Sacrificial Bride to the Feared Lord Hastings-Chapter 39: Threat (1)
Ophelia kept close to Dante all night and spoke only with the guests Dante was interested in conversing with.
They weren’t asked to go near the king or queen again, and though her family tried to approach again, they were not successful in getting to talk to Ophelia.
An hour before the ball ended, Dante decided it was time to retreat to their chamber.
Ophelia sighed in relief when she stepped into the chamber. "I did not know balls could be so tiring. They looked fun from afar," she said, not realising her mistake.
"You never attended a ball? Even in the Valthorn castle?"
"What? I mean," Ophelia said, trying to think of a lie.
"I already grasp the true nature of your relationship with your family. I see now that it isn’t just Joel, but your mother as well, unless I read your interaction wrong. I won’t pry any further," Dante said before Ophelia got upset.
Dante didn’t want to pry unless Ophelia wanted to share.
"I don’t want to talk about it. I am willing to avoid them each time you are not in the mood to see them. As you might have noticed, his oldest daughter wished to marry you. I would have gladly switched with her if there had been a chance, but Joel pushed for me," said Ophelia.
"He thought I would kill whoever he sent. I might have," Dante confessed.
"Then why am I alive? I upset your mother, and I am no use to you since I don’t know his secrets," said Ophelia.
"You have a will to survive and someone to protect, so you put their well-being over your happiness. You’re the first Valthorn I met who wasn’t a coward. You should be proud," Dante said, finally seeing the day he respected a Valthorn.
Ophelia smiled and said, "Thank you. It would mean so much more if it weren’t giving the Valthorn name credit for something."
"What was your last name before your mother married into the Valthorn family?" 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦
"I can’t remember. It has been so long since I lived with Lord Valthorn, and you are the first person to ask me about that name," Ophelia said, saddened by the realisation she had forgotten her old life.
"I can’t remember my father’s face, but I always have the feeling my brother looks just like him. My mother doesn’t like to speak about her old life."
"Was it true that you didn’t like the attention of the crowds in the palace?" Dante asked, though he knew it was a lie.
Once more, Dante was given more insight into Ophelia’s time with her family.
Ophelia chuckled, humoured by what her mother boldly said. "There was a time when I wanted to come to the palace when everyone else was going, but my brother and I were left behind. I grew out of wanting to see the palace, so yes, part of me didn’t like the crowds."
Ophelia’s true reasoning for not wanting to be in the palace was due to her mother not providing her with new dresses. She was always handed what Freya didn’t like, and Ophelia knew Freya poked holes in the dresses.
"The palace is beautiful, but I hope we don’t have to visit it often. You are right that the king is a bit creepy, and he didn’t allow the queen to speak. You have your moments, but thank goodness you are not like him. I would have needed to," Ophelia stopped herself before she made another mistake.
"Kill me?" Dante finished for Ophelia. "You can say it. Before I share this lone chamber, do you trust that I won’t harm you? I don’t want to wake in the middle of the night with your small knife to my neck."
"As long as you stay where we agreed, I will not harm you. As for trusting you, I need more time. We are still getting to know each other, and with that being said, who will wash first? I want to go first so I can prepare my bed on the floor. Do you mind?" Ophelia asked, waiting first for his response.
"No," Dante shook his head. "You can go in first, and I will send for maids to bring you water."
"Thank you. I don’t need my maid to dress me since I can do it myself. I will leave it to you," Ophelia said as she walked to the bathing chamber.
Dante waited for Ophelia to close the door before walking to the chamber door to open it.
Outside the door, a palace maid and Alice awaited them.
"Fetch warm water for our baths. I need it quickly," Dante instructed the palace maid. He then acknowledged Alice, who curtsied.
Dante stepped out of the chamber and closed the door, so Ophelia would not overhear him.
"Were you selected by Edith to be at my wife’s side?" Dante inquired and thought of whether Alice had caused him trouble before.
"Yes, I was chosen by the head maid because of the good work I did before. I always tend to guests in the palace. Do you need my help, Lord Hastings?" Alice asked, eager to serve Dante.
"No. Has my wife done anything concerning in your eyes?"
Dante noticed the spark in Alice’s eyes. She was too excited to speak about Ophelia.
"Why, yes. There is much I can tell you that you wouldn’t believe. She has-"
"Has it ever occurred to you, even for a second, that her status is well above her own?" Dante questioned, finding an issue in Alice’s behaviour.
"What?" Alice frowned.
Did he not ask to speak of what Ophelia did?
"Forgive me, but I do not understand. You asked that I speak, and I am reporting to you," Alice said, trying to place where she went wrong.
"There is an eagerness to expose her which you cannot hide. I am curious how you have acted when you were left alone in her presence. Did you not think your behaviour would reflect me? I will keep an eye on you, and should I find that you have insulted her, there will be consequences," said Dante.
"Forgive me, I meant no harm to your wife,’ Alice said, afraid Dante would have her killed.
Alice, like many others, did not know Dante cared for Ophelia.
"Then, I will give you a second chance," Dane said, giving Alice a moment of hope.
Alice lifted her head and smiled. "You are most gracious."
"I will place your life in my wife’s hands. Since you meant no harm, I shouldn’t hear of you disrespecting her. You best be on her good side," Dante said and turned away from Alice since he said all that he needed.
Alice stared at Dante’s retreating figure in shock. "What?" She mumbled.
