#41. What You Like
The prince’s claim that he cherished his younger sister was a lie.
Though the palace staff had clearly been strictly instructed, and they mechanically repeated, “Her Highness the Princess grew up dearly loved,” the hobbies they claimed she enjoyed varied too wildly. Fenrel doubted whether any of the stories—flower arranging, painting, embroidery—were even true.
And that wasn’t the only disturbing thing.
There were no portraits documenting the princess’s growth. Only a few official records existed, showing her in formal attire with a composed expression.
If she had truly been adored, surely someone would have wanted to capture her changing years. The lack of such records was suspicious.
And if there were no portraits, of course there would be no other traces left in the palace either.
All the luxurious gardens in the palace were for Mahanas. In front of others, they’d lie and say they were the princess’s, but every flower the gardeners could recite in detail were ones the prince favored.
Fenrel discreetly handed a gold coin to one of the servants and asked where the princess usually took walks. The answer? The field behind the palace.
The field was green and had tall trees, but that was it. Far too rough for a noble princess to walk through.
Fenrel tried to dig further, but none of the servants were willing to speak in depth about their masters. Many were greedy enough to take money, but none of them offered any real information.
From their consistent reluctance, Fenrel realized they were being tightly controlled—likely with their lives held hostage. After all, life is the one thing people value more than money.
So Fenrel left the palace to seek information elsewhere. However, people picked up on his accent—he had grown up in northern Aglante and had a strong pronunciation—and were hesitant to talk.
After many failed attempts, Fenrel finally found someone willing to speak at a tavern where he’d gone undercover. An elderly man, quite aged, agreed to talk when offered gold and led him to his home.
At the man’s house, Fenrel gave him a coin for every new piece of information he shared. The old man eagerly grabbed each coin with his wrinkled hands.
Toward the end of their conversation, the man said:
“Actually, Her Highness had a fiancé once.”
Fenrel paused, not setting another coin on the table.
Among royalty, it was common to go through multiple engagements and breakups before marriage. Since marriages were difficult to undo, families took their time securing the best possible match.
But the old man held out his hand again and said:
“It wasn’t just any engagement. The princess… truly loved the man.”
“Tarnishing the royal family’s name with rumors is a grave offense.”
“Unearthing the truths they buried is an even graver one. That’s why I brought you to my home, isn’t it?”
And once again, the man held out his hand. Fenrel reluctantly placed another coin in it.
What followed was a wistful recollection, a romantic tale.
A young boy who saved a girl rejected by her own family. The two of them walking hand in hand through the capital on special occasions. A noble heir who prepared something new every year for the princess’s birthday, since she could rarely leave the palace—his story spilled from the old man’s weathered lips.
But over time, the boy’s family declined. Coincidentally—or perhaps not—he made the grave mistake of offending the princess’s brother.
In the end, the young man was executed, and for the sake of preserving the princess’s honor, the matter was covered up.
“There were rumors that the princess even knelt to save him. But as with most rumors involving royalty, only the gods know the truth.”
A woman doesn’t sacrifice if she’s not in love, wouldn’t you agree?
Hearing that, Fenrel stood. The old man followed him to the front door.
Just before crossing the threshold, Fenrel turned around. The old man, his face deeply etched with time, stood silently behind him.
Fenrel asked, “Why are you speaking about this now, when everyone else avoids the topic?”
The old man held up the gold coins.
“Gold is valuable. But when you owe your life to someone once… it looks even more precious.”
Before Fenrel could ask what he meant, the old man ushered him out and shut the door behind him. As it closed, Fenrel suddenly remembered that the dead man’s family had once run charities for the poor.
After that, Fenrel never found any more information about the princess’s late fiancé.
But that wasn’t what mattered.
Fenrel had no confusion about what the king had tasked him to discover.
And he had plenty to say about it.
Mounting his horse, Fenrel bowed once again to the prince, who watched him with his usual arrogant expression. Then, facing the softened light of spring, he spurred his horse forward.
Just as Prince Reden had instructed, he intended to report everything to the king.
* * *
Since leaving the Lojos estate and heading north, all the lords they met were friendly.
Ophelia neither engaged in conversations nor tried to recall anything. Idren also didn’t ask much of her.
He handled the older nobles well enough on his own. When he spoke to others, he acted nothing like he did in front of her.
He didn’t argue like a child, didn’t sulk or act wounded. His demeanor was smooth and refined—just as she had originally known him: a husband who was neither kind nor cruel.
Finally, as they crossed into the central region, Idren asked inside the carriage:
“Before we reach Edegrun, shall we have some clothes made for you?”
Ophelia, still looking out at the blue vineyards beyond the window, replied:
“Clothes?”
“As you know, Edegrun is cold. Your current wardrobe won’t be warm enough there.”
It was true that Edegrun was cold and her clothes weren’t thick. Ophelia nodded.
“Do as you wish.”
That should’ve been enough to take as agreement—but of course, he clung to her words.
“You’ll be wearing them, not me. Shouldn’t it be your choice?”
Ophelia didn’t say aloud that every time he got sensitive like this, she questioned her efforts to get along.
But during their journey together, she had learned a few things about dealing with him.
When he got prickly like this, it was best to just go along with it. So she nodded again.
“Alright.”
Even then, the man full of complaints grumbled,
“I don’t know what you like.”
But in truth, she didn’t know what she liked either.
As she gazed down at the unripe fields, Ophelia wondered why he always asked questions she couldn’t answer.
When they arrived at the castle, there was a steward in place instead of the lord.
Ophelia glanced at her fiancé. Sensing her gaze, he explained,
“This is royal property.”
It’s a hereditary estate passed down to royal family members. This generation, it belongs to me.
Hearing that, Ophelia was reminded—Idren had killed his own kin to ascend the throne. It was a fact she’d forgotten since he hadn’t so much as laid a hand on anyone in her presence.
The Aglante royals had deserved to die. She recalled the prince’s family—the ones she’d seen looked very much like Mahanas.
People like them drew bloodshed wherever they went.
As Idren led her into the castle, he said,
“Soon, a procession will arrive from Reden.”
Ophelia didn’t understand right away, so he clarified,
“We left in haste and couldn’t bring everything. Prince Mahanas is sending the rest.”
Come to think of it, in her past life too, she had brought many things when arriving in Aglante.
Most of them had been useless.
As she walked, hand held by her companion, Ophelia muttered,
“Such a pointless gesture.”
Any servants would surely be loyal to Mahanas, and any goods would be inferior to what Edegrun could offer.
Idren agreed.
“I have no intention of letting you use anything he sends.”
“…”
“If you dislike anyone, dismiss them immediately. I’ll make sure Mahanas has no say.”
It wasn’t something that needed such a decisive tone, but Ophelia let him be. Over the past few days, she’d noticed Idren seemed to like doing things for her.
She didn’t understand why, but she decided to go along with it. After all, you don’t need to fully understand someone to be considerate of them—and she was generally generous to her friends.
Idren wasn’t quite a friend yet.
But since she had decided to at least try to see him as one, she figured this much wasn’t too hard. Feeling the warmth from his hand, Ophelia silently reminded herself:
The setting sun coming through the castle’s open window cast a rosy glow over them both.
