#44. The Right to Ask for Love
Then, Idren looked up at her.
The moment those bright yellow eyes met hers, Ophelia instinctively turned her head away. It was because she remembered how he had reacted the last time she apologized.
She wasn’t embarrassed, but being teased wasn’t particularly pleasant either.
Idren watched the woman who always turned her face away when saying unfamiliar things.
Her lips, visible from the side, were subtly stiff. That awkward tension, filled with unease and unfamiliarity, was evidence that their relationship was progressing.
So then—
“When Her Highness the Princess was not doing well in the palace, he was the only one who comforted her.”
To that extent—
“When her fiancé was imprisoned by Prince Mahanas, she pleaded for him, and after his execution, she was deeply heartbroken.”
—Shouldn’t it be something he could ignore?
After all, Ophelia’s former fiancé was dead.
In her previous life, Ophelia had never once mentioned the deceased man.
If she had truly loved him, she would have resented Idren for taking the place of her dead lover. The fact that she hadn’t, and that she remained indifferent, was practically proof that the ex-fiancé didn’t matter in their current relationship.
Even so, that tender voice lingered in his memory.
“Come to think of it, I’ve felt that kind of emotion before too.”
On the day she first apologized to him, Ophelia had said that.
Knowing that she had a memory precious enough to make her reflect on her own actions, Idren still didn’t know who had given her that memory.
Truthfully, he didn’t know much about Ophelia at all.
From her preferences to her personality, Idren only knew what he had seen and what others had told him. Among all the information he had, nothing had come directly from Ophelia herself.
And that made him feel a bit ashamed. How could he still feel anxious, even at this moment when everything was going well?
Yet, he couldn’t even bring himself to ask her directly.
Idren already knew he wouldn’t say anything. Just like the day she leaned on him, just like the day he silently held the hand extended over her delicate shoulder—he would remain silent.
There was no helping it. Idren couldn’t bear to face the truth.
Just imagining Ophelia loving someone else as deeply as he loved her made him feel like he was choking. That’s how hopelessly deep his feelings were.
What made it worse was that—even if Ophelia did love someone else—he had no right to stop her.
Her heart was hers alone. She had no obligation to love him.
Some might say that since they were married, he had a right to her heart.
But Idren couldn’t bring himself to voice such a hopeful claim.
Maybe if theirs was a love marriage, it might be a different story. But he knew exactly how their marriage had come about. He had heard Prince Mahanas’s words, then hurriedly arranged everything to bring her to him.
That was the only way he could marry Ophelia—and it was a way that never considered her opinion at all.
What right did he have to demand love from her?
When he followed that train of thought to its end, Idren concluded that if Ophelia had to love someone, it might as well be a dead man.
After all, in both her past life and this one, he was still her husband.
Besides, it wasn’t even certain whether she truly loved that man.
If that was the case, there was no need to stir up uncomfortable truths.
With that conclusion, Idren swallowed his words. He turned to the woman who had turned her head again and responded.
“Yes, I understand.”
The words, spoken as calmly as possible, seemed to ease her expression slightly.
✦✦✦
Mahanas Mebasa cherished the royal palace’s gardens.
It was a garden filled with all sorts of extravagant flowers and trees. It boasted flora not only from all over Reden, but also from the nearby archipelagos and even Egelbamoth.
Enjoying the plants he had so meticulously gathered was one of his refined hobbies. Unlike money or land, flowers bloomed and withered quickly. Their transient nature made them more valuable than anything else.
True nobility, in his mind, was measured by how lavishly one could consume the ephemeral. At least, that was what Mahanas believed.
Until now, he had needed to make some effort to maintain that nobility. But not anymore—because the Prince of Aglanté had taken his sister as his bride.
Though the young prince’s attitude when leaving the palace had been oddly cold, it wasn’t a serious issue.
As long as Aglanté was in love with Ophelia, the prince was as good as in his hands. And Ophelia was firmly in his hands.
Of course, it was true that Ophelia had been acting a little strangely lately.
From birth, she had always been sensitive and lacked refined taste. Over one dead lowlife, she had acted as though she’d lost the entire world.
But surely she’d come to her senses soon enough.
If she couldn’t collect herself alone, then help from those around her would do. Mahanas knew many “friends” who would be happy to help discipline his foolish sister properly.
His original choice, Taeran, had recently died suddenly, but there were plenty of others willing to step in.
He had even sent loyal servants along with the wedding procession.
Ophelia ought to be truly thankful she had been born pretty.
Walking among the fragrant foreign flowers, Mahanas strengthened a thought he’d held for a long time. If she hadn’t been so beautiful, the Prince of Aglanté wouldn’t have rushed in without a second thought.
It really was a waste to hand someone like her over to Netepel Luntalis.
“Choose me instead of the Prince. I can pay as much as he did—no, even more.”
That was what the second prince of Egelbamoth had said when marriage talks were still ongoing.
But if one considered why that prince was even in Reden, it was clear he was severely unfit as a royal son-in-law.
Netepel Luntalis had come as an errand boy for his half-brother, Crown Prince Orion. Like a servant.
Orion, the crown prince of Egelbamoth, would cultivate a rare flower called dalhia that withered quickly, dry it, and then share it with his noble friends.
He would then sell what remained to a select few royals and aristocrats—and Mahanas was proud to be one of those few.
The crown prince always appointed his half-brother to deliver the tea, never his own attendant. That alone was a disgrace, but the second prince never once resisted and obeyed every order.
So how could Reden’s precious princess be sold to someone like that?
The offer of more money was tempting, but Mahanas knew how to take the long view.
The money Netepel offered was probably everything he could possibly scrape together.
But for the Prince of Aglanté, that same amount wouldn’t even be a burden. If he wanted to, he could easily pay twice as much.
So even if the dowry was a bit less, it was better to marry her into royalty.
Still, Mahanas didn’t want to lose the benefits of staying on good terms with Netepel. So he pretended to weigh his options to the end—then took the prince’s hand. That’s how a clever man lived.
Not clinging to trivial things like his sister did.
Honestly, apart from her looks, she didn’t resemble Reden royalty at all.
Well, at least she was born a woman, Mahanas thought, brushing the crimson petals like steeped tea. There were plenty of men who would pay just to have that face.
The second prince of Egelbamoth clearly hadn’t given up on Ophelia.
This time too, the young man who delivered Crown Prince Orion’s tea wore a look full of wounds and resentment. Even after receiving everything he asked for, he still felt betrayed that Ophelia had been given to Aglanté.
And yet, he couldn’t raise his voice. Instead, after hesitating briefly with the tea box in hand, he asked in a gentle voice:
“Why did you accept the Prince of Aglanté’s proposal?”
It was such an innocent question that Mahanas nearly burst out laughing. He found it absurd that anyone would ask something so obvious.
So, with a voice laced in mockery, he replied:
“Surely… you’re not asking because you truly don’t know?”
At that, the young man’s jaw clenched.
But no matter how displeased he was, there was nothing the prince could do. His sister would soon become Queen of Aglanté. No one could stop her now.
Even Netepel continued to remain polite.
“Yes, I may lack many things. But surely, I must have at least one redeeming quality.”
So Mahanas kindly told the clueless prince:
“The Prince of Aglanté has a country. Isn’t it more honorable to have a queen of a great kingdom as your sister than a concubine of a prince barely considered royal?”
The second prince seemed to understand. He didn’t bother Mahanas any further. As the young man rose to leave, Mahanas called out:
“If Your Highness had been next in line for the throne, perhaps things would be different—but you’re not.”
The prince—who had no chance of ever claiming the throne—paused at those words, then finally nodded.
“That’s true.”
And he murmured:
“Unless God intervenes, the throne will be my brother’s.”
In this age when the gods were dead, what could better express impossibility?
Recalling the prince who had indirectly admitted he would never inherit the throne, Mahanas plucked the flower he was holding. The vibrant red blossom, still unwilted, fell to the ground.
