Rumors couldn’t be accepted at face value, but I also knew the reality which served as definitive proof. In Sauslind Kingdom, men and women were considered adults when they reached the age of eighteen. Provided their partner was an adult and it didn’t offend society’s sensibilities, a woman could be wed while she was still underage. But the prince had been non-committal, extending our engagement on the basis that I was still “too young.” There were no talks about an official wedding, not even now that I’d reached adulthood. That only reinforced the credibility of the rumors.
There was nothing to be done about it. Ultimately, what the prince and I had agreed upon was a mutually beneficial engagement. A girl who hadn’t even undertaken princess training couldn’t be made a princess. There existed no romantic feelings between us, just a shared struggle against societal pressures placed on men and women of our positions. And now I could see it as clearly as if I’d read it in a story—the day the prince would annul our engagement had come.
The girl accompanying His Highness was the daughter of a viscount, and she had just recently entered the inner palace for etiquette lessons. Noble ladies entered the palace for such lessons for a variety of reasons. Some as part of bridal training before their wedding, some for added prestige before a marriage proposal, and some as a part of job hunting. Although they were the daughters of noblemen, there were a number of houses in such circumstances where a lady would have to seek employment. From what I heard, positions associated with the palace, such as maid or court lady, were particularly well sought after. There was honor in serving those of higher rank, as well as the opportunity to acquaint oneself with promising lords working at the palace. And for some, the chance to fall in love with a prince, just like in a romance novel.
The name of this viscount’s daughter was Lady Irene Palcas. Talk about her had grown recently, and I’d encountered her myself a number of times. The first time I spotted her was in the royal archives. Though it really all began when I overheard the staff members in the archive talking about her. “There’s this really adorable lady who just recently began etiquette lessons here,” they said.
The lady to whom they referred had soft chestnut-colored hair, bright brown eyes that would captivate anyone who looked into them, and a soprano voice that filled the air wherever she went. One so sweet you’d never tire of hearing it. She was warm, sociable, and overflowing with charisma. She seemed to be my exact opposite, a true lady. I began to remember her face after seeing her stop by the archives a number of times on errands.
Our first real encounter happened when I discovered one of the archive’s ladders had been damaged and was searching for a person to whom I could report the problem. I heard the echo of voices coming from the break room and peeked my head in. Inside, the smell of tea leaves hung thick as heavy perfume. I spotted a tea set in disarray, a panicked Irene standing beside it.
“Oh, I was so careless... Forgive me, Prince Theodore,” she said.
“No, it’s nothing, really,” answered Prince Theodore, the curator of the archives. Although he was the younger brother of the king, the age gap between Prince Theodore and His Majesty was so great it seemed more appropriate to think of him as Prince Christopher’s older brother instead. He was still single, despite his royal status—a popular, charming man in the prime of his life with stunning dark golden brown hair and ultramarine eyes.
“More importantly,” he continued, “you weren’t injured, were you, Lady Irene?”
“No, I’m not, but...whatever shall we do about this? I’m afraid I’ve soiled someone’s book. This title is popular among the women of the working class district, no? Is there really someone within the royal palace who would favor such literature?” Her voice was thick with genuine skepticism.
The book in question, now covered in tea leaves, was popular with the masses. Penned by a housewife in a fishing village, it provided an interesting—and sometimes emotionally heartrending—account of her daily life.
I peeked my head in the door, feeling awkward, and spoke up. “Um... That’s my book.”
Members of the Bernstein family didn’t value printed works based on the rank of those who wrote them, but the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the nobility. I felt ashamed hearing the disbelief in her voice, as if she couldn’t imagine this could be the favorite book of the prince’s bride-to-be.
“Oh goodness,” she murmured, cutely pressing her hand over her mouth. Then hastily she added, “Please forgive me, Lady Elianna! I was careless and soiled your book! I am truly, truly sorry!”
Did she think I was angry because she’d spilled tea leaves on my book?
Before I could dispel the misconception, Prince Theodore cut in with a sigh. “Lady Elianna’s negligence is to blame here. She knows not to leave her personal belongings unattended. You needn’t apologize so profusely.” He first comforted the cowering Lady Irene and then said to me, “Leave the book with me. I will clean up this mess. Hurry and be on your way, Lady Elianna. And do be more careful next time.”
His curt tone left little room for discussion. It was all I could do to inform him of the damaged ladder before leaving the archives behind.
After that incident, I often spotted Lady Irene trying to foster good relations with Prince Theodore. I’d also noticed her, just two weeks prior, engaging in friendly smalltalk with Glen Eisenach, a red-haired knight who was part of the Imperial Guard and also the prince’s bodyguard. Not an especially strange sight to see; Lord Glen was a bright, charming individual, popular among both men and women.
But when I next saw her together with Alexei Strasser—son of a duke and the prince’s right-hand man, referred to in whispers as the “Ice Scion”—I was a bit surprised. Lord Alexei, as his nickname might imply, had black hair with icy blue eyes and an astute aura about him. He was equally indifferent to everyone regardless of rank, whether it be a beautiful noblewoman or nobleman of greater status. Thus it was rare for me to see anyone able to engage with him so openly.
I also heard hushed whispers that she was personally close to the court’s master musician, Alan Ferrera, a popular Adonis type with honey-colored hair. At the time, I didn’t think much about it; her reputation among other ladies seemed a bit dreadful, but being acquainted with such a cast of popular young men would be enough to draw both ire and envy. But from an outsider’s perspective, His Highness and Lady Irene gave off an air of intimacy, and the way she looked at him with such single-minded devotion made the unspoken clear. She had feelings for the prince.
So that’s it, I thought, only now realizing. It may be rude to say as much, but a certain proverb came to mind. “To shoot the general, you must first begin with his horse.” My noble birth aside, as someone who loved books and often holed myself up in my room to read them, her exceptional networking skills seemed praiseworthy. As the prince’s betrothed, I should be the one displaying such prowess.
Did Lady Irene lay the groundwork to approach His Highness, or were the men around him showing such consideration for her because she’d drawn his interest? I couldn’t be sure. I was, however, certain about one thing: the relationship between these two hadn’t started recently. The way he laughed so joyously and smiled at her told me that much.
“Lady Elianna?”
Someone’s voice abruptly cut in, dragging me back to my senses. At some point I had dismounted from the ladder and the voices in the rear garden had disappeared. I suddenly realized I’d been a daze this whole time.