Prince 36

#36

To my beloved friend, Cordelia,

As soon as I woke up early in the morning, I saw your letter.

As expected, I was very pleased to see that you were quite riled up.

However, dealing with so many question marks at once seems a bit challenging.

Once Tilbert and Beder wake up, I’ll meet with them and respond again.

What’s the rush?

Relax, my friend.

The morning of the first day of the Fruit Month, Archie Albert.

* * *

To the wicked snake-like Prince Archie,

Sometimes, you seem to possess an essence more wicked than even Cecilia.

I understand that teasing me and stirring my curiosity amuses you.

But you should remember that if you’re not careful, it could lead to your own downfall.

The sun is high in the sky, Prince.

Tilbert and Beder have already been awake long enough to have written four more pages of their transcription.

I was so overwhelmed by curiosity that I carried my bookcase to work with me.

You know what I mean, right?

You wicked prince, reply quickly.

If you don’t, I’ll find a way to come over to your side, no matter what.

7.28. Morning.

-Your angry friend, Cordelia.

* * *

To my dearest Coco, who is most lovely when angry,

Thinking about you being so enraged that you might cross over here with your bookcase actually doesn’t seem like such a bad idea?

Though you may fall victim to the magic of time in this enchanted box and your red hair will turn white, your green eyes will still glare fiercely at me.

Your cruel fingers, which tormented me in writing, will not miss the chance to reveal their full aggression by tightly gripping a dagger and plunging it into my heart. What a good way to die. I really love seeing you angry, and to witness that as I depart from life would be perfect.

Cordelia, now you understand, don’t you? Your threats do not scare me at all.

Tell me something more terrifying. Like that you’ll never reply to me again, or that you’ll destroy our bookcase.

A refreshing morning of the Fruit Month,

-If you make such terrifying threats, I’d even give you the top-secret documents of Windsor, Archie Albert.

* * *

Archie Albert,

You’re such a master.

You tease me while simultaneously lifting me up to the heavens.

You like me so much that you fear the end of our letters,

So why do you torment me so?

You might end up like Gilbert, with your head shattered.

-Your Anne Shirley, Cordelia Grey.

P.S. Does teasing me amuse you that much?

* * *

To my lady, fiercer than Anne Shirley,

Of course. It’s really fun.

Every day I live is for the joy of teasing you.

Moreover, since my worth seems to be only in solving your riddles, the only way to raise my value is to hold onto secrets and make you restless, right?

You may be slamming your fist on the desk, grinding your teeth, and attaching curses to the front and back of my name, ‘Archie Albert…’, but for me, this was the best choice.

Thanks to that, I get to exchange letters with you even during the day. What a delight.

-Archie, enjoying a peaceful afternoon regardless of your busy day

P.S. Oh, did I mention I found out all of Tilbert’s secrets? And the secrets surrounding Sir Arthur Gillen’s stories too. It’s true. I know everything!

* * *

To my night’s disturber, Archie,

Feel free to intrude on my day as well.

I promise you this.

Even when you lose all value and purpose, I will write to you every single day.

When you are completely broken, blind, and unable to walk, I will lock you up in the corner of my room and tenderly care for you.

So, with a heart that cherishes our friendship, answer my bundle of question marks one by one.

On 7.28. as I wait for lunch and your reply,

-Cordelia Grey.

P.S. I’ll be going to have lunch in about 30 minutes. I hope your letter will be waiting for me when I return to my desk.

P.S.2: I also like the fact that I can meet you during the day.

* * *

To the wicked Lady Cordelia.

You were planning to completely ruin me, make me blind, and unable to walk.

That’s quite impressive.

-Your still intact friend, Archie.

* * *

To the laziest man in Windsor, Prince Archie,

Don’t forget that I’m currently working.

Do you remember the first book I lent you, *Wuthering Heights*?

Emily Brontë, the writer of that mad novel, has an older sister who wrote something equally crazy.

It’s titled *Jane Eyre*, and it’s a story about an orphan girl named Jane.

If I say this, you might think of *Anne of Green Gables* or *Daddy Long Legs*, so let me be more precise. *Jane Eyre* is just as eerie as *Wuthering Heights*.

The Brontë sisters’ view on men is truly something else because, once again, we have an incredibly fascinating but completely flawed male character.

This man, they keep saying throughout the story, is ugly. Archie, you know how much I dislike unattractive men, don’t you? But this Rochester character grips your heart so much that you want to erase all the mentions of his ugliness.

Why am I telling you this? Because the Brontë sisters are even more wicked than you and me. In the end, they leave Rochester blind and crippled.

I’m currently working on publishing that book.

And somehow, I ended up hinting at Rochester’s fate in this letter to you.

It wasn’t at all because I was trying to tempt you with the many books I have.

But since you’ve fallen for it, let me ask.

After reading my poor explanation, aren’t you curious about the plot of *Jane Eyre*?

Tell me your secret.

If you satisfy me with your answer, tonight you’ll be able to read the incredibly romantic story that takes place in Thornfield Hall, where ghostly noises echo.

P.S. If you had only been a little kinder, I would’ve given it to you right away. Truly, it’s that enjoyable of a book.

* * *

To my still very useful friend,

Yes, you always had plenty of books to threaten and tempt me with, without needing to destroy the bookcase.

As usual, I’ve fallen for your bait, so I’ll be working hard to uncover the clues until you hand over the book tonight.

First of all, your suspicion that Tilbert might be the author Anne Selene is completely wrong. But don’t be too hard on yourself, my dear detective. If you had met Tilbert even for a moment, you wouldn’t have said such a thing.

Tilbert cannot speak.

He is from Reutlingen and was brought along when Princess Edwina came to the convent as a hostage. While the servants and maids who came with her eventually returned to their own places, Tilbert had no home to go back to.

Beder mentioned that it remains a mystery how Tilbert, being from Reutlingen, ended up coming along in the first place.

That mystery, even after 20 years, remains unsolved. The reason is that Tilbert cannot speak. His tongue was cut out long ago, leaving only the scar of where it healed.

Back then, he didn’t even understand the words Beder said, so even if he had a tongue, he wouldn’t have been able to explain in Windsor’s language why he followed Princess Edwina.

Of course, now he can understand everything we say, as he’s spent the last 20 years by Beder’s side. That means his ears have absorbed more of Windsor’s language than anyone else’s.

However, though he can listen, he is still clumsy with reading and writing. If he had tried, he could have learned, but no one thought to teach writing to someone who couldn’t speak. Tilbert, likewise, never sought to learn Windsor’s language.

The note you received from the eight monks last time, the one that said, ‘Hello, I am Tilbert,’ contains the only words he can write in Windsor’s language.

Although you told me never to look at it, I already know. His skill must have been clearly visible even in that short sentence. He would have written each letter beautifully, in an ornate script.

But that’s all he can write.

He decorates letters with colors more beautifully than anyone and draws illustrations that no illuminator could imitate. But writing Anne Selene’s works? That’s impossible.

At this point, your question marks must be sprouting again, right?

How can a scribe who cannot read or speak do his job, you ask?

Well, if he were anywhere else, there would be nothing a scribe who can’t read could do. Even an illuminator has to understand the text to match the illustrations with it.

But don’t forget, Cordelia, there’s a very special presence at the Abbey of Lethe. Our particularly noisy Beder, of course.

This is how things work. Once Tilbert takes his seat, Beder sits beside him and gives an exhaustive explanation of the book Tilbert is tasked with. He explains the contents, how the patron wants the letters decorated, and what illustrations should accompany each scene. Tilbert listens intently, his small eyes sparkling, and nods. Then, he brings those descriptions to life in his drawings.

And, as you’ve seen yourself, his drawings are breathtakingly beautiful.

So this morning, when I went to Tilbert, I didn’t ask him about ‘Anne Selene the author’. I already knew he wasn’t the author, so I moved on to the next question.

I asked directly.

“Tilbert the scribe, do you remember Sir Arthur Gillen?”

He silently nodded.

“Did you illuminate the illustrations for Sir Arthur Gillen’s tale?”

Once again, his head bobbed up and down.

I quickly pulled out *The Princess and the Knight* you had given me and showed it to him.

“Look at this. You drew this, Tilbert.”

I opened to the most beautiful final page and held it before him. He quietly stared at the illustration.

Then, he shrugged and pointed to a small part of the horse’s mane.

And there, where neither you nor I had noticed before, was a tiny carved ‘t’.

“So, Tilbert, are you saying ‘I’ve already marked it, why are you asking me?’”

He simply looked at me, with a pitying expression.

By this point, I was growing frustrated, so I called for Beder. Despite the tension between us due to your involvement, I had no choice. No one else could translate Tilbert’s gestures and expressions as well as Beder.

As soon as Beder saw Tilbert’s face, he launched into his endless chatter.

“Well, Prince, it seems Tilbert is saying that he was just following orders. Who exactly gave him these orders? Let’s see… he says it was about 20 years ago. Yes, 20 years ago, he thinks. Though Tilbert himself can’t remember the exact date anymore… Right, Tilbert? A shrug means ‘I don’t know.’ It’s obvious from his lack of an answer. Now, how did he end up exchanging letters with Princess Edwina through the bookcase, Tilbert? No? Ah, not that expression. So who ordered it? Ah, that person. Yes, Prince, Tilbert…”

And so began a story that covered every step of Tilbert’s journey from his arrival in Windsor to now. It went on for three hours.

So, Cordelia, now you can understand why I held back from telling you everything all at once, right? Please don’t be too upset that my letter was delayed.

I’ll write more of the precious details I gathered after dinner.

On the evening of the first day of the Fruit Month,

-Your faithful friend, Archie.

* * *

Prince Archie, who has a natural gift for teasing me,

I think you may have failed this time.

You’ve given me too many clues.

Tilbert cannot write,

so it’s impossible that he exchanged letters with Princess Edwina through the bookcase.

I have a feeling Princess Edwina could speak Reutlingen, but I won’t stretch my imagination that far. If communication had been that important, Tilbert would have made a greater effort to learn Windsor’s language.

Moreover, we have a third figure to consider.

The mysterious lady who exchanged letters with Princess Edwina.

Scribe Beder continues to keep her identity a secret. I directly asked if it was Queen Adelaide, but he suspiciously avoided answering.

Shall I tell you what I think?

Princess Edwina came to my world with the bookcase. She continued exchanging letters with the mysterious lady through it.

Perhaps Anne Selene, the author, is actually Princess Edwina. I still don’t know how she ended up here or how she decided to publish a book, but assuming Anne Selene is Princess Edwina, everything starts to make sense.

Princess Edwina, having written her own story, would have needed a brilliant artist to illustrate it. Naturally, Tilbert, with whom she had been close since the hostage days, would have been the first person to come to mind.

I don’t know if this mysterious lady is your mother or someone else. But it’s clear she was the one who commanded Tilbert to do the illustrations.

So, Archie, what you need to do is simple. Go and pressure Beder to reveal who this mysterious lady is. Once we find her, everything will come to light. Maybe, just like Princess Edwina writing her story on this side, you could come to where I am as well. How does that sound? Do you feel like hurrying over?

7.28. Evening.

-Returning from work as the detective, Cordelia.

P.S. Ask Tilbert if he’s interested in taking on new work. Tell him he can name his price.

Of course, since I don’t have a single Windsor coin to my name, Prince, you’ll have to cover the cost. If you object, I’ll just say I’ll pay you back in books.

P.S.2. Speaking of which, what happened to Sir Arthur Gillen’s story? Is Arthur Gillen really such a common name? Prince, you have a habit of answering only one of the two questions I ask.

* * *

To the detective who subjects me to rigorous training,

I take offense at your second P.S., so I will now give you a detailed response.

First, Sir Arthur Gillen is a legendary figure in Windsor. It is true that some people name their children ‘Arthur’ in his honor. However, the surname ‘Gillen’ has long since disappeared.

When this man named Sir Arthur Gillen appeared and proposed to Princess Edwina, everyone thought it was a joke by some daring young nobleman like Charles Wellesley, staging a playful proposal using the name of a brave knight from legend.

But when he removed his helmet, everyone was left bewildered. His blonde hair and blue eyes were stunning, and his movements as he knelt before Princess Edwina were graceful, but none of us had ever seen a young man with such a face before.

To this day, the true identity of Sir Arthur Gillen remains unknown. The reason I didn’t tell you this story before… well, in Windsor, this is common knowledge, so it didn’t occur to me that you might not know. That was my foolish oversight.

Second, your theory about Tilbert is perfect—except for one thing: the mysterious lady was not my mother. In fact, I happened to meet this mysterious lady at Daphne’s wedding. Lady Josephine, Daphne’s aunt, a frail woman, was shocked upon seeing Florian and asked, “Princess Edwina?”

Yes, that’s how Flynn proved useful.

Flynn looked confused, and Lady Josephine’s eyes slowly lost hope.

“Princess Edwina is…”

Flynn’s voice wavered violently.

“She passed away, yes, I heard.”

Lady Josephine quietly responded, and that ended our conversation.

After the wedding, Daphne told us that Lady Josephine had been Princess Edwina’s maid and a long-time friend of my mother, Queen Adelaide.

“They were so close that even after Princess Edwina disappeared, she would visit the Abbey of Lethe daily for a while.”

“The Abbey of Lethe?”

“Yes, she visited almost every month for two or three years. Before her child passed away, my aunt used to be an energetic woman who liked to wander around.”

I’m sure that, with just this bit of information, your sharp mind has already figured out how I got my lead, haven’t you?

The evening party grew louder and noisier, and eventually, she disappeared. Flynn and I wanted to find Lady Josephine again to talk more, but Daphne stopped us.

“You mentioned there’s a monk at your abbey who had his tongue cut out. Well, Aunt Josephine’s heart was cut in the same way. I don’t know what you’re planning to ask, but don’t stir up her heart over some trivial curiosity.”

Daphne’s tone was unusually serious.

It was almost enough to make me believe that absurd saying about marriage making people mature.

The scars left by war never truly disappear, even with time.

Tilbert, too, may seem to live a cheerful life as an illuminator, smiling silently as if nothing is wrong, but he wakes up screaming every morning and gets scolded by Beder.

I still don’t know how to approach the wounds of such people. Flynn, however, seems better at it than I am, as he kept trying to approach Lady Josephine. Eventually, just before leaving for the abbey, Flynn caught up with her again.

And this is what he said.

“Bread.”

“Bread?”

“There is bread, my lady.”

“What are you talking about?”

Lady Josephine looked at both Flynn and me with a confused expression.

Catching his breath after chasing her down, Flynn said,

“Well, it’s just like that. There’s bread. Bread… that I like.”

Lady Josephine laughed. I couldn’t help but feel a little dumbfounded too.

“Duke Florian. Sit down. What are you trying to say?”

“Even very sad people feel better if they eat bread. So, bread… it’s not a big deal, but when you eat it, it helps a little, you know? That’s the story, my lady.”

“Eating bread helps?”

“Yes, so… would you come have some bread? At the Abbey of Lethe?”

It was truly a riddle. Lady Josephine stared at Flynn, clearly puzzled, and thought for a long time.

“You’re inviting me to eat bread.”

“Yes, I think it will be very sweet and delicious bread. And if you eat it, you might feel a little less sad.”

Lady Josephine finally smiled, as if she had understood what Flynn was trying to say.

“Princess Edwina’s daughter. Do I look sad to you?”

“A little.”

“You think eating bread will help.”

“Yes.”

“And as we eat the bread, you’ll ask me the questions you really want to ask.”

“Many of them.”

“Alright, then. Let’s go to the Abbey of Lethe.”

With that, Lady Josephine left. Yes, Flynn accomplished what I couldn’t.

On the way back, I asked what the whole “bread” story was about. That scoundrel just grinned and told me to ask you, our bookcase friend, in a few days.

By now, you must be wondering why I’m only telling you this important story now. Well, didn’t I say I’d share some fun stories from Daphne’s wedding? But you never asked, not even out of the slightest curiosity, while you were busy summoning eight monks and playing games with notes.

You’re just like a Mark, you know. I’ve been waiting all this time, like the old Cordelia, wondering when you’d finally ask. Truly.

Third, will you now give me *Jane Eyre*?

The first night of the Fruit Month.

-Your concise friend, Archie Albert.

P.S. To maintain clarity, I will not add a postscript to this letter.

P.S.2: Except for just this one, of course.

* * *

To my beloved prince,

I find you most attractive when you number your letters.

Even more so than Rochester.

I will give you *Jane Eyre*.

But before that, I must give you another book first.

The one Florian wanted, the one with ‘bread’ that’s simple but helpful.

The story is quite straightforward and short. A couple orders a cake for their child Scotty’s birthday. But before they can pick it up, their child has a sudden accident and falls into a coma. As they stay by their child’s side at the hospital, waiting between life and death, they keep getting calls from a man with an odd voice asking, “Have you forgotten Scotty?” The couple is terrified but can’t leave the hospital.

In the end, Scotty dies, and after the funeral, the couple returns home, only to receive another call.

“Have you forgotten Scotty?”

Enraged and exhausted from the grief and sleepless nights, the couple finally explodes. And that’s when they learn the truth: the calls were from a baker, furious that they hadn’t picked up the cake. The couple goes to the bakery and explains everything. The baker sincerely apologizes. This could have been just an ordinary story, but then something happens.

There’s bread. Late at night, the baker stays in his shop, baking cinnamon rolls. He invites the couple to sit down and have some. The smell of cinnamon fills the dark, lonely night. Hungry, the couple sits quietly in the bakery, eating the freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Sweet, warm bread—it’s nothing special, but it helps.

I have no idea how Florian knew about this book.

It’s not like Shakespeare or the Brontë sisters; this is a fairly recent novel.

So, what do you think, my prince? Confused about where this is all going?

I think I’m starting to figure it all out.

If you’re curious too, hurry and invite Lady Josephine for some bread, and beg her for the answers.

Just like how I’m begging you with *Jane Eyre* as bait.

-With love, Cordelia.

P.S. Being compared to Mark is truly insulting, but I can’t deny it. In case I get too caught up in another mystery and forget to ask, let me say this now: always remember that I am incredibly curious about how you’re doing.

* * *

To Cordelia,

The fact that you are incredibly curious about my well-being is indeed nothing special, but very helpful.

Everyone at the Abbey of Lethe has read the book you gave me.

The abbey’s cooks are now fighting over whose cinnamon roll recipe is the best. Philip and Louise are already salivating over the upcoming bread party. Noel, who retired from cooking some time ago, keeps bringing up the idea of returning to the kitchen, much to my concern.

Yes, Lady Josephine will be visiting soon.

I hope the bread they bake will be nothing special but helpful.

The second morning of the Fruit Month.

-With love, Archie Albert.

———= Author’s Note =———

To my beloved readers,

I am 15 minutes late.

Still, I hope this story will be nothing special but helpful.

Honestly, I suddenly got a craving for bread at 12:20 AM, and it’s a big problem.

If the story wasn’t entertaining, have some bread… and find your joy…

+ The books mentioned in the story are:

Charlotte Brontë – *Jane Eyre*

Raymond Carver – *A Small, Good Thing*

P.S. Many thanks to those who sent support coupons:

Sen98, Dewdoomchit, BusyInLife, lostclock, Renmin, Estella, MoonMilhwa. Thank you all for your generous support.

P.S.2: Thank you so much for the subscriptions, recommendations, comments, and reviews. Bless those who kindly correct my many typos.

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