Prince 26

#26.

Archie Albert,

You must read this letter from Bedder.

It’s admirable that you resisted the urge to peek, but this is the kind of letter worth sneaking a look at.

Since Mr. Bedder, the stenographer, loves conversation, I’m sure he’s passed on the gist of it to the prince, saying something like, “This is what I wrote to Coco.”

If you haven’t heard it yet, hurry up and pester Bedder immediately.

I read that long letter in one sitting. I never imagined that there would be such a backstory with Princess Edwina.

Until now, I just thought of her as a romantic fool who gave up everything for love and ran off with a knight.

But Archie,

Do you know what’s troubling me the most right now? Even after hearing this incredible story, I still have nothing tangible in my hands. We still don’t know what this magical box we have truly is.

The princess received a mountain of letters through this bookcase.

She took all those letters with her and finally met Sir Arthur Gillen.

Afterward, the princess sent another letter.

That letter arrived at the bookcase she left at the monastery.

So, then, Sir Arthur Gillen must have had the counterpart bookcase, right?

Just like you and I have shared one, Princess Edwina and he each had their own bookcase.

The letters that filled the bookcase must have been from Sir Arthur Gillen.

But why did the princess leave such a precious item at the monastery without any intention of retrieving it?

Were those letters sweet love poems?

What kind of person was Sir Arthur Gillen, who sent so many letters?

What I’m most curious about is his identity. If I knew that, I could figure out how our bookcase was made and how it ended up in my hands.

But Ann Selin, the author, despite writing all sorts of side information about every character, doesn’t mention Sir Arthur Gillen at all.

At this point, Archie Albert, you’re the only one I can rely on. Although you’ve been quite unreliable lately, I still believe in your wit.

My prince, hurry and find a clue about who Sir Arthur Gillen is. Since Florian is beside you, how about asking him about his parents?

P.S. I’ve also sent another letter to Bedder, but it seems almost certain that the secret lady is your mother, Queen Adelaide. The fact that she couldn’t go to the monastery after marrying someone of high status might refer to her marriage to your father, Charles Wellesley.

Actually, I’m sure of this because I received a manuscript from Ann Selin. It has a scene where you and Flynn go to meet Queen Adelaide to ask about Princess Edwina! Seeing such parts starting to appear in the book, it seems you’ve really become close to Flynn.

7.6.

– Your slightly jealous and curious Sherlock, Coco.

* * *

To Prince Archie,

Are you rushing off to Arly Palace again?

Are you going to meet Queen Adelaide, just like in Ann Selin’s manuscript?

Or are you so enjoying your days at the monastery with Flynn that the thought of burying yourself in a corner of the scriptorium and staring at the bookcase has completely disappeared?

Are you saying that you’re tired of playing Sherlock Holmes with this epistolary companion?

Well, I knew all along.

Archie, you’re the type of person who, when overcome with excitement, doesn’t spend the night copying books but rather rushes off to have sex!

7.7.

– Cordelia Gray, who knows all about your womanizing ways, from Daphne to Lucy to Eloise.

P.S. Even Bedder hasn’t replied. Is something wrong there?

* * *

To Archie Albert, who once told me you would never leave me lonely.

Are you there? Prince?

If you’re alive, how could a person be so indifferent?

Want to hear something funny?

The last time I asked if you were alive, I wasn’t actually curious about your survival or well-being.

Juliet once said that when you contact a man after a long time, saying “Are you alive?” makes you seem a bit cute. Yes, I was foolish to listen to Juliet.

Anyway, you are alive, right, Archie?

I’m starting to get worried.

If you’re not dead, please answer, Prince.

I’m dying to talk to you.

7.9.

Coco, who misses you.

* * *

To Miss Cordelia,

Please forgive this old man who didn’t even think of looking at the bookcase while you wrote several letters. I’ve been so busy with the maintenance of the monastery over the past few days that I didn’t even think about entering the scriptorium.

Still, I can’t blame you for being angry at this neglectful old man.

Yesterday morning, I came to the scriptorium to send a letter to extend the deadline for the ordered books until next year, and I should have thought to check the bookcase then, but I was too preoccupied with calculating how long it would take to complete the books until the monastery was restored, that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.

Why didn’t my father tell me that this is how one’s mind stiffens with age?

Perhaps it was because his mind had stiffened with age as well.

Fortunately, our Prince Archie is still young and has a flexible brain; as soon as he opened his eyes today, he asked me about you.

To be precise, he asked if he was dead, and I replied that he was alive and well. Not hearing this, he muttered, “Seeing Bedder’s face even after death,” then received a slap from Princess Cecilia, and only after that did he look around, check on Noel and Duke Florian’s well-being, and after hearing that today was the twelfth day of the hot month, he said this:

“Did you open the bookcase? Did you open the bookcase?”

So, to be precise, you were the fifth thought on his mind, miss.

Still, isn’t that quite an intense obsession for someone who nearly died?

“Six days, Bedder? Are you crazy? Six days without opening the bookcase? I can’t stand it.”

He pulled me close, avoiding Princess Cecilia and Duke Florian, and whispered harshly in my ear. It was the first time I realized someone could scold you in such a low whisper.

When I told him I was too busy to check, he scolded me even more in whispers. It seems our prince’s perceptiveness has transformed into a talent for scolding in whispers.

Yes, the prince still hasn’t figured out Duke Florian’s true identity. When Princess Cecilia tried to support me, he waved at Duke Florian, saying, “What’s that strong guy doing? Hurry up and help,” which pretty much confirms it.

That frail Duke Florian tried awkwardly to lend his shoulder but collapsed under the prince’s weight, and, after being told to just go sit down, he whimpered like a scolded puppy and just sat there.

Come to think of it, I haven’t properly explained why the prince can’t hold the pen himself, and I’ve just been rambling on about my own story.

The attack on the monastery by the demon happened on the very night I sent a letter to you, Miss Cordelia.

Last time, Princess Cecilia clearly set up proper defenses and assured us that she would return in less than a week, so I naively thought everything would be fine. My negligence led to a great disaster.

The scriptorium is quite far from the Elfindel Forest since it’s in the monastery’s inner courtyard, but the stables, on the other hand, are so close to the forest that a simple nod of the head would seem like enough to reach it.

The thing about these boundaries is quite strange. When bound within space and time, the deep forest that wasn’t visible before suddenly encroaches on the monastery’s backyard. Even if no monsters were to emerge, it was still frightening.

That place… it’s special. Someone unfamiliar might find it beautiful, and someone without a keen eye might simply describe it as lush, but Elfindel is something that defies such simple explanations.

The trees, tall and deep green as if they’ve lost time growing, form a dense forest that, even in daylight, makes it as dark as night. On the contrary, at night, the moonlight shines so brightly it creates an eerie atmosphere, as if something is about to jump out at any moment. I naturally assumed everyone would keep their distance from that forest.

Yes, everyone did.

All of us.

Except for little Noel.

But it’s not as if Noel caused a major accident. She simply, as she often does, approached the horses kindly to feed them, and one of the more temperamental horses neighed and kicked, which startled a cat into darting through the bushes. In the midst of all this, a gap appeared between the forest and the backyard, and Noel took a single step into it.

It’s laughable, but the barrier there was so fragile that it could be broken by the small step of a child. The monsters invaded at dawn.

When I went out at the sound of Duke Florian’s scream, I saw him holding Noel tightly with his eyes closed. Prince Archie, who seemed to have arrived a bit before me, had barely managed to turn his back to shield them, using his body to block the monsters.

One of his arms was hanging limp, far below where it should have been, clearly torn apart, but fortunately, the prince is left-handed, so he held his sword in the other hand and was in a standoff with the other two monsters.

It was fatal that he had no chance to draw his sword while protecting Duke Florian and Noel with his body.

The severity of his injuries was apparent at a glance, but still, none of us were warriors, so we had no choice but to rely on the prince’s single sword. As bad luck would have it, even the one person who knew a bit of healing had gone down to the village that day.

There was no chance of victory.

Had Princess Cecilia not arrived at that moment… or had she been even slightly late, we would all have perished. Prince Archie would likely have been the first to go.

Princess Cecilia’s sword was swift. The number of soldiers she brought was double that of the monsters.

The mages from the Tower of Magic also moved quickly, but even so, it took over five hours to finish the battle.

Thankfully, there were few casualties. Only Prince Archie and a few monks who had assisted him were injured, and aside from the prince, all the others had only minor wounds.

To eliminate the traces of the monsters and prevent the spread of disease, we immediately burned down the stables and the sheds and destroyed the backyard, but we were incredibly fortunate to escape with such minimal damage.

None of the monks complained about losing a few clothes or being unable to eat the cabbages planted in the backyard.

After all, the first thing they saw upon rushing out of bed was our prince covered in blood. They must have felt relieved just to be alive.

I can speak calmly about it now, but at the time, I was incredibly anxious. When Princess Cecilia arrived, the prince already looked beyond saving.

One arm was so severely damaged that it was unbearable to look at, his silver chainmail was torn to shreds, looking like rags, and due to a wound on his forehead, one eye was closed, with hardened blood marring his once beautiful face.

Duke Florian was sobbing uncontrollably as he held onto the prince’s battered form, and I thought to myself how even a grown man could cry like a child.

Princess Cecilia, after setting Duke Florian aside like a sack of luggage, hoisted our large prince onto her back with surprising strength and ran to the village, muttering incessantly as she went.

At first, I thought she might be casting a healing spell, so I strained to listen. But the princess was muttering this like a mantra:

“Archie, you idiot. Idiots like you don’t die young. Idiots like you don’t die young. Please. Archie Albert, you fool. I’ve never seen an idiot like you die young.”

You might be laughing by now, but there was such a desperate tone in Princess Cecilia’s voice that, as I carried Noel and ran alongside her to the village, I couldn’t help but shed tears, forgetting my old man’s pride.

Despite the scorching night of the hot month, it seems that God was moved by Princess Cecilia’s tireless efforts as she sprinted to save the prince. Thankfully, Prince Archie is now showing signs of recovery.

However, it seems he still needs some time before he can get up. Although the prince insists he’s fine, he’s the type to claim he’s fine even when near death, so we should trust the healer’s words more than his.

Since things have turned out this way, please wait a little longer until you can receive a letter from our prince, Miss Cordelia.

When I think about it, it’s heartening to see our prince, who even considered letting you know in advance so you wouldn’t worry, and our Princess Cecilia, who used to argue fiercely with her younger brother, running with him on her back—perhaps they are both maturing bit by bit.

As this old man’s mind grows rigid, it seems the world continues to change for the better in its own way.

The night of the twelfth day of the hot month.

Bedder Lang.

* * *

Dear Bedder,

So, Archie is safe now, right?

Please tell him that I’m very worried.

Night of 7.12.

With love, Cordelia Gray.

* * *

To my Coco, who might cry out of loneliness if she doesn’t hear from me tonight,

I will never forget that while I was nearly dying, you were writing about ‘sex’ in your letter.

P.S.: Thank you for worrying. I’m fine, except that the clumsiness has moved from my wrist to my shoulder, so stop crying. With your already messy handwriting, adding tear drops makes it take an hour to decipher two lines.

The night of the thirteenth day of the hot month.

With love, Archie Albert.

———= Author’s Note ———=

To all the readers,

Once again, Archie has become the “read-and-ignore” prince, causing Bedder’s words to grow long.

I’ll be back with more letters from Archie and Coco the day after tomorrow at midnight.

P.S.: I’ve posted the release schedule and some behind-the-scenes details about the story in the announcements. Please check them out if you’re interested.

P.S.2: I’m moved to tears by your comments again today. Oh, this is so much fun… Thank you for all the pre-selections, recommendations, and heartfelt comments!

<– –>