Morning broke with the sharp clanging of bells echoing through the palace walls, jolting me awake. I groaned, stretching my sore limbs, the cot beneath me creaking in protest. Sleep had done little to soothe my aching body after a full day of scrubbing floors.
I pushed myself up, glancing around the dim room. The cracked window let in pale streams of sunlight, illuminating the peeling wallpaper and the dust motes that floated lazily in the air. It was another day in this hellhole, but something felt... off.
Before I could dwell on it, the door burst open. A young servant boy—barely more than twelve—stood there, his face pale and anxious.
"Princess Ophelia," he stammered, bowing so low I thought he might fall over. "His Majesty summons you to the throne room."
His words hit me like a splash of cold water. The king?
I hadn't seen him since I woke up in this body, and based on what I knew of the novel, Ophelia's interactions with her father were anything but warm. King Alarenic was as cold and cruel as they came—a man who ruled with an iron fist and regarded his illegitimate children as nothing more than tools to be used or discarded.
I hurried to wash my face with the basin of water in the corner, smoothing down my tangled hair as best I could. My dress—a plain, faded thing that had seen better days—would have to do. There was no time to make myself presentable.
"Lead the way," I said to the servant boy, my voice steady despite the unease churning in my gut.
The throne room was as grand and imposing as I remembered from the novel. Massive stone pillars lined the hall, their surfaces etched with intricate carvings of the kingdom's history. A long red carpet stretched from the entrance to the dais where the king sat, flanked by two golden lion statues.
King Alarenic looked every bit the monarch. Clad in dark robes trimmed with fur, he exuded an air of authority that bordered on oppressive. His piercing gray eyes were as sharp as a hawk's, and his presence alone seemed to suck the warmth from the room.
As I approached, I kept my head bowed, forcing myself into the role of the timid and obedient Ophelia they expected.
"Ophelia," his voice boomed, cold and devoid of affection. "You've been summoned for an important matter."
I sank into a deep curtsy, lowering my gaze to the floor. "Your Majesty."
He didn't waste time with pleasantries. "You are to be wed."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
I lifted my head, my eyes meeting his. "Wed? To whom, Your Majesty?"
"The Grand Duke of the North," he said, his tone as emotionless as ever. "A cursed man, yes, but a man of power and wealth. It is time you served your purpose."
The main plot of the novel.
It was starting already!
This was the moment Ophelia's life took a turn for the worse—the beginning of her tragic story. The Grand Duke of the North, a man cursed to live as a monstrous beast, would take her as his bride. In the novel, Ophelia had been terrified of him, trembling in his presence as he ignored her entirely. Her days as duchess had been filled with loneliness and despair, until his death in battle left her at the mercy of the emperor, a sadistic tyrant who ultimately destroyed her while consuming her mana.
This wasn't just a marriage. It was a death sentence.
"Do you understand the honor bestowed upon you?" the king demanded, his tone icy.
Honor? I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Honor. To be sold off like cattle to a man everyone feared and avoided. But I swallowed my bitterness and bowed my head again.
"Yes, Your Majesty," I said quietly.
The King's gaze narrowed slightly, as if searching for any hint of defiance. "Your role is simple, Ophelia. You are to be a dutiful wife and ensure the alliance between our kingdom and the North remains strong. I trust there will be no... complications."
His tone made it clear that complications would not be tolerated.
"I understand, Your Majesty," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm brewing within me.
"Good. You leave in three days. Make the necessary preparations," he commanded, dismissing me with a wave of his hand as if I were nothing more than an afterthought.
I rose to my feet, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. The servants escorted me out of the throne room, their expressions carefully neutral, though I caught the faintest glimmer of pity in one of their eyes.
Back in the dim corridors of the palace, I allowed myself a moment to process everything. The Grand Duke of the North. The cursed man whose estate was said to be as cold and unforgiving as the icy wastelands surrounding it.
This was it—the main plot of the novel was unfolding before my eyes.
The following days passed in a haze of preparations. Servants bustled around me, taking measurements for dresses and packing what little belongings I had. Though they didn't dare lay a hand on me, their disdain was clear in every word and glance.
"Such a pity," one maid whispered to another as they sorted through my meager wardrobe. "Marrying the cursed duke... she'll never survive up there."
"She's lucky the king's even bothering to marry her off," the other replied, her voice dripping with condescension. "With her lineage, she should've been thrown out into the streets."
I said nothing, biting back the urge to snap at them. Let them think what they wanted.
On the evening before my departure, I returned to my room—or rather, the closet I called a room—and sat on the edge of the cot. The flickering light of the single candle cast long shadows on the walls, and the air felt heavy with anticipation.
The Grand Duke of the North was a key figure in the novel—a man feared and misunderstood, a tragic character in his own right. He'd ignored Ophelia in the story, treating her as little more than a nuisance. But I wouldn't let myself be a side character in my own life.
If I was to be sent to the North, to the cursed lands and the cold, unforgiving castle of the Grand Duke, I would do more than survive.
I would thrive.
As the candle burned low, I stared out the cracked window at the starless sky, determination coursing through me like fire.
This wasn't just Ophelia's story anymore.
This was mine.