#11.
To my dear Coco,
What on earth is this pen?
It really glides smoothly on paper.
I finally understand how you managed to reply to my letter so quickly. I want to rush to the scriptorium and boast about it to Bedder, but for now, I’ll resist and become a more faithful pen pal tonight.
In my last letter, I mentioned that Cecile had joined me in my heir training, didn’t I?
Cecile did everything perfectly. Yet, all the teachers praised only me.
Cecile was also a princess of a kingdom…
…Yes, she was a ‘princess.’
To them, Cecile was just a student who tagged along while the prince learned the succession lessons. Moreover, since she was five years older than me, anything she did well was just taken for granted. If I did even a little well, it was highly praised.
Did Cecile get jealous?
Well, I’m not sure if ‘jealousy’ is the right word. Even to my young mind, it seemed like something unfair was going on.
Cecile, rather than being jealous, seemed to be just angry about the situation. Channeling that heat, she worked much harder than I did in everything she did. Her skills improved day by day. Staying late every night and practicing to the point of exhaustion—how could she not improve?
Additionally, her inherently ruthless nature made her perfect for learning martial arts, which involved attacking others. As for the art of kingship…
Cordelia, have you ever studied the art of kingship? If you skip the few pages in the front that sound pretentious, it’s a kind of ‘art of deception.’
It’s about how to deceive others and how to detect others’ deceptions. In this field, Cecile was naturally talented. As you said, Coco, I am somewhat good at lying too.
Then, one day, about two years later, our riding instructor, Karajan, decided to take us to the western plains. I really liked Karajan. He was an Aldar native and knew old legends well. Sometimes, he would secretly tell me old stories, including those about dragons from Vallea, without Cecile knowing.
Once, I asked him how, as an Aldar native, he knew the old stories of Vallea so well, and he laughed, putting his finger to my lips to hush me.
“While riding, one can reach anywhere.”
I asked him,
“Karajan, did you learn your unique accent from there too?”
“What unique accent, Prince?”
“When you call my name, you speak like a Vallea native. ‘Prince Archibald,’ you say.”
I liked it when he called me in that Vallea style, which no one else noticed. It felt mysterious. An Aldar native, in Winterton, speaking perfect Wintertonian but secretly calling me with a Vallea accent.
He was a bit surprised and then smiled, saying to me,
“Yes, that’s right. I learned it there. But it’s a secret just between you and me, so you mustn’t tell anyone.”
Thrilled to have a secret, I nodded without much thought.
However, after that conversation, he completely corrected his accent and never called me like that again. I found it a bit strange but that was all. Perhaps I wasn’t as smart as you or Cecile thought.
Even though the fun of hearing my name pronounced uniquely disappeared after that, I still liked Instructor Karajan.
As a child, my only chance to leave the palace was during riding lessons. Initially, Karajan took us to the royal stables or at most to the nearby grassy areas. But as we became more accustomed to riding, he took us to the market streets outside the palace, the forest beyond the plains, the lake, and the pond.
But that day was the first time we went so far.
That day, we had quite an impressive procession. There were at least ten carriages of attendants following us, and we stopped at a baron’s house near the western plains to rest and prepare our horses.
I don’t know how Karajan managed to convince so many attendants, but he suggested that only the three of us ride from there. Cecile and I were quite happy with that suggestion.
As we rode far out into the plains, someone started following us. Since it was just the three of us and Karajan was an excellent marksman and swordsman, we didn’t take them seriously.
Karajan kept glancing back and then signaled us to stop. When we stopped, the people following us with carriages also stopped. Karajan told us to dismount, and Cecile and I obediently did so.
We were kidnapped so easily.
They were Valleans. As a ten-year-old, I wondered what might happen if Vallea kidnapped us.
Were they creating a pretext for war?
Would holding us as hostages provide a strategic advantage if war broke out?
Were they planning to hand us over to the Reutlingen Empire?
Even with my limited knowledge from a few months of studying, I could come up with a few hypotheses. There were likely more schemes at play.
There must have been some kind of sedative on the cloth they used to gag us, because Cecile and I briefly lost consciousness after being loaded into the back of a carriage. When I woke up, I felt something wet on my face. Of course, it was Cecile’s spit.
I told you, Cordelia, that’s just how Cecile was.
After waking up in such a vile manner, I felt the need to assess the situation. Although I wouldn’t read Sherlock Holmes for several more years, I still thought that looking around might help me find some clues.
I noticed the knot tied to the ropes in the carriage. It was unusual. One of the old stories Karajan told me came to mind, about a dragon tied with a unique knot that it couldn’t escape from.
“Vallea,” I whispered to Cecile.
“Vallea?”
“Look at that knot. It’s a Vallean knot.”
“How do you know that?”
“Karajan told a story where a deer was tied with that exact kind of knot and couldn’t escape.”
“…If it’s a story from Karajan, isn’t it an Aldar story?”
“No. That story also had a dragon. And almost all the stories Karajan told were about Vallea. Karajan even has a Vallean accent.”
Cecile fell silent. She must have immediately understood that Karajan was actually a Vallean, not an Aldar.
“Karajan must be a Vallean, right?”
I asked this, but Cecile remained silent.
“Did Karajan treat us well from the start just to do this to us?”
“……”
“Should we go to Karajan and ask him not to do this and to go back to the palace with us?”
When I asked again, Cecile answered in a scary voice.
“Shut up, you idiot.”
And then she added,
“Bite my shoulder.”
“Huh?”
“Bite my shoulder. Harder. Come a bit closer this way.”
As soon as I moved according to Cecile’s instructions, something fell with a thud.
There was a crunching sound.
It was the sound of the bones in my hand breaking.
Cecile kicked the wall, causing a mace that was precariously hanging above us to fall, and it landed on my hand. Thanks to this, the shackle on my wrist got dislodged, and along with it, my wrist was rendered useless forever. Cecile’s shoulder, which I had bitten, wasn’t unharmed either.
Still, because I bit down hard, there was no scream, and the Valleans briefly opened the cargo area to see us sitting there unharmed, realizing it was just the sound of the mace falling, and returned to their places.
“You did well.”
“Damn it, Cecile, this hurts like hell.”
While I was spewing the most vulgar curses I had learned in my ten years of life at Cecile, she spoke to me without a flicker of emotion on her face.
“That can be fixed with healing magic.”
“Then do it right now.”
“I didn’t mean I could do it.”
“Damn it, Cecile!”
“If it’s not too late, a healer can fix it.”
“If it’s not too late?”
“Yes, so stay focused. Now hurry and free me.”
With my arm free from the shackle, I quickly used my less injured left hand to untie Cecile’s bound hands and asked,
“Wasn’t there another way?”
“Your wrist can be fixed even if it’s broken. If we die, not even a dark sorcerer can bring us back. If we get captured alive, it’ll be worse. Use your brain and stop complaining.”
Cecile said this quickly, and as soon as her hands were free, she grabbed the mace, pulled back the curtain, and…
I assumed she would kill the two ruffians who had kidnapped us first. But the first person Cecile killed was Instructor Karajan. The same Karajan who had spent every day with us, laughing and chatting under the trees, who had caught us whenever we almost fell off our horses.
Cecile smashed the face of the always-smiling Karajan with a single blow from the mace.
I wouldn’t have done that.
No, I couldn’t have done it.
Cecile also eliminated all the attendants waiting for us at the baron’s house. These were people who had been with us for as short as five years and as long as ten.
That’s the kind of person Cecile is. I could never do what she did.
Cordelia, you advised me to make a false vow to Cecile to coax her. I followed your wise advice.
Yes, but as you suspected, I have long believed that Cecile should be queen. She is capable of doing things for Winterton that I couldn’t even imagine.
What do you think, Cordelia? Do you agree? Now, have you finished writing your letter?
Hurry and tell me why you haven’t been able to read Anne Selin’s manuscript.
– On a dark night under the pale green moon, your friend Arch.
* * *
To Prince Arch, whose wrist I’m beginning to worry about.
So, was your delicate wrist alright?
I’m glad I sent you a pen that glides smoothly.
But, Arch, I think I might fall for Cecile a little. Of course, she’s a woman I never want to meet, but if I were a soldier of Winterton, she’s the queen I’d want to serve. Truly a Lady Macbeth.
6.12. Stopping a long letter that’s about to break my wrist, Cordelia.
* * *
To my thoughtful friend, Cordelia.
Yes, now it’s my turn to wait.
Go ahead and send me that long letter that will nearly break your wrist.
I will wait here quietly without adding a single dot.
Your Arch.
P.S. As Cecile said, a healer fixed my wrist right away. I did suffer for a few months, but there’s nothing for you to worry about now. Still, wasn’t that too much?
———= Author’s Note ———=
To my readers,
The closest physical contact between the Winterton siblings was this story. By the way, did I mention I like Cecile?
P.S. 1: My wrist has never been shattered like Arch’s, so I’ll work like a cow today and bring you nine or ten updates by midnight (the dawn of August 1st). Don’t forget to come back and peek into the letters of Arch, Cordelia, and others!
P.S. 2: Your sincere comments motivate me to write harder. As I always say, I’m happy even if you give me criticism, as long as there’s feedback (please don’t spit though). Thank you so much for quietly pressing the add to favorites and recommendation buttons.
<– Unsent Letters –>
(Continuous Update 1/9)