#31.
My greedy friend, Cordelia.
Sir Elliot of course has quite a decent face. Well, I’ll just say it’s enough for the only daughter of Yelling to stake her five years on him.
But, who could ever rival me in looks? It’s time for you to give up your greedy collection of handsome men in writing. Isn’t Liam by your side, who you say is even more handsome than I am (though that’s impossible)?
On the night of the twenty-second of the First Heat Month.
— From the most handsome man in Winzerton, Archie Albert William Rendyke.
* * *
Prince Archie Albert William Rendyke.
You and Daphne are childhood friends, like Anne and Gilbert, having known each other since you were little.
After reuniting after five years, she proposed a contract relationship, which must have brought some unprecedented tension.
You must have performed the acts to make yourselves look like lovers in the eyes of others quite well.
Kneeling before Daphne, kissing the back of her hand, holding that hand and dancing with her. Yet, how can you say no love blossomed?
That only makes sense if Sir Elliot is far more handsome than you.
Now, you should concede the title of the most handsome man in Winzerton to him, Archie Albert William.
— From your sharp-witted friend, Cordelia.
P.S. Wouldn’t you consider getting a portrait of Sir Elliot for your dear friend?
* * *
Foolish Cordelia.
You know, old familiar feelings between a beautiful man and a brave woman don’t always end in love, do they?
— From your beautiful friend, Archie Albert.
* * *
My foolish prince.
Like us?
— From your brave friend, Cordelia.
* * *
My dearest Coco,
We’re a bit of an exception. I don’t think about Daphne every day.
* * *
Liar, Prince Archie.
You are a true player.
To Daphne, you gave the answer she wanted.
To Lucy and Eloise, you gave the answer they wanted.
And now, you’re giving me the answer I wanted.
But that’s a lie.
You don’t think of me every day.
At least not as much as I think of you.
It’s infuriating to know I’ll always win in this game, but I’ll forgive you, just as all the other women who have heard your sweet words did.
P.S.: It’s past midnight. Time to sleep. Goodnight, my prince.
* * *
To Cordelia Gray, who teased me and then went off to sleep.
Shall we talk about two days ago, under the warm night of the First Heat Month? Perhaps by lengthening that short letter, it may lessen your teasing of this innocent flower. Let me tell you just how much I thought of you that day.
As you predicted, on the day of the Twelfth Night play, I finally realized Flynn’s true identity. When Noel pulled off the tunic Flynn was wearing, and as the layers of the dress beneath started fluttering in the wind, and Flynn tightly shut those green eyes, everything suddenly fit together.
The face that was too delicate to belong to a boy,
The way Flynn naturally fell into the female dance steps,
Cecil’s peculiar tendency to protect Flynn,
The time you told me to read *Twelfth Night*,
And all the other countless clues hidden in your letters came flooding back.
Flynn was Viola herself.
Viola, who had to disguise herself as Cesario.
I felt utterly foolish for not noticing sooner.
As if reading my mind, Flynn looked at me with drooping eyes, like someone guilty. The moment I saw those eyes, the urge to ask why vanished instantly.
If I had said, “You, you’re a woman,” I felt as if Flynn would burst into tears right then.
It was as if Flynn wanted me to look away first, casting glances down, then at me, then sideways again. Eventually, those anxious eyes returned to mine, and they seemed so pitiful.
The expression was so peculiar that I stared for quite a while. As I looked, countless thoughts tangled in my head.
The first thought was that Flynn was beautiful.
Even when I thought Flynn was a man, I had thought the face was pretty, but now, seeing the clear skin, the small freckles dotted along the nose, and those large eyes trembling so desperately, I could only describe the face as that of a beauty. I couldn’t help but think, How could I have not known she was a woman?
Then came the inevitable questions.
Why had she disguised herself as a man? Had she lived this way from a young age, or was it something she had chosen to do to enter the palace? Wouldn’t it have been revealed eventually, anyway?
As I thought that far, my face suddenly grew hot. I remembered trying to take off her clothes, the time I had almost spilled water on her white shirt, the times I had carelessly tousled her red hair, and even the time I had pulled her into an embrace to keep her warm in the cave. Thinking of all that made me feel deeply sorry. When I finally managed to utter a belated apology, Flynn stared at me and asked what I was apologizing for.
I simply replied that I was sorry for everything.
I thought that would be enough, and that Flynn would understand.
But she just shook her head.
“The prince hasn’t done anything wrong. Well, maybe one thing, but I don’t think you know what that is yet.”
Her smile after saying that was so sorrowful, and at that moment, I amusingly thought I finally understood how the knight who loved Princess Edwina must have felt.
You’ll probably scoff at this, but I also began to understand the feelings of the many women who confessed their love for me. For so long, I couldn’t grasp how a person could fall in love with someone just by looking at their appearance.
But Flynn made me realize the power a face can have. It wasn’t just because she was beautiful. Just looking at her face made my heart ache for no reason.
If I had met Flynn a little earlier, perhaps this sympathy would have turned into love, and I might have completely fallen for her. I even thought there’s nothing in the world that could overpower the lonely feeling one gets when gazing at another person.
And then, you came to my mind last.
I wondered if you, too, wear such an expression on lonely nights.
If so, how much would my heart ache?
Would your hair, which you once said you wished were strawberry-blonde, be as red as Flynn’s?
Would your green eyes be like emeralds or like summer grass?
If I hadn’t met you, if I hadn’t spent nights with a woman like you, perhaps I would have spent this entire summer chasing after Flynn. Even if I wouldn’t cry over Daphne’s marriage, as you imagined, it’s certainly the kind of summer where one might start a new love, chasing after someone else’s beauty.
But for me, it’s already too late.
I’m not like the young man who, excited by a book, runs off to have sex.
I’m more like the fool who stays up all night copying that book onto leather.
I’ve spent this entire summer getting to know you.
Now I know you, and there is no one like you anywhere.
But since we can never be together, we cannot call this love.
Now, the downfall before me is clear.
I will waste away, thinking only of you whenever I see a beautiful woman. I’ll complain that no one is quite like Coco, even if I escort the most lovely lady. In the end, I’ll become an old man like Beder, rotting away in the scriptorium.
So, my friend, do not deny my heart when I say I think of you every day.
You’ve never felt this way in front of Liam, so it seems I’ve won this game.
— Yours, Archie Albert.
P.S.: Tomorrow morning, I’ll be off to attend Daphne’s wedding. It’s a precarious journey, so I won’t bring my book collection. Don’t worry if I don’t send word for three or four days. My dear Coco, even if you’re awake, don’t bother writing a single dot and get some good sleep.
* * *
To Cordelia, who is likely still feeling melancholic.
You wouldn’t believe how much has happened since I hid away here. Understand that I must write briefly. I’ll recount everything as best as I remember.
First, people see what they want to see. Beder sees what Beder wants, Archie sees what Archie wants, and you see what you want to see. But what you saw was wrong. Don’t be hurt.
Second, forget what you’re thinking right now. He didn’t see me that way. He saw you in me. You wouldn’t know how that both pleases and amuses me.
Third, one day, you will come here. When the time comes when I can no longer write, seek out Liam. But until then, just stay as you are. Don’t tell anyone, don’t do anything. I’ve thought long about how things turned out this way, and somehow I feel this letter is the right one to send. It’s foolish that I only realized this today. But someday you’ll understand too.
7.23. Dawn.
— From your very best friend.
P.S.: Tear this letter up in the way you like.
———= Author’s Notes =———
Dear Readers,
First, isn’t the new cover absolutely gorgeous? I had to say it twice because I love it so much.
Second, huge thanks to Rakrak and Moldu for the generous support coupons! Your beautiful reviews, comments, favorites, and recommendations truly give me the strength to keep writing. Thank you so much.
Third, for those who are worried about the slow update schedule: this novel is a contracted work and will be serialized on JoaRa until it is completed and published. I’m also wary of issues with text files, and I understand the benefits of paid serialization, but given the short format, this method suits me best. Also, I am, as you know, an attention-seeker beyond your imagination (I’ve said before, even insults are welcome as long as you don’t spit at me), and I can’t give up the thrill of interacting with readers in the middle of the night… sob. This is getting long like Beder’s speeches, but in any case, please read on with peace of mind.
P.S.: If you didn’t like this chapter, feel free to tear it up in whatever way you prefer…
<–Juliet’s Education–>
(1/3 Serial Update)
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