As Odessa brushed back Princess Ophelia's hair, preparing her for the day, she took her time to straighten the soft locks in her hand.
"Lady Ophelia," Miss Odessa called.
"Hmm?" Ophelia replied, her voice short and dismissive.
Her eyes lingered on the dagger in its scabbard, the light green scabbard encasing a sharp dragon-designed dagger. She ran her fingertips across the delicate object, feeling the intricate design.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Odessa asked.
"The worst I've seen," Ophelia replied, unable to hide her disgust. "Who sends a dagger as a bride's gift?"
For the past two months, she had heard nothing but marriage. The closer the day of the event drew, the more suffocated she felt.
"Especially marriage to a foreign man," she added.
"Well, it's a traditional symbol of protection and loyalty," Odessa replied. "The dragon design is very important and noble."
Odessa tried her best to cheer Ophelia up, but the mere thought of her situation made Ophelia's stomach churn.
She turned to face Odessa, her big, bright blue eyes filled with stubbornness and bitterness.
"Miss Odessa, how can you even appreciate such a thing? What do you expect me to do with this?" Ophelia asked, pointing at the dagger.
"Haha," Miss Odessa laughed. "At least it has some use. It's a great tool." She continued to compliment the gift, but Ophelia's lips remained pursed.
"Miss Odessa, don't you hear the rumors? Apparently, my fiancé is a blind, retired soldier around his late forties," Ophelia nagged.
Miss Odessa smiled. "Let's just believe those are mere rumors. The king would never give your hand to a blind old man. What do you young ones call them? Old-timers."
Her smiling wrinkled face made Ophelia smile, and she placed her hands on Miss Odessa's.
"My lady is a beautiful woman," Odessa replied. "Not even a frown can ruin that fact. Now, close your eyes." A sheepish grin danced on Miss Odessa's lips.
"Why?" Ophelia asked.
"For once, Lady Ophelia, don't be stubborn and listen to this old woman," Odessa replied.
Ophelia closed her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt Miss Odessa's hand tuck her hair behind her ear and take a deep breath.
"You can open your eyes, my lady."
Ophelia opened her eyes to see Miss Odessa holding a mirror. Staring back at her reflection, she saw a golden rose-shaped hairpin styling her hair.
"My lady looks beautiful," Miss Odessa complimented. "Happy birthday, Ophelia."
The golden rose hairpin was a stunning piece. Living in the DHERLWIN Palace her whole life, Ophelia was accustomed to jewelry, dresses, and trinkets.
King Ostwald, her uncle, had showered her with love and affection, at least that's what the public believed.
Being the king's niece also came with its challenges, one of which was the confinement she endured due to her title of 'Witch Heir'.
Her father, the king's younger brother, had married a foreign woman from a noble family, which was forbidden by DHERLWIN royalty.
Lady Iseul, Ophelia's mother, had passed away three months after giving birth to Ophelia, and her father followed her two years later.
Ophelia bore the shame of both her father's forbidden marriage and her mother's taboo death.
Of course, marrying her off to a foreign man would remove the 'dirty blood' from the royal family. The king was heartless if he intended to wed her to a bone-shaking old soldier. However, this marriage could also mean freedom from her loneliness and isolation from the nobles.
"Thank you, Odessa," Ophelia said, her eyes lit with appreciation. "I know it's little and nothing compared to my usual, but..."
"It's perfect and the best gift," Ophelia cut Miss Odessa off, wearing a warm smile.
"I would like to be alone,"
Ophelia replied, resting her chin on her hand and sliding her thumb across her jewelry box.
"Yes, my lady, but don't try to do anything until I get back," Odessa said. Ophelia was a stubborn girl, and God knows what she would get into if left alone.
"Don't expect too much from me, Miss Odessa. I'm not going to lie around like a stuffed doll," Ophelia said with a mischievous smirk.
Miss Odessa smiled and left the room. She knew Ophelia wouldn't dare go outside, not when the king had ordered her to stay put until the wedding.
The slam of the closing door made Ophelia stand to her feet. She reached for the hairpin, took it off, and placed it in the drawer. She took a handkerchief to wipe off her red lipstick and cleaned her makeup.
Within minutes, she was out of her clothing and dressed in a pair of black pants and a sleeve. She tied her hair into a bun and grabbed the white bag under her bed.
Her movements were fluid as she prayed she wouldn't get caught. With the maids gone for their shift, she ran from the room, her heart pounding in her chest. Her sweaty palms and feet were a testament to her determination to leave as soon as possible.
"Haha," she ducked behind a curve as some guards passed by laughing. Weren't they all supposed to be out for their shift? she asked herself.
"Princess Ophelia," a voice called out, making her heart leap. She turned to face one of the maids, Lyria.
"What are you doing here, Your Highness?" Lyria asked, holding a pile of folded sheets and towels. Ophelia realized that Lyria was on afternoon duty.
"My lady, what are you dressed in?" Lyria asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
Ophelia got flustered and quickly grabbed Lyria's arm.
"Your Highness, please. I'm with laundry in my hands. What's going on? Don't tell me you were planning on going out today," Lyria asked with an arched brow.
Apart from Miss Odessa, Lyria was Ophelia's only close maid and the only one who knew she sometimes sneaked out of her quarters.
"Lyria, you have to cover for me," Ophelia whispered lowly.
"Not today, Your Highness. What if Miss Odessa comes? Or worse, His Highness sends for you?" Lyria replied, her voice laced with concern and fear.
Ophelia slipped three gold coins into Lyria's hands. "Thank you," she said, then hurried away.
Just like every other day, she sneaked out through the one place no one would consider a possible alternative. She followed the old garden and reached the hidden gate. How she had discovered this secret passage, she couldn't say, but as long as it was her means of exit, she would keep it a secret.
She crossed the gates of the fence, her hair slightly disheveled. As she smiled, her eyes landed on Zephyr, her majestic horse, with its stunning shades of bronze and white.
Zephyr was tied to a pole, contentedly munching on some staked hay by its side. 'Zephyr, good girl,' she whispered, nuzzling the horse and patting its neck before untying it from the pole.
With ease, she mounted the horse, feeling a sense of freedom.
She urged Zephyr forward with a gentle kick, and the horse broke into a gallop, the wind whipping through her hair. Zephyr was a calm, fast, and unique horse, and Ophelia was incredibly comfortable with her.
They rode through a field of daisies, the tall flowers swaying gently as they passed. "Woah!" Ophelia exclaimed as she continued her ride, the fresh air and freedom exhilarating her. She had finally escaped the confines of the palace, and she was relishing every moment.
Soon, she reached the main road, its winding curves presenting a challenge. But this was the only way to reach her destination. Any noble or prince who saw her in this state would undoubtedly consider her unkempt and wild, her stubbornness always getting the better of her.
In the distance, a cottage with wisps of smoke curling from its chimney came into view. She was nearing her destination. "Good girl, Zephyr," Ophelia said, rubbing the horse's belly and tying her to an oak tree. The tree's large branches provided shade from the sun.
With her bag still strapped to her back, she approached the cottage and opened the creaking door. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread and simmering chicken soup filled the air. She could see the soup bubbling on the hearth.
"Evelyn... Aunt Claire!" she called out as she stepped into the room. A large portrait of a ginger-haired man, a beautiful blonde woman, and their six-month-old baby adorned the wall. The baby had the same ginger hair as its father.
Ophelia brushed her hand over the painting and smiled. The couple's faces radiated love and happiness, a simple joy that royalty often lacked. "Love... something the royals never had, yet so common to the simple commoners," Ophelia whispered, admiring the painting.
"Do you plan on standing there all day?" a voice asked from behind her. She turned to see her aunt, carrying a basket of fruit. "Aunt Claire! You're back!" Ophelia exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her aunt.
"Ophelia, why are you here? Does your uncle know you've come—alone?" Aunt Claire asked, her blonde hair braided in a pigtail and her smiling blue eyes filled with concern.
"So you've heard. I'm getting married, Aunt," Ophelia replied, her voice dropping. "So fast? You're lucky men don't come so easily these days," Aunt Claire said as she set down the basket of fruit and took a seat.
"He's a blind, old, bald man in his late forties, and a foreigner at that," Ophelia wailed, looking like a toddler. Aunt Claire burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. "Oh, please, Ophelia. Where did you hear such rumors? Phil can't be that bad."
Lady Claire Ostwald, as she was known before, was the only princess during the reign of King Ostwald Gordon. Her beauty had always turned heads, and she had so much potential that people at court even whispered she might one day claim the throne. But those were mere rumors, as she had unexpectedly married a commoner.
Whenever Ophelia asked her why she had left royalty for her husband, she always said that she had fallen in love. That was how marriages were supposed to be born, of love, not for someone like her.
"I've always imagined marrying someone I love, not someone chosen for political reasons," Ophelia said, sitting next to her aunt. "What if I don't like him?"
Aunt Claire took her hands and said with a warm smile, "If that's what you've always wished for, then wait for it. Besides, I never thought a stubborn girl like you would ever stay put. You could just run away." She whispered the last part to her niece.
"Aunt, where is Evelyn?" Ophelia asked, pouting. "I don't know, but it seems like that cousin of yours might be seeing a handsome man. She's been more ladylike lately." Ophelia smiled. Evelyn was two years older than her, yet they were very close.
"Happy birthday, Ophelia," Aunt Claire said, patting her hands and handing her a hair ribbon.