The day of my departure arrived with the kind of heavy overcast skies that felt fitting for the occasion. A chill wind swept through the palace courtyard as I stood at the entrance, flanked by servants who were all too eager to see me gone. The faint clatter of my modest luggage being loaded into the carriage echoed through the air, a sound that punctuated the reality of my situation.
The carriage waiting for me was no grand affair. Its black lacquered surface was scratched and faded, and the wheels creaked ominously with every shift in weight. It wasn't what one might expect for a princess, illegitimate or not, being sent to marry a duke.
I climbed into the carriage without assistance—none of the servants bothered to offer a hand—and settled onto the stiff, threadbare seat. The interior smelled faintly of damp wood and mildew, a stark reminder that my new life would be no fairy tale.
The journey to the North was as grueling as it was long. The first few hours passed in relative silence, the only sounds being the rhythmic clatter of the wheels and the occasional snort of the horses. The landscape changed as we moved farther from the palace, the lush greenery giving way to sparse, windswept plains.
I watched from the carriage window as the world grew bleaker with every mile. Villages became fewer and farther between, their humble cottages huddled together like they were bracing against some unseen force. People stopped to stare as the carriage rolled by, their expressions ranging from curiosity to pity.
The servants accompanying me rode on horseback, their figures dark silhouettes against the gray horizon. They spoke in hushed tones, their laughter carrying on the wind. Though their words were inaudible, I had no doubt they were mocking me.
"Did you hear?" one of them said loudly enough for me to catch as they drew nearer. "They say the Grand Duke's castle is haunted. Cursed. No servant who enters ever comes back."
"Maybe they're just smarter than us and decide to leave," another replied, earning a burst of laughter.
I clenched my fists in my lap, my nails digging into my palms.
Night fell quickly in the North. The temperature plummeted as the sun disappeared behind the jagged mountains in the distance, leaving the sky painted in shades of deep purple and black. The air was sharp and biting, seeping through the thin fabric of my cloak and chilling me to the bone.
"Your Highness," the head servant said as he rode alongside the carriage. His tone was polite, but it lacked any warmth or deference. "We'll be stopping for the night soon. There's an inn up ahead."
"Very well," I replied, keeping my voice steady.
The inn was as unwelcoming as the rest of the journey. Its wooden sign hung crookedly above the entrance, the paint faded and peeling. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale ale and unwashed bodies. The innkeeper barely glanced up from his ledger as we entered, his disinterest palpable.
"Rooms for the night," the head servant said, tossing a small pouch of coins onto the counter.
The innkeeper counted the coins with practiced efficiency before nodding. "Upstairs. End of the hall."
I followed the servants up the narrow staircase, the wood creaking ominously under our combined weight. The room they had arranged for me was no better than a broom closet, with a single narrow bed and a drafty window that rattled in its frame.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cracked walls. It was a far cry from the luxury of the palace, though that wasn't saying much considering the conditions I'd endured there.
The sound of muffled laughter drifted up from the common room below, mingling with the occasional burst of drunken shouting. It was a stark reminder of how far I'd fallen—or rather, how far Ophelia had been pushed.
But this was just the beginning.
We set off again at first light, the cold even more biting than the night before. The landscape grew harsher as we continued northward, the mountains looming ever closer. Snow began to fall, light at first, then heavier, until the world outside the carriage was a swirling sea of white.
"Nearly there," the head servant announced as we approached a narrow pass between the mountains. His voice carried a note of unease, though he tried to mask it.
I leaned forward, peering out the window. The pass was flanked by jagged cliffs that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, their surfaces slick with ice. The wind howled through the narrow corridor, rattling the carriage and making the horses skittish.
By the time we emerged on the other side, the Grand Duke's castle came into view.
It was every bit as intimidating as the novel had described. Perched atop a rocky hill, its dark spires pierced the sky like jagged shards of obsidian. The walls were thick and foreboding, their surfaces streaked with ice and weathered by years of harsh winters.
The sight of it sent a shiver down my spine, but I forced myself to remain calm.
The carriage came to a halt at the castle gates, and the servants dismounted.
"This is where we part ways," the head servant said, his tone curt. He gestured for me to step out of the carriage.
I climbed down, my boots crunching against the snow-covered ground. The cold was almost unbearable, but I refused to let it show.
The massive gates creaked open, revealing a path that led to the castle's main entrance. Torches flickered in the icy wind, casting eerie shadows on the ground.
Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and began the long walk toward the castle.
This was it—the beginning of a new chapter.
The original Ophelia might have seen this as the end of her life, the start of a tragedy she couldn't escape.
But I was determined to rewrite her story.
Every single piece of it.