birthday. She would wear them to visit him.
And Hasslen would give her a special experience — something she could remember.
One of those was a shadow play.
Ophelia furrowed her brow slightly, trying to recall its contents. At that moment, Netepel spoke again:
“…I heard Hasslen died. I mentioned it in a letter, but still… it’s so sad.”
Ophelia was reminded that, in Netepel’s timeline, Hasslen’s death was still recent.
Though her memories with Hasslen were precious, his death had been long ago for her. The man who had kissed her, held her hand, and shared a bed with her was not Hasslen.
She hadn’t taken the Osmanthus Oath, but she had spoken wedding vows at the Northern Fortress instead.
Most likely, she would again in this life.
It was so natural to her that she felt a bit startled when Netepel mentioned it — it had been a long time since someone had spoken of that loss so vividly.
Of course, Hasslen’s death had been one of the greatest tragedies in her life.
But the overwhelming sorrow that once consumed her had now settled. What had driven her forward instead was vengeance and rage.
To the current Netepel, the most intense three years of her life had been erased.
As Ophelia reflected on the differences between her future friend and the person before her now, Netepel suddenly said:
“…I heard you’re engaged.”
Internally, Ophelia added, I even got married.
But the words never left her lips. And then, her unfamiliar yet long-lost friend said something he had never once said in her past life:
“If you want… I’ll help you run away.”
