Chapter 8

The wedding ceremony of the Lord Diazi was conducted simply.

A small temple within the main castle hosted a minimal guest list. With High Priest Hailot still touring the continent with Merkes’ daughter, the ceremony was officiated by a senior priest from the eastern region.

No royalty attended, as none were available to represent the imperial family. There were no grand blessings, no declarations of divine devotion, and the bride, once hailed as a hero, received no extravagant fanfare.

Yet Ophelia was fulfilled. Not with the lofty happiness others might speak of, but with the simple joy of a life she had chosen and built. She kissed Nicholas with a heart full of contentment.

* * *

Some time after the wedding, as her belly began to round, Ophelia found herself sleeping more often. Unlike her past, when she had escaped into sleep to avoid reality, her rest now was peaceful.

She would stroll without fear through the Fairy Garden or lie on the grass, basking in the rare luxury of leisure.

One day, lulled by the cool breeze during a walk, she drifted off under the shade of the trees. For the first time in a long while, she met the goddess in her dreams. As always, it was difficult to tell whether it was reality or illusion.

* * *

“How about now? Are you happy?”

The goddess asked, her tone as insufferably smug as ever.

“No, it’s not enough!”

Ophelia puffed up her chest confidently and declared without hesitation.

“My happiness depends on Aisa McFoy living a long, happy life, right?”

 

“And?”

 

“For Aisa, that means Geum is born healthy and grows up well. It also means Archie becomes a great head of the family, meets someone wonderful, and marries. And someday… someday…”

Before Ophelia could list more of her ambitions, the goddess interrupted with a groan of frustration, as though dealing with a shameless thief.

With an exasperated sigh, the goddess placed something warm—no, scorching—into Ophelia’s arms. It glowed brightly, radiating a brilliant golden light.

Before she could ask what it was, Ophelia opened her eyes, startled awake.

* * *

The sight that greeted her was unexpected. Instead of the blue sky, she saw Archie’s flustered face filling her vision.

The boy, who had been scheduled to return to McFoy immediately after the wedding, had inexplicably extended his stay in Diazi. Now, his face burned red as he held a flower crown of yellow blooms in his hands.

“I-I was just…”

Archie, who had intended to quietly place the crown on her head and leave unnoticed, fumbled for an excuse. His lips parted, but no words came out.

 

“Pfft.”

Ophelia couldn’t hold back her laughter.

The boy’s face, already flushed with embarrassment, crumpled. In a fit of mortification, Archie tossed the flower crown to the side and bolted, his footsteps clumsy and awkward.

Watching his retreating figure, especially the bright red nape of his neck, Ophelia burst into uproarious laughter, doubling over.

“Archie! Where are you going? So, is this mine? Can I keep it?” she called after him.

Archie, who had been half-running, broke into a full sprint, disappearing from sight.

 

“No one reacts quite like a McFoy when teased,” Ophelia said to herself, sitting up slowly and reaching for the discarded flower crown. She examined its weave—it seemed Archie had learned from Mrs. Seymour.

“He’s just like his aunt. Or is it Aisa who’s like Ayno?”

Ophelia’s first memory of McFoy was her initial meeting with Aisa. Her second memory was the day Aisa had made her an identical flower crown and placed it on her head. That had been the same day Aisa shared her unique philosophy on names and gave Ophelia hers.

Looking in the direction Archie had fled, Ophelia smiled softly, reminiscing about all the joyful moments that had followed since that day.

“When you look at it this way, it’s not such a bad life,” she murmured, chuckling to herself. Lately, she found herself smiling at the simplest things.

* * *

“Geum.”

She rested a hand on her belly. The baby’s presence was still subtle, but she could feel it if she paid attention. In her heart, she was certain the bright, warm figure she had cradled in her dream was Geum. Her child would be radiant and full of warmth, just like that dream.

“What if you take after Nicholas and have black hair? Ah, but then you’d have golden eyes, so it wouldn’t matter,” she mused, her voice light and playful.

Her cheerful ramblings continued for a while, her words carrying a warmth that filled the garden.

Jack and Penny, standing at a distance, exchanged glances. Watching their mistress radiate happiness, they couldn’t help but smile. To them, she looked blissfully at peace, even if a little lost in her own joyous world.

* * *

Side Story Part 2

The thought of a silver-haired, golden-eyed angelic baby lingered in my mind after hearing about Ophelia’s unexpected pregnancy. For days, I found myself distracted by the image, moving awkwardly through my routines. But as time passed, the vivid picture of the imagined baby faded, and eventually, I forgot all about it.

That was until the portrait of Obil Diazi was delivered to me. Suddenly, the imagined baby returned to my mind, sharper and clearer than ever.

Obil had been born at the beginning of the new year, in the heart of winter. She was a girl.

I sent an almost excessive amount of gifts to the Diazi household. Traveling from the western edge of the continent to the eastern edge was no small feat, but imagining the golden-haired, golden-eyed baby described in their letters made it worthwhile. Still, I found my heart beating strangely as I waited.

Later that summer, I traveled to the capital for the biennial assembly. Norma accompanied me as far as the city before heading to Diazi with Archie to visit six-month-old Obil. When they returned, they brought back her portrait.

* * *

“Aunt! Obil is so, so cute! Cute doesn’t even begin to describe her—she’s beautiful! The portrait doesn’t even capture a fraction of how adorable she is!”

Archie was so thrilled he practically cornered everyone he met, extolling Obil Diazi’s cuteness to anyone who would listen. Though I told him to maintain decorum with a scolding tone, inwardly, my anticipation soared. I nearly opened the portrait box on the spot.

Instead, I waited until I had dismissed everyone, then personally lifted the lid. The moment I saw Obil’s portrait, I was frozen.

“If this doesn’t even capture a fraction of her charm, just how beautiful is she…”

The words slipped out before I could stop myself.

How could a baby, barely half a year old, be so round, so delightful? The white-clad infant in the portrait was, as Archie said, indescribably adorable. Her golden hair and golden eyes, just as described in the letters, were unmistakable.

‘Whoever named her did a wonderful job,’ I thought.

“She looks just like her.”

I could see Ophelia in the baby’s features. It seemed her genes had triumphed in many ways. A satisfied smile spread across my face.

By my order, Obil Diazi’s portrait was hung in the room that housed the McFoy direct line’s family portraits—a rare honor for a non-McFoy.

Afterward, I found myself lost in thought more often than I liked to admit. Most of the time, my musings revolved around the imagined angelic baby with silver hair and golden eyes.

* * *

“Aisa, what are you thinking about?”

Norma’s soft, elegant voice pulled me from my reverie. His golden eyes, narrowing slightly, told me he’d caught my odd expression again. He had a habit of subtly checking in on my thoughts now and then.

If my musings weren’t too embarrassing to voice, I usually shared them honestly… but this time?

“…Nothing,” I replied vaguely, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

It was as embarrassing as confessing to some indecent daydream. Norma’s narrowed gaze lingered, but I avoided his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t press.

What made it worse was that he had never once brought up the subject of babies himself. I knew he adored children—his actions made that obvious. But he never initiated the conversation, leaving me second-guessing whether to bring it up.

Fortunately, he didn’t push the matter.

But after nearly four years of marriage, I knew this man’s reticence hid far more than he let on. His pretense of innocence hadn’t ended, and I was still discovering just how sharp his instincts could be.

‘What a world.’

I thought to myself, marveling at how life continued to surprise me.

Norma pressed a hand to his mouth, suppressing a chuckle. Aisa’s inner turmoil was painfully obvious, even if she hadn’t spoken a word about it.

She would gaze at Obil’s portrait with a mixture of excitement and seriousness, and every time Norma downed his bitter morning and evening herbal teas for contraception, she’d glare at the empty cup with a conflicted expression.

Norma was well aware of her days-long contemplation but chose to let her be.

First, because he found her struggles endearing. Second, because her newfound boldness in the bedroom was hardly unwelcome. Lastly, he believed she hadn’t made up her mind yet.

Her thoughts about having a child could simply be a passing fancy sparked by Obil’s charm. And in a way, his assessment was correct. Norma decided to wait until Aisa brought up the subject herself, with conviction.

* * *

That winter, during the height of her indecision, Norma’s birthday arrived as it always did. It marked the fifth birthday since Aisa had rescued him from Tantaros. She temporarily set aside her worries to focus on preparing a celebration for her husband.

Norma, like Obil, was a winter child.

Aisa always wanted to make his birthdays special, but her early attempts had been disastrous. During the first winter after they met, she hadn’t even known when his birthday was, as she was preoccupied burying the honor of her ex-fiancé.

By the time she was ready to celebrate properly after their wedding, Nyx had disrupted everything. That winter, Norma was plagued by severe anxiety, leaving no room for festivities.

It wasn’t until later, when the grand birthday celebrations for the McFoy lord’s husband became an annual event, that things seemed to settle. But even then, it was an illusion.

Norma never enjoyed the elaborate celebrations. The reason? A red-haired pirate named Kano.

* * *

Every year, no matter how busy he was or what storms raged on the high seas, Kano always found a way to return during Norma’s birthday festivities. From a distance, it might have seemed like Kano had a deep affection for Norma, but his true intent was simple: to cause trouble.

“Lord McFoy.”

“Kano. I thought you wouldn’t make it this time.”

This year, the exploratory missions to the New World had been longer than usual, so Aisa assumed Kano wouldn’t appear. Despite knowing her husband’s dislike for the pirate, she couldn’t help but welcome him warmly. He was, after all, someone she valued in her own way.

“When have I ever missed your husband’s birthday celebration?”

Kano grinned like a villain, his gaze fixed on Norma. Norma’s lips curled faintly upward, but his eyes betrayed no amusement.

“…I’ve told you not to cause trouble.”

Sensing the charged atmosphere, Aisa lightly scolded Kano. He immediately bristled.

“Are you serious? Look at his eyes and say that again. Who’s troubling whom here?”

Eyes?

Aisa turned to look at Norma. He gazed down at her with the most innocent, pitiable expression imaginable.

Of course, Aisa wasn’t fooled. She knew all too well that this was part of his pretense.

‘That pirate… again.’

But this time, there was something genuine in Norma’s sorrowful gaze.

Kano’s method of torment during Norma’s birthday was straightforward: he would monopolize Aisa’s time by presenting her with fascinating new projects that would make her eyes sparkle.

What was the point of receiving countless congratulations from others when Norma could barely see his wife during the celebration?

Watching Kano’s smug demeanor, Norma’s lips twitched slightly, betraying his annoyance.