Ophelia woke once more at midnight, the moonlight outside her window like a thin layer of frost, covering every corner of her room.
She opened her eyes, staring at the carved patterns on the ceiling, as if those intricate lines had come alive in the darkness of the night.
Ophelia hadn’t slept well these past few days.
Every time she closed her eyes, that scene would appear before her—
In a moonless alley corner, pressed up against the cold stone wall.
The girl could recall the helplessness of darkness when her eyes were blindfolded, and the forceful grip at the nape of her neck.
But even worse, she remembered with shame how, the moment he let go, she instinctively leaned forward—unable to control her own disgraceful reaction.
“How… humiliating.”
Ophelia buried her face in her pillow.
Since childhood, she had demanded propriety and restraint of herself… Her world had always been governed by clear rules. Yet, all of it had been shattered in a single night by that scoundrel.
He hadn’t even let her know his name or see his face.
—Was that man really so far above her?
A gentle knock sounded at the door, and Ophelia sat up in bed with a start.
“Your Highness.” The old butler Hans’s voice came from outside. “Are you having trouble sleeping again?”
“I’m fine.” Ophelia tried her best to keep her voice calm. “It’s just that the Sacred Rite is approaching, I might be a little nervous.”
The next morning at breakfast, Grand Duke Blanche and his wife exchanged a glance, both seeing that unfocused haze in their daughter’s eyes—no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
Ophelia numbly sliced the smoked chicken on her plate, the silver knife scraping across the porcelain for quite some time without her noticing. Those amber eyes gazed emptily out the window, as if seeing something, or perhaps seeing nothing at all.
“Ophelia?”
The Grand Duchess called softly.
When the girl didn’t respond, her tone grew slightly firmer.
Ophelia snapped back to herself, the knife slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor.
“I’m sorry…” Ophelia murmured, bending down to pick it up, golden hair falling from her shoulder to conceal her slightly reddened eyes.
Seeing her daughter so lost and dejected, the Grand Duchess’s heart ached. She and the Grand Duke had only just arrived in the capital today, only to find their daughter as if her soul had flown away.
After breakfast, the Grand Duchess summoned the old butler to the study.
“Hans, tell me what happened the day before.”
The butler replied respectfully, “Madam, that night Her Highness suddenly rushed out, as if pursuing someone, and ordered the guards not to follow. When she returned, it was late into the night, and her expression… was very unpleasant.”
“She was chasing someone? Did you see who it was?”
“No,” the butler shook his head, then added, “But the capital’s patrols seemed to be chasing someone that night too, making quite a commotion.”
The study fell silent.
Grand Duke Blanche frowned slightly and glanced at his wife. Both saw the same worry in each other’s eyes.
“I’ll go find out what happened in the capital that night,” the Duke said quietly. “You should go talk to Ophelia. Maybe… she’ll tell you something.”
The Grand Duchess nodded gently.
She knew her daughter all too well. Ophelia had always been like this, shouldering everything herself.
The room was unlit, only the faint glow of the fireplace flickered in the hearth.
Ophelia curled up in the cushioned chair by the window, draped in a thin blanket. Her eyes remained open, staring out into the heavy night. Her blurred reflection showed in the glass, golden hair dulled, and a thin mist veiling her eyes.
The door opened gently, a sliver of warm light spilling in, outlining the gentle silhouette of the Grand Duchess Blanche.
“Ophelia?”
The girl didn’t turn, only shifted slightly, burying her face in her knees.
The Grand Duchess quietly closed the door, walked over, and bent down to stroke her daughter’s hair.
“My child, what happened to you? You have to tell us. If you’re in trouble, we can help you.”
The Grand Duchess pressed her lips together, her voice lowering.
“Or… did someone break your heart?”
Ophelia moved again.
That string in the Grand Duchess’s heart trembled faintly.
Ophelia was already of age; in truth, it was about time to discuss marriage. Over the years, as her mother, she had kept a close watch, turning away those brazen enough to propose.
“My Ophelia is so exceptional. How could I let her be wasted on those useless fools?”
She would often say such things to the noble ladies, her tone full of unconcealed pride.
The Grand Duchess knew her daughter had high standards; ordinary noble youths simply couldn’t catch her eye. But now, to see Ophelia with such an expression, it couldn’t have been one of those rule-abiding scions.
A daughter’s heart was the hardest to guess.
Ophelia remained silent, fingers tightly pinching the blanket’s corner.
Her mother sat with her for a while in silence, then finally let out a gentle sigh.
“Ophelia,” she said softly, “I just want you to know, whatever happens, you’re not alone.”
The girl’s body quivered faintly.
The Grand Duchess said no more, simply pulled Ophelia into her arms. She felt the stiffness in her daughter’s body, and the subtle tremors on her shoulder.
After a while, Ophelia’s muffled voice sounded.
“…I’m fine… I just… feel a little tired.”
Ophelia said nothing else, just looked up at the Grand Duchess with a sigh. Seeing her like this made her mother feel even less at ease.
Although she didn’t fully understand all of her daughter’s abilities, at the very least, among the younger generation of Valgard, there wasn’t anyone who could compare to her.
This child had always been competitive, her magical circuits awakening early, training herself ruthlessly. So, the Grand Duchess easily dismissed the thought that Ophelia was downcast from being defeated by someone.
There simply wasn’t anyone her age in this world who could defeat her daughter.
As for the other possibility…
The Grand Duchess curled her fingers slightly and tried probing once more.
“Did you… meet someone?”
Ophelia’s lashes trembled.
“What kind of person does Mother mean?”
“I mean… the kind who…” The Duchess chose her words carefully, her gaze falling on her daughter’s slightly red ears, “someone who makes you care.”
Ophelia turned her face away, looking out at the bare branches.
“No,” she replied coolly, “there’s no one I care about.”
This left the Grand Duchess completely at a loss.
She had seen her daughter’s pride, her diligence, and even the occasional vulnerability fitting for her age—but never had she seen her so unsettled and restless as now.
So, when the day of the Sacred Rite arrived, she half-dragged and half-coaxed Ophelia into dressing up and took her to the event.
“Getting out for a change will do you good,” she said softly as she fastened her daughter’s dress. “A lively atmosphere might help you feel better.”
Ophelia allowed her mother to arrange everything. In the mirror, her golden hair flowed like a waterfall, her dress regal, her makeup flawless.
Yet those beautiful amber eyes remained as empty as ever.