The wedding hall I encountered after seeing a harsh landscape for several months was so splendid that I wanted to run away.

As the gazes of the people inside fixed on me, I reflexively felt nauseous.

Idren deliberately avoided looking at any of them and stepped onto the red carpet.

The smell of blood, probably coming from me, mixed with the flower scent and felt nauseating.

At the end of the line of glowing candles was an altar for reciting marriage vows, and in front of it stood a woman with her back to him.

The slender figure visible through the pure white wedding dress and draped fabric sharply pierced his sight.

People began to murmur at the sudden intrusion. Ophelia also seemed to sense the air and slowly turned around.

The moment their eyes met, those pale blue eyes not fully hidden by the thin veil, Idren felt like crying.

Despite having to hold her funeral with his own hands, Ophelia was alive.

Still a beautiful bride. The one who made him hate yet flutter, hurt yet hope.

And ultimately gave him despair, in that very form. Ophelia stood before him.

Feeling overwhelmingly aware that her mere presence overpowered him, Idren unconsciously thought:

Why did I come back?

I shouldn’t have returned. I should have died on that snowy mountain.

Then I wouldn’t be this miserable, wouldn’t be suffocating because of those blue eyes.

What was more ridiculous was that even while thinking this, his body was approaching the woman.

He felt dizzy, his vision blurry. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t breathe properly.

If he collapsed now, it would truly be an unsightly scene. Even amidst this, such thoughts occurred to him and Idren self-deprecated. It seems I want to look good even while thinking death would be better.

Swallowing all sorts of emotions with difficulty, Idren called out the name he had not dared to casually speak.

“…Ophelia.”

The sound that escaped was like a groan even to his own ears. Knowing his voice sounded twice as unpleasant as usual, Idren called out again. Ophelia.

My prayer. While calling your name, I cursed myself.

How did I end up coveting a woman like you?

There were endless resentments I wanted to pour out. But only her name came out of my mouth.

Ophelia. Giving up on controlling himself, Idren lifted her veil with his pathetically trembling hands.

Suddenly, the iron smell from his body felt only hideous.

Once, wanting to know how Ophelia thought of him, he had called out her name to a dry well.

As if doing so would somehow reach the already dead woman with his desperation. As if he could buy her interest, or gaze, or even pity.

That incident, which now felt like the distant past, had now become something that never even happened.

Nevertheless, Idren felt that he was the same then as he was now.

It’s really strange to overlap with a moment that doesn’t even exist, but still…

“What are you doing? Don’t just stand there, proceed with the ceremony quickly.”

Hearing her whispered rebuke, Idren thought her words were right.

But strangely, as if his mouth was glued shut, it wouldn’t open.

Realizing he was broken, Ophelia whispered again. Did you forget? You need to say the vows.

What vows? Staring blankly at the woman frowning at him, Idren belatedly realized.

Right, hadn’t he already promised her many times before Ophelia? In a language already dead, that if love remains, marriage is eternal…

The moment he recalled the end of those words, a chill ran down his spine.

Only upon feeling that coldness did Idren realize he had almost stupidly stepped into the swamp again.

After going all the way to the northern mountains and denying it as love several times, it was an absurdly easy fall.

Moreover, even if this was love.

Even if it was right for love to corner him like this and not flow as he wished.

He no longer had the confidence to spend his life hanging from a rope.

He didn’t want to be sad and hurt alone anymore. Now Idren thought that if he couldn’t be loved, he wished Ophelia would at least hurt like him.

At least if she had hurt because of it, if he could have confirmed that he meant something to her even in that way, he might not have felt this miserable.

He self-deprecated. What use is a wedding anyway?

Ophelia would just chop me with an axe while blinking those kind-looking eyes.

Rather than making the same mistake, it seemed better to do some other crazy thing. If he was going to be a madman anyway, then rather.

Before the thought even finished, Idren grabbed Ophelia’s hand. The cool and soft hand he had once hesitated to even touch was easily grasped, unlike its owner’s heart.

Holding her hand, Idren passed right by the altar and headed out of the wedding hall. Being pulled along, Ophelia rebuked in a sharp voice.

“What are you doing right now!”

As she was practically dragged out of the hall by the man’s hand, Ophelia frowned.

Even though she had tried to proceed without issue by changing the order, Idren had come in only to call her name and was now ruining everything.

Idren only let her go when they reached an empty corridor.

Then he immediately turned around, and Ophelia instinctively backed up against the wall.

The coldness of stone transmitted through the tapestry hanging on the wall. The man’s yellow eyes, looking down at her silently, were darkly sunken.

Ophelia furrowed her brow as she looked at him. Strange.

“You, with what feelings did I…”

This person has never looked at me with eyes like this before.

It was then that the man’s body collapsed forward. Reflexively embracing him, Ophelia was shocked to realize how warm, no, hot the other person was.

They said it was overwork.

People didn’t give her a clear explanation about Idren’s condition. Ophelia tried to understand it.

Right, he’s a king without an heir and the only living royal. It makes sense. Fortunately, it was a logical enough explanation to have some effect.

“I apologize. We cannot break protocol…”

Salode, uncharacteristically making excuses, tried to add. But within the allowed range, we’ll do our best… Ophelia waved her hand before he could continue his self-complicating words. No, follow the procedure.

Those words were clearly sincere, but why wouldn’t her irritation subside?

Ophelia tried not to think about why she was feeling this way.

Her head already felt like it would burst, and she didn’t want to admit she was worrying about a man who didn’t know the slightest bit of consideration.

If she could, she wanted to scream. Why on earth!

Idren was full of incomprehensible things.

Not discussing anything with her, not even showing his face, and committing all sorts of acts. Openly ignoring her.

And yet, whatever was so hard for him alone, he collapsed as soon as he arrived.

This was the first time in their years of marriage. Being sick was always her role. Whether mentally or physically.

Penrel approached her as she paced back and forth in the side room attached to the bridal chamber.

Since Idren began acting alone, the knight was mainly the one who came to soothe her whenever she got angry.

Ophelia planned to mention that to Idren when he woke up as well. See, you’re making an innocent person suffer because of you!

“Um, he’s usually a very robust person, but it seems he overexerted himself trying to keep to the schedule.”

Seeing that was the first thing he said upon approaching, it seemed he was concerned she might think her newly wedded husband was weak.

“I see.”

“He’ll regain his strength soon, so you don’t need to worry too much…”

Ophelia spoke without listening to the end of the man’s words.

“I’m not worried at all.”

Worry?

Of course, she had worried about Idren a lot until now, but Ophelia didn’t want to do so at this moment.

It was because she didn’t want to reveal that she was biased enough towards him to pretend not to know all his clear wrongdoings.

To hide her thoroughly skewed standards, she lifted her chin slightly.

“As you said, he’s a robust person, so why would I worry?”

But for someone saying that, you look quite anxious…

However, Penrel did not voice his honest impression.

It occurred to him that rather than worry, she might be angry.

And she had reason to be angry.

People usually don’t get married multiple times in life, so this should be a precious, one-of-a-kind memory, but not only was it openly ruined, the cause was her husband.

Your Majesty, why did you do this… Penrel inwardly exclaimed towards the one who couldn’t answer.

Their king might be hated for life from now on. They say if you make a mistake on your wedding day, it’s remembered for life…

Thinking that venting her anger at someone might relieve her emotions a little, Penrel waited in front of her for a moment.

It was loyalty he had managed to come up with after racking his brains.

But the woman did not get angry at him.

Penrel glanced at her as she stirred around the room looking furious yet not losing her temper at him, and finally quietly left.

It seemed there was nothing else he could do.

Now it was all up to the king.