Prince 29

#29.

My Anne, to my Coco.

Did you wake up?

It wasn’t that your friend had to come wake you up again, right?

I think of you from the morning.

Tonight, when I open the bookcase late, your letter will be inside. It’ll say that you were too busy in the morning to open the bookcase, and that you just got around to reading the letter now.

But that’s okay. A letter in the morning is a luxury, after all.

But, Cordelia, if you did take my letter out in the morning, instead of thinking of me, think of Anne Shirley. She’s the girl who always talks about how there couldn’t be a better day than today, and how she feels sorry for people who don’t know how wonderful the day is.

I hope your day shines like that.

Of course, it’s hard to live our lives in that way. In fact, this morning was a bit tough for me.

You mentioned the manuscript of Anne Selin last time, didn’t you? You said you read the scene where Flynn and I visit Queen Adelaide.

At that time, I only thought, ‘What business would Flynn and I have visiting our mother?’ But early this morning, I realized how it all came together. Our dear Miss Noel has been engrossed in role-playing ever since reading your red-haired Anne.

Yesterday and today, she’s been busy trying to become the Queen. She claims she’s Queen Adelaide, and has commanded Flynn and me to come for an audience.

“Noel, do you know that our mother isn’t Queen Adelaide? Are you aware this is royal blasphemy?”

When I said that, this precocious little one replied:

“Yes, your mother is the Queen. You have a mother, Prince. But me… I don’t have a mother.”

What could I say to that?

All I can do is follow Noel’s commands.

And so, I’ve been up since dawn, playing along with her queenly games.

Noel says it’s natural for the Queen’s audience room to be busy. So Flynn and I have to take turns kneeling before her, constantly inventing matters to report. As we explain one thing or another, Noel magnificently furrows her brows and declares:

“I refuse. Begone!”

Yes, life certainly isn’t always as joyful as Anne’s.

The 19th day of the hottest month.

-Your friend, Arch Albert, striving to keep hope alive in a weary life.

* * *

My Gilbert, to my Arch Albert.

Thankfully, it seems like I’ve managed to match the rhyme better than you, right?

Even though it’s a busy morning, reading your letter made it impossible to resist writing back.

Your morning letter has already made my day perfect.

Thanks to you, I think I’ll spend all day laughing, imagining Noel’s “I refuse. Begone!” line.

Have a good day, my Prince.

Morning, July 19th.

-No comments about the messy handwriting, please, Cordelia Grey.

P.S. If Noel loves role-playing that much, why not try a play? After all, you have the works of the world’s most famous playwright at your disposal. From *Macbeth* to *Hamlet*, *King Lear*, and *Twelfth Night*.

* * *

My wicked advisor Cordelia,

Did you know that Beder occasionally sneaks peeks at the bookcase? That wretched old man insists he doesn’t, but I’m quite sure he’s been snooping on our letters almost every day.

How do I know this?

Well, I was out for a morning walk, and there he was, sitting Noel down and saying to her:

“Noel, how about we stop playing queen and try putting on a play instead? After all, we have the works of the world’s most famous playwright. How about *Twelfth Night*?”

Yes, Cordelia. He recited the exact words from the last line of your letter to me this morning.

At first, that old man completely denied it, but after my persistent questioning, he finally confessed. It’s a shame our bookcase doesn’t have a lock.

Anyway, your advice was accepted by Noel before I even had a chance to consider it.

Noel said she’d start the play immediately. And of course, the first play she chose was *Twelfth Night*—it’s the only one she’s read.

“When will you rehearse?”

“Uh, right now?”

“What about costumes?”

“That too, now…?”

“When will you put on the show?”

“Not right now, but this evening?”

It seems ‘tomorrow’ simply doesn’t exist in this child’s vocabulary.

Since things have come to this, I’ll have to head out at once. Outside, the sound of Noel and Flynn preparing for the play is already causing quite the commotion. Luckily—or unluckily—I’ve just recovered, so I have no excuse to refuse.

After all, who else but me could play Duke Orsino?

Please offer your congratulations. Your pen pal is soon to become a theater actor.

The 19th day of the hottest month, once again, Arch Albert.

* * *

To my Duke Orsino,

Was your theatrical debut successful?

July 19th.

-Evening Cordelia.

* * *

To Evening Cordelia,

You must have anticipated this.

When they said they were going to read *Twelfth Night* again,

When they said they’d even turn it into a play,

You must have already known what would happen.

Yes, my brilliant friend,

I now know everything as well.

I’ll write to you again tomorrow.

The night of the 19th day of the hottest month.

With love, your Arch.

* * *

To Miss Cordelia,

Greetings. It feels like it’s been a while since I last greeted you after that long letter. This is your humble scribe, Beder Lang, once again.

As that mischievous Prince Arch so quickly tattled, I must confess, I’ve occasionally peeked at the bookcase.

But Miss, believe me. I swear I’ve never secretly read the letters you’ve written. It’s just that our Prince, for some inexplicable reason, guards the bookcase as if it were a treasure chest, and my curiosity got the better of me.

I simply opened it once or twice, wondering if perhaps you’d slipped in some greeting intended for me. I didn’t think it such a grave sin to glance into the bookcase for such a reason.

Sometimes, yes, I might have caught a glimpse of the Prince’s letters. But that too was merely to check if there was anything strange he might be saying to you. I had no intention of secretly reading your correspondence.

And now, today has finally come.

Today, I feel grateful that I’ve been sneaking those occasional peeks at the bookcase.

Our Prince has a strange habit of becoming short with his words at the oddest times, doesn’t he? He can chatter on endlessly, but then suddenly, when it matters most, he grows silent. Why is that, I wonder?

Take, for example, the recent monster attack. If I hadn’t written to you, what might have happened? Our dear Prince would probably have just brushed it off, saying something like, “It’s nothing, I just got a little scratch on my shoulder,” and left it at that. If I, Beder, hadn’t taken it upon myself to write a detailed account, you wouldn’t have even known that our Prince had nearly died!

Today’s event is no different from back then.

That letter—what on earth was that?

Even if you trust in Miss Cordelia’s brilliance, this is too much. I can picture the confused look on your face as you read that puzzling letter, Miss. If one had any sense, one would know that writing such an incomprehensible letter is worse than not writing at all.

Under normal circumstances, I would’ve politely woken the Prince and instructed him on how to properly compose a letter, asking him to rewrite it. But today, I felt it might be better for me to speak directly to you, Miss Cordelia.

Yes, it seems my desire to chat has flared up once more. I hope you’ll understand the feelings of this lonely old man sitting quietly by the bookcase on such a dark night.

So, everything began with Noel, of course. You’re aware of how her queenly games evolved into a desire to stage a play, leading to *Twelfth Night*, aren’t you?

Not that it was much of a play. After all, there’s no proper stage at the monastery, and the audience was simply the residents of the monastery.

But I found that quite fitting. Every monk at Lethe Monastery dotes on Noel as if she were their own child, and they can’t resist anything our Prince asks of them.

From early on, a large crowd had gathered. One of the monks had even brought along a few townspeople, filling the front yard.

Our dear Noel was swallowing nervously, clearly unsure of what to do. But I wasn’t worried. After all, the first act of the play starred none other than Duke Orsino, our Prince Arch. The more people there are, the more our Prince seems to enjoy himself.

In fact, he never fails to impress when in front of a crowd. Even tasks he’s never succeeded at in private, he executes flawlessly in front of an audience, as if he’s been doing it his whole life. He must have been born with a natural affinity for the stage.

Shall I tell you how the play began?

When the time came, Brother Philip rang the bell, and the play commenced. Our Prince Arch strode out confidently.

“If music be the food of love, play on. Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die.”

As the Prince’s deep, melodious voice echoed through the monastery, the previously noisy audience fell silent. The flowers scattered throughout the front yard seemed to fade. The greenery suddenly looked like a lush, emerald carpet.

Yes, Lethe Monastery had transformed into Duke Orsino’s estate.

The first act was entirely the Prince’s stage. Duke Orsino’s lines were like a beautiful recital, drawing everyone in. I believe people were so captivated because our Prince is exceptional at memorizing things. When it comes to reciting from memory, no one in Windsor does it better than him.

After the first act ended, and our Prince exited the stage with a deep breath, the long-awaited Duke Florian finally made his appearance. You can probably guess the role he played, Miss Cordelia—it was quite obvious.

The woman who disguises herself as a man and serves Duke Orsino, Miss Viola.

When Duke Florian appeared on stage, there were gasps from the audience. Gasps? No, it was more like awe. The kind of sound people make when they’re so taken aback that they can barely catch their breath.

I turned to look at the stage, and even I couldn’t help but let out a soft “Ah” without realizing it.

It’s no secret that Duke Florian is handsome. I’ve mentioned before that I had already noticed he was a woman. But I never imagined he would appear as such a refined lady.

To Miss Cordelia,

Could the monastery have had proper women’s clothing? Of course not. All we had were a few old, tattered dresses left behind by Princess Edwina some twenty years ago. Noel dressed Duke Florian in one of those, draping a white linen cloth over his shoulders as if it were a veil.

And yet, despite such a ridiculous outfit, wasn’t he stunning? That plain white cloth looked just like a princess’s veil. The faded red dress of Princess Edwina made his red hair shine even more brilliantly. In that moment, he was the spitting image of Princess Edwina as I last saw her a decade ago.

If our Prince Arch had seen that sight,

and still failed to realize that the duke was a woman…

Well, it would have been a truly grave matter. One might even think that someone that oblivious shouldn’t exist at all.

Whether he sensed my thoughts or not, Prince Arch, after finishing the first act, was busily preparing for the next behind the scenes, paying no attention whatsoever to what Duke Florian was doing.

Meanwhile, Duke Florian’s Viola began her transformation into a man. The striking image of the young woman resembling Princess Edwina was gone. Now, Duke Florian had donned a tunic over the dress, strapped on a sword, and stood before the Prince as the boyish Cesario.

The play pressed on rapidly. It was a haphazard, chaotic performance, with a few amusing scenes cobbled together, but everyone understood it and sincerely enjoyed it. At Lethe Monastery, we’ve passed this book around so many times, and some of us even know the lines by heart.

When a comical scene came, the audience roared with laughter, and sometimes someone would even hop onto the stage to mimic what they’d just seen. During the emotional scenes, we all recited the lines together, with a shared intensity.

At one point, Prince Arch stumbled over a long line, and Noel stormed onto the stage, scolding him, “Prince!” Her fiery attitude made us all laugh so hard that the stage shook with applause.

Miss Cordelia, in my long life, I’ve never had a night as joyful as this.

Even though the memories of the burned stables and the ruined backyard still linger in our hearts, we laughed and enjoyed ourselves in such a way that it felt almost miraculous.

But as with many moments of joy, the night passed swiftly. As the sun began to set, we had to hurry. Once it grew dark, we wouldn’t be able to see the stage any longer.

The rowdy monks fell back, leaving only Duke Florian and Prince Arch on stage.

The final scene we had prepared was where Duke Orsino learns the truth—Viola, his loyal servant, was not a man but a woman, and all ends in happiness.

Prince Arch gracefully extended his hand to Duke Florian.

“Viola, give me your hand. And show me yourself in your woman’s attire.”

Then, with a gentle gesture, he reached up and untied Duke Florian’s hair. The breeze, which had been blowing softly all evening, caught those long, curly locks, making them dance in the air.

Noel approached from behind, undoing the rough tunic strings Duke Florian wore. Beneath it, the faded red dress and white linen cloth, once Princess Edwina’s, were revealed.

The sun had begun its descent behind the mountains, though the sky had yet to turn black. It was that lovely shade of blue that appears just briefly at dusk or dawn, and Duke Florian’s flaming red hair seemed to merge with the sunset, creating waves of color.

Suddenly exposed, Duke Florian blushed deeply, his face turning redder than his hair. His lips, as crimson as they could be, were tightly pressed in nervousness. His green eyes, catching the light of the setting sun, seemed deeper than usual as they gazed at Prince Arch.

The Prince…

The Prince simply stood there, staring at Duke Florian.

He said nothing. He just let out a deep breath, much like the monks earlier, half a sigh, half a gasp.

His blue eyes narrowed, then widened again, glowing beautifully as they shimmered. His lips tightened, and his expression grew pained.

And so, we in the front yard of the monastery witnessed it together. The moment our Prince realized Duke Florian’s true identity.

It felt as if we had accidentally glimpsed something we weren’t supposed to see, a secret better left hidden. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The Prince hesitated for a moment before delivering his next line. But no matter what words left his lips, his eyes remained fixed on Duke Florian.

The play quietly came to an end.

Everyone laughed and clapped with joy, but even during the final bow, the Prince remained dazed, lost in thought. As if he were the only one in a different world, keeping his silence.

Perhaps by tomorrow morning, when the sun rises, the Prince will come to his senses and confess everything to you. Or perhaps he will say nothing, sending another one of those baffling letters in its place.

Miss Cordelia, I can imagine how puzzled you’ll be, spending a long night with only cryptic letters in your hand, wondering what it all means. As for this old man, I lament the time passing so helplessly.

So what else can I do but indulge in a secret conversation like this?

On the night of the 20th day of the hottest month,

—Yours sincerely, Beder Lang.

* * *

Beder,

Thank you so much for writing to me like this.

I must apologize for not asking after you sooner.

I’m writing this brief reply quickly, hoping it reaches you before Arch sees it, to express my heart.

There’s a strange excitement in your letter today.

I, too, once wrote a letter with feelings much like yours.

And that letter… I could never show it to Prince Arch.

I believe I understand what you witnessed today.

It wasn’t simply the sight of someone discovering another’s secret.

What you saw was the moment a person falls in love with another.

My heart aches.

But I’m relieved that this letter wasn’t written by Arch himself.

At least, he tried to keep it hidden.

Beder, I believe this letter should be torn up.

July 20th.

With love to everyone at Lethe Monastery, Cordelia.

———= Author’s Note =———

To the Readers,

I spent a long time debating whether to save my stockpile of chapters, but given the emotional continuity from the previous chapter, I decided to release them all together.

I know that when I do a chapter dump, I should commit fully to it, but today, after a long time, I picked up *Solfrid the Golden Hawk* again, only to have a new chapter drop…

Not to mention, I still need to finish reading *Portrait of the Dark Lady*…ㅠㅠ

So please understand the 15-minute delay due to a reader’s busy life.

-A particularly anxious day in the Month of Harvest, Your Author

P.S. Thank you so much for the favorites, recommendations, and comments saying you enjoyed the story.ㅠㅠ I know it seems insincere when I say it every day, but I truly mean it.

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As always, a consecutive update (1/2)