Prince 50

#50.

Prince Archie.

Are you there?

Day six of the month of Bountiful Fruits, at dawn.

—Cordelia.

* * *

Cordelia.

Of course, I am here.

I have been sitting here at the desk, just as you commanded, without moving an inch.

Waiting only for you.

So please, don’t cry, Coco.

Isn’t it a beautiful story? Isn’t it?

In your way, under the moon of August 10,

—Your faithful friend, Archie Albert.

* * *

My dearest friend Archie,

How could I not cry?

Lady Josephine called my name.

And now I’ve just learned that Princess Edwina is my mother.

I also found out that the father I’ve never seen is Prince Reiner, and I’ve heard everything about how they met and fell in love.

Oh, how dull I must be!

How did I only realize it now?

I had so many clues already.

Goodness, Princess Edwina is my mother in every way.

Look, wasn’t it so like her to cover her daughter’s ears and yell at a passing stranger to scare them away?

The old bookstore and antique shop that my mother ran, filled with incredibly ancient things—those must all have come from Winterton, right?

And that’s not all.

When my mother was tired, she had this habit of pressing her eyes hard. I always thought she was angry when she did that. I never imagined it was what she did every time she held back her tears until Lady Josephine explained.

Of course, I was only a ten-year-old, a clueless little girl. A silly child who had no idea what kind of life my mother led, how she met my father, or how she gave birth to and raised me.

Do you know what saddens me the most right now, Archie?

It’s that I no longer remember my mother’s voice reading me picture books when I was little.

No matter how tired and exhausted she was, at night, my mother would sit me on her lap and read me picture books. Like most kids, I would always bring the same book and beg her to read it over and over again.

My mother would sternly say that she’d only read it once more and not to pester her anymore, but as soon as she opened the book, she would start telling the story in her kind voice, as if she hadn’t just scolded me.

Sometimes she’d point to each picture and explain it to me, and sometimes she’d even add stories of her own between the pictures. So even though we read the same book every day, I never got bored.

Do you think she thought of my father every time she read me those stories?

So, did Princess Edwina think of Prince Reiner?

The book *The Princess and the Knight*, that must have been written by my mother, right? Did my mother—Princess Anne Edwina—scold Tilbert to produce the illustrations?

Goodness, Prince Reiner was right. My mother was cruel. So cruel. How could she tell me that story hundreds of times and yet never once sit me down and say, “Coco, this is the story of your mother and father”?

How could she do that? How could she swallow all of it and pretend as if nothing ever happened?

I’m angry. I’m so angry that I want to turn back time like Prince Reiner and go meet my mother. I want to meet her and demand to know why she never told me anything.

But of course, I can’t do that. And the moment my thoughts go there, my anger immediately turns into sorrow.

Why did Lady Josephine decide to tell me all this? Now that I know, all it does is make me miss my mother even more.

People say that when you’re sad, your heart breaks.

Prince, I now know that this is not just some worn-out metaphor. It truly feels that way. My heart is breaking.

—Your friend, Cordelia.

* * *

To Miss Cordelia Gray,

Princess Edwina would have been so happy to tell you that story.

No matter how many times little you asked her to read the same book, you would have been so lovable that it never felt like a burden.

It’s sad that you can no longer remember that voice.

But listen, my dear Coco.

Though I’ve never met Princess Edwina, I can imagine.

Your mother would have read to you slowly, with quiet affection, each word deliberate.

When a scary scene appeared, she might have lowered her voice,

and just like Flynn did for Noel, she would have kindly pointed at the pictures, explaining everything.

Perhaps when she was about to swap all the world’s miserable stories into happy endings for your tear-prone self, just like your father, she would pause for a moment, hesitate, saying, “Hmm…”

Now, think hard. Doesn’t your broken heart start to swell warmly when you imagine your mother, begrudging but skilled, performing such a feat?

Yes, Coco, the Princess surely thought of Prince Reiner when she looked at you. But it wouldn’t have been with sadness or longing.

You, who are the result of all they endured and built together, would have been nothing but a source of joy and happiness to her.

So please, dry your tears.

We both know we have a few hopes left, my little Sherlock.

Now that you know Anne Selene the author is none other than Princess Anne Edwina, your mother, you know better than anyone what your next move is, right?

Go find Liam.

Ask him who Anne Selene really is, and who wrote the sequel to *The Princess and the Knight*.

—Your Watson, moving swiftly in your sadness, Archie Albert.

* * *

Archie “Watson” Albert,

How do you always know when I’m crying?

—Cordelia.

* * *

Cordelia “Crybaby” Gray.

What do you think I don’t already know about you?

—Archie Albert, who now knows you inside and out.

P.S. May I politely ask if you’ve wiped away your tears and started wondering? Didn’t I tell you, Cordelia? Your handwriting is hard to decipher even at the best of times. You didn’t send this letter after wiping your tears on the paper, did you?

* * *

Annoying Prince Archie.

Fine, for the sake of your eyesight, I’ll stop crying.

My mother used to say this:

There’s nothing more important than humor and kind words.

It’s funny. My mother was short-spoken and blunt, so “kindness” didn’t really suit her. But she did have a decent sense of humor.

Although, she wasn’t funny at all when she was lecturing me.

“Cordelia, when you buy something and pay for it, always say thank you to the shopkeeper. When you get on the bus, greet the driver with a ‘hello,’ and when you pass by people on the street, smile at them. Kindness saves us. If you can’t manage that, at least try to be funny. That way, they’ll laugh first.”

Unlike my mother, I take after my father a little more, so I’m better at kindness than humor.

But still, Archie, I have a long way to go to beat you. Thank you, Archie, for comforting me when I cry over nothing.

P.S. I was just about to tell you. Liam confessed. He’s the one who wrote the sequel to *The Princess and the Knight*, not Anne Selene, and he doesn’t think he can write any better than that. Yes, there was no mystery about Anne Selene after all. But now, I’m more curious about Liam. Archie, do you have a servant or a wizard named Liam around you by any chance?

* * *

My dear friend, Coco.

Hmm, I didn’t know things had gone that way.

It seems Watson’s plan to uncover Anne Selene’s true identity has failed.

I didn’t want to stir your emotions unnecessarily, so I didn’t say it outright, but I actually thought maybe your mother was still alive. Princess Edwina, empowered by the three-strand bracelet and Prince Reiner’s magic, crossed into your world and became the author of *The Princess and the Knight*, Anne Selene. And when you turned twelve, for some unknown reason, she had to cross back into this world. And… she’s still alive somewhere, using Liam to send her manuscripts.

Yes, that was my foolish deduction. Just wild thoughts. But Cordelia, think about it. We know Princess Edwina well, don’t we? And you know your mother’s character even better than I do, right?

Would she be the type to hide her death and leave her young daughter behind?

No, I don’t think so. What mother in the world could leave behind such a lovable daughter like you? If it were me, I wouldn’t give up even a single hour before I died.

Why not ask Liam again? Sure, let’s say he wrote that boring manuscript. But ask him why he chose the name “Anne Selene” and who the author really is. I’m sure there’s some truth hidden in there that we don’t yet know.

—Your Watson, Archie Albert.

P.S. Liam, hmm, well, his original name must be “William,” and that’s not a very common name in Winterton right now. It may sound ridiculous, but royalty names are reserved for royal use. Because of my illustrious birth, all the Archies, Alberts, and Williams had to change their names. Maybe he ran off because he didn’t want to change his name.

P.S. 2: Didn’t you tell Liam that his manuscript was trash?

* * *

Prince Archie, who might as well be called Holmes now.

Your deduction that my mother might still be alive brought an ache to my heart. Even more so when you said you hesitated to tell me, fearing it would disturb me. You’re right. Holding onto such false hope would only lead to more pain.

Archie, you’re quite sharp, aren’t you?

You probably already guessed how hard it was for me to piece everything together—that when I realized all my mother’s letters were sent by a patron, when the neighbor told me my mother had been ill for a long time—I had to face the truth that she left just before she died.

So, no, I don’t want to dream that there’s more to it than that.

And I don’t want to ask Liam, only to be disappointed again.

You said there was a grave for Princess Edwina next to the cabin, didn’t you?

Mother… Mother must have returned to Father’s side just before she died.

That’s what I’ll choose to believe.

If, just maybe, she were alive somewhere in your world…

…No, I won’t allow myself to think about it. So please, don’t encourage me anymore, my considerate friend.

—Cowardly Cordelia Gray.

P.S. I didn’t call it trash. I just said it was unbelievably boring and wondered how something could be *that* dull… Yes, I regret it. He must have been hurt, right? How do you think I should make it up to Liam?

—Cordelia, whose heart suddenly feels overwhelmed again.

* * *

To a Cordelia Who Worries Too Much.

If it’s boring, you should say so.

How’s that your fault?

If the writing’s boring, that’s the writer’s fault.

See, I never liked that fellow from the start.

Will you keep meeting with him?

—Your “honest” advisor, Archie Albert.

P.S. It’s morning here. While I can stay up all night writing and then sleep till noon, how are you doing, Cordelia?

* * *

To my forgetful advisor, Archie Albert.

Wasn’t it Mark you didn’t like?

You said Liam was more your style, with his careful approach.

Don’t you remember, Archie Albert? You once said something like, “Love should be whispered gently,” or something like that?

—Your friend who listens closely, Cordelia.

P.S. It’s morning here too. In just five minutes, it’ll be time to call in sick, claiming my fever’s like a furnace.

* * *

To Cordelia, who’s probably asleep by now.

Judging by the way you’re teasing me, it seems like your tears have dried up completely.

Yes, I suppose I did say something along those lines. It does sting a bit to hear that my heartfelt advice is remembered as “love should be whispered gently” or whatever.

Anyway, it seems you’re not planning to cut ties with Liam. Well, that’s your choice. Since I don’t have a three-strand bracelet like Prince Reiner gave to Princess Edwina, it seems I’ll never have the chance to visit you. I’ll just sit here, making “this and that” comments from afar.

But Cordelia, do you realize something?

I’m not someone who’s usually short on words (thanks to Beder—should’ve taken the old advice to choose friends wisely!), nor do I consider being secretive a virtue.

But no one has ever made me talk as much as you have.

I’ve revealed my innermost thoughts to you in full.

Yet, these days, it feels incredibly frustrating that we’re so far apart, only able to communicate through letters. Especially when I’m only now finding out about Liam’s cheeky lie.

Am I beating around the bush?

To put it plainly, what I’m saying is that I’d like you to share every detail of your life with me. Everything, down to the very last second. Nothing left out, not even a moment.

If you don’t respond to my obsession, despite how desperately I ask, it seems you are more like Princess Edwina, who sent grapes and potatoes, than your father, who stacked piles of letters in the library.

—Archie Albert, who will forever remain your pen-pal.

* * *

To my kind and obsessive Archie Albert.

If I were to explain just how much I love these moments when you become unusually persistent, I’d have to pour out my entire evening.

Anyway, as you requested, I’ll tell you about my day, second by second.

I’ll… tell you… … there’s nothing to tell.

Yes, that’s the life of an office worker who, thanks to pulling an all-nighter, took the day off—utterly uneventful. As a result, I spent some time icing my swollen eyes and took a brief nap.

When I woke up, I drank a cup of chilled tea and thought a bit about how to fake being sick when I go back to work tomorrow.

Then, I re-read Lady Josephine’s letter and, despite your comforting words, I cried once more.

After crying my heart out, I felt hungry, so I went back to my old neighborhood to buy some bread. There’s a bakery in the village where I used to live with my mother, one that sells these enormous, fluffy loaves that tear apart beautifully.

I bought whatever I could grab—bread, cinnamon rolls, scones—and ate a late meal in my cold room, this time with a steaming cup of tea.

With all that sugar and flour calming my heart, I started feeling curious about a few things.

Archie, do you remember when I told you the story my mother shared about my father? How he wrote an enormous number of letters without her knowing and left them somewhere, waiting for her to come find them?

That “somewhere” must be the book storage Princess Edwina left behind at the Lete Monastery, right? Sir Arthur Gillen must have gone off to the northern forest behind the castle and written those long letters, stuffing them into that little book storage, hoping Princess Edwina would someday read them.

My mother, having seen those letters only much later, must have wept, just like Beder wrote, and embraced and kissed my father, as she told me.

What kind of stories did my father leave behind in those letters?

What did he write that won my mother’s love?

And what about the bracelet? If my mother came here wearing the bracelet as Princess Edwina, then where did it go?

I’ve searched diligently through my mother’s keepsakes, but there wasn’t even a hairband, let alone a bracelet. Archie, my prince, since you’ve willingly taken on the role of my “obsessor,” would you do me this small favor?

Could you pass on a message to Lady Josephine for me?

Tell her that Cordelia Flora Gray, the daughter of Edwina, is requesting to see the letters my mother exchanged with her through the book storage.

Evening of August 10th.

—Relying once again on your kindness, Cordelia.

---

Author’s Note

Dear readers,

I’m back with some light banter after the storm of love has passed.

I’m so happy that you all loved Prince Reiner and Princess Edwina, but I know, deep down, you were all waiting for Archie and Coco, right?

I missed them terribly too. (Poor, talkative Josephine… I won’t let her get away with it.)

Originally, I planned to bring this story back much later and with a lot more, but seeing all of you in tears in the comments section broke my heart, so I rushed to bring it sooner.

So please, don’t cry anymore. The comments are flooding…

P.S. Thank you so much for the likes, recommendations, heartfelt comments, exclamation marks, and periods. I love you all!

P.S.2: Typos and awkward phrasing will be corrected slowly. I truly appreciate your feedback!

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