Chapter 169

CHAPTER 11 An Exchange of Dazzling Smiles Bridget brought Monica to the grandest private tea salon that Serendia Academy had to offer. Tableware had already been set out on the tea table, next to which stood a young maid in Bridget’s service. The maid poured two cups of black tea, then left the two of them alone in room—all without a word. “Have some tea, first. The leaves are First Flush Florendian.” “…U-um!” Instead of taking a sip of tea, Monica balled her hands into fists on her lap. “What do you mean by the prince having a secret?” she asked Bridget. “What exactly do you, um, want my help with?” Bridget met Monica’s outburst with an elegant sip of her tea. “My, how rude of you to broach the main topic at a tea party without a proper preamble.” She turned her eyes to some flowers arranged in a vase. Monica followed her gaze. It was an assortment of pink roses. Their petals were delicate and frilled, and their color grew darker at the ends. They couldn’t have been easy to find at this time of year. Over the last six months, Monica had learned something about tea parties. She knew that even a single flower functioned as a sign of the wealth and sensibility of the party’s host. “Admire the flowers and utensils. Enjoy your tea. And let me do the talking. This is a tea party, after all.” Monica wanted to get straight to the point, but Bridget seemed to have other ideas. Monica fell silent and took a sip of tea. After smiling thinly, Bridget continued. “What are your thoughts on Prince Felix?” “…Huh?” The sudden question threw Monica into confusion. Right after enrolling at the academy, she probably would have said something about his body following the golden ratio and how amazing that was. But now she had too many thoughts and feelings about him to even put into words. “…To be honest…I’m not sure.” Felix was talented and perfect, a prince beloved by all. But he was also Duke Clockford’s puppet. And Monica knew that he liked to call himself Ike and sneak out at night—and that he was a big fan of the Silent Witch. He has so many different faces…and I can’t tell which ones are real. Those were Monica’s true feelings. She knew giving a vague answer like “I’m not sure” would leave Bridget unsatisfied, though. “I see,” said Bridget softly. Her gaze fell to her cup. “Skilled both academically and physically, he’s very popular and has the conversation skills to win anyone over to his side. He’s the perfect prince.” Bridget gave a muffled chuckle and smiled sardonically. “…If you’d said that, I would have ended the conversation right there and given up on asking for your help.” “…What?” Monica frowned, confused. Bridget closed her eyes as if recalling a fond memory, then slowly opened them again. “Frail, faint of heart, terrible at both book learning and physical activity. Below average in everything, terrible at public speaking, and dreadfully shy.” I-is she talking about me…? Monica tensed in spite of herself. “…That’s the Prince Felix I know,” said Bridget. For a moment, Monica didn’t understand what she was saying. The prince? Below average in everything? Terrible at public speaking? She couldn’t conceal her bewilderment. Bridget’s gaze grew distant. “I first met him when we were seven. My initial impression was that he was very unreliable. He couldn’t even introduce himself correctly. He couldn’t meet my gaze. He would only ever stare at his feet and fidget.” The more Bridget said, the more it sounded like she was talking about Monica. It certainly didn’t seem like she was describing Felix. “He worked twice as hard at everything but always fell short of average. He would sob and whimper apologies for not living up to everyone’s expectations, despite being royalty. He really was a cowardly crybaby…” Behind her long eyelashes, her amber gaze wavered. “But he was kinder than anyone else I’ve ever known.” In that moment, her perfect features twisted with the slightest hint of sorrow. It was clear from her expression how she felt about Felix. “Nobody ever thought he would be capable of ascending the throne. I didn’t think so, either. But…I thought it would be nice if, somehow, some way, he did.” Monica was speechless as she watched this perfect noble girl’s unexpected outpouring of emotion. Of course, without any understanding of romantic love, Monica wouldn’t know what to say to her anyway. “Ten years ago, the prince fell terribly ill…and I wasn’t able to see him again for over a year.” According to Bridget, Felix had been sickly as a youth. He came down with fevers frequently. So when she’d heard he was in the midst of a major illness, she’d been horribly worried. “They wouldn’t even let me visit him, so I waited anxiously every day for a whole year… When I finally heard that he’d recovered, I went to see him. But it was like he’d become a different person.” Felix had always looked down at his feet in embarrassment when he was with Bridget. And yet, when she finally saw him again, he’d pressed his lips to the back of her hand with practiced motions and said smoothly, “It’s been so long. I’m happy to see you again, Bridget. You’re much more beautiful than when I saw you a year ago.” Such words from the mouth of her first love should have made Bridget’s heart throb. But Bridget’s heart didn’t throb. Instead, she was arrested by the powerful sense that something was wrong. The boy in front of her was, without a doubt, Felix Arc Ridill. He’d grown in the year since they’d last met, but she would never mistake him. Nevertheless, there was something strange about him. Something eerie. She felt nauseous. The words Who are you? flashed across her mind. But it was Duke Clockford’s estate. No matter how friendly they were, she was speaking to royalty. Rudeness would not be tolerated. So Bridget shut her eyes against the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and interacted with Felix just as she always had. After recovering from his illness, the prince seemed to find academics and sports much easier. He’d been terrible at dancing, but now he had no trouble taking the lead, and his manners were perfect. His behavior was bold and dignified, and everyone praised him as a fitting heir to the throne. And yet, Bridget couldn’t accept him. No. This is wrong. He’s wrong! That’s not my prince! Felix had inherited his mother’s good looks and was quite handsome. Now that he was confident, too, other girls their age started obsessing over him. When surrounded by such admirers, Felix would brush them off with sweet smiles and flowery words. And every time Bridget heard him, she was overcome with disgust. Now that she thought of it, that was right around the time the kingdom’s nobles began to split up into the first prince’s supporters and those who backed the second prince. “Prince Felix, as I knew him, was so reserved, so shy. He couldn’t even speak to a girl properly. He was totally helpless.” It didn’t seem like Bridget was praising the Felix in her memories, but her tone as she spoke of him held a tinge of excitement. She sounded like a young girl talking about her crush. Then her voice dropped. “And all of a sudden, he’d become a frivolous playboy who would recite shallow poetry for any girl he saw, all with a straight face. Can you imagine my goosebumps whenever I heard him spout those saccharine, flowery lines?” Bridget’s delicate folding fan began to creak and strain in her hand. Monica was terrified. Very cautiously, she asked a question. “Um, er… Then the secret you’re after is…” “I believe that the man calling himself Felix Arc Ridill—the boy who currently serves as student council president of this academy—is an impostor.” Monica quickly realized why Bridget couldn’t talk to anyone else about this. You could never accuse Felix of being an impostor in public. That would be lèse-majesté, and you could easily be executed for it. “…I want to see the real prince,” said Bridget. There was an unusual weakness in her voice. Claiming that Felix—who attended school with them—was an impostor was crazy. Nobody would believe her, no matter how much she insisted. But I know things… Monica knew that Felix had other sides to him. She knew he was hiding something. She’d always thought it strange that he took his middle name from Archraedo, King of the Earth Spirits, yet kept a high water spirit with him. Then he’s…a fake? It wasn’t unthinkable. Monica couldn’t simply laugh off the possibility. She recalled what he’d said to her in Corlapton. “I have to become king.” What had he truly meant? If the person calling himself Ike was a Felix impostor…then what must he have felt saying those words? Monica put a hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding. “If he’s an impostor, then…um, where do you believe the real one is?” “The real prince was frail, so I think he may be secretly imprisoned in the duke’s estate, recu—under the pretext that he’s recuperating.” Duke Clockford’s estate—Monica was already planning to infiltrate the place with Raul’s help. If Bridget was right, and they found the real second prince and revealed the truth, what would happen to the one who called himself Ike? “Um, if it turns out that the prince we know is an impostor…do you, um, want to tell everyone?” “No. If I did that, his popularity would plummet.” Bridget was right. Felix Arc Ridill would lose his position in high society. In the worst case, he could be tried for the crime of deceiving the king. Bridget seemed to understand that well. “I don’t want to reveal the truth and blame the impostor… I just want to meet my prince again.” Monica took a moment to self-reflect. What did she need to do? And what did she want to do? Revealing Ike’s secret certainly wouldn’t help him any. He probably didn’t even want Monica to know the truth. But even so, I want to know. She wanted to know why the boy who had called Monica a fellow delinquent and laughed so sincerely occasionally looked so sad, so resigned. I want to know more about him. This was the first time she’d ever thought about someone like this. And so, for the first time, she made up her mind to take that initial step. “Lady Bridget, I—” But right as she was about to say so, there was a knock at the door. The young maid’s voice came through, sounding panicked. “Lady Bridget, I’m so sorry. Prince Felix is—oh!” Before the maid could finish speaking, the door opened. The cold air from the hallway whooshed into the tea room, lowering the temperature inside. “Hello, you two. Would you mind if I joined your tea party?” Standing there was the very subject of their discussion, Felix Arc Ridill, with a beautiful smile on his face. Why now? Why at the worst possible timing…?! Monica paled, but Bridget didn’t bat an eyelid. In fact, she welcomed Felix with a cheerful, gorgeous smile. “Oh, hello, Your Highness. I don’t often see you visiting the tea rooms.” “Nor do I often see the two of you together—in fact, that seems even less common. Since when were you two close enough to have a tea party?” “Oh? Well, we’re both on the student council, aren’t we? There’s nothing strange about it at all.” Watching the school’s most beautiful couple have a pleasant chat was like gazing at a lovely painting. But Monica felt her hands start to sweat—behind their pleasantries, these two were sounding each other out. W-wow… If Monica tried to speak, she’d probably let everything slip. So she simply held her breath and watched. First, Bridget unfolded her fan and brought it up to her mouth. “The general student assembly is coming up soon, is it not? I was giving Accountant Norton a few helpful tips.” Monica was earnestly impressed by how easily the lies flowed from Bridget’s lips. If she’d been in her shoes, she would have babbled incoherently or simply mumbled a bunch of excuses. Felix shifted his gaze from Bridget to Monica and smiled. “You’ll be talking to the club presidents a lot more in advance of the assembly. Are you prepared to handle that?” “Oh, um, y-yes, well, I…” As expected, she began to stammer and mumble. Bridget touched her fan to her lips. “She has bigger problems than the assembly, sir,” she said bitterly. “Accountant Norton, did you pay no attention during tea party class?” Monica unintentionally withered under Bridget’s cold glare. “Eeep… I’m, um, I’m s-sorr—” “I’m afraid I will have to start training you thoroughly in tea party etiquette for the foreseeable future. Please do prepare yourself.” Wow, she’s good, thought Monica, secretly impressed. Now it wouldn’t be strange for Bridget to invite her to subsequent tea parties. Isabelle was quite the actress herself, always playing the role of the cruel villainess, but Bridget’s acting skills were even more natural. Monica couldn’t help but reflect, once again, on how smart and quick-witted she was. Monica could never have pulled off such a performance. As Monica stared at her in open admiration, Felix flashed her a wry smile. “I’m sure your instruction will be quite strict. Well, if you’re going to be practicing, would you like my help? I can act as another guest.” “No, she’s nowhere near the point where I’d feel comfortable with an observer, sir. I do so hate showing my work when it’s only half-done.” Bridget was implying he should leave right away, but Felix met this with another gentle smile. “Enjoying the conversation is the most important part of a tea party, though, isn’t it? Wouldn’t the presence of an additional conversation partner hasten her progress?” How many people could have refused such persuasive words delivered with such a kind expression? Monica would have been completely overpowered. But Bridget put her fan to her mouth and tittered. “Oh, but that would be uncouth, sir. Conversation between ladies must always remain a secret from gentlemen.” “Discussing something you can’t let me hear, then?” “Indeed. Such as what gentlemen have caught our fancy—that sort of thing.” Bridget narrowed her eyes and beautifully lifted the corners of her lips. Her smile had enough allure and charm to make most men stumble. That’s…that’s amazing… It’s like they’re having a smile battle…! Monica realized how silly the term “smile battle” was, but watching Felix and Bridget’s exchange, that was exactly the phrase that came to mind. Both of them knew exactly how to take advantage of their attractive features. Monica, the plain girl caught in the middle, could only blend into the scenery. Unfortunately, Felix was more than willing to turn another resplendent smile on her, even after she’d faded into the background. “Gentlemen you fancy, is it? …Are you interested in someone, Monica?” “Huh?!” squeaked Monica as the conversation suddenly turned to her. Her eyes drifted back and forth. W-w-w-w-wait, how am I supposed to reply? What do they mean, a gentleman I fancy? The thing I’m most interested in right now is your secret, and I can’t think about anything else. But I can’t say that! As Monica sank into troubled confusion, Bridget interrupted. “Actually, I was just telling her about the first time I received a flower from a boy.” She stroked one of the pink roses in the vase, then looked up at Felix meaningfully. “…Prince, do you remember the color of the first flower you gave me, when we were little?” She was testing him. Testing Felix Arc Ridill. Monica waited with bated breath as Felix smoothly removed his neckerchief. …His neckerchief? What is he going to do with that? Felix folded the material—blue, to indicate his grade level—into a small rectangle, then rolled it up and made it look like a rose. When it was finished, he held it out to Bridget. “I do. And I still think blue suits you best.” Monica didn’t know if that was the correct answer or not. But judging from how Bridget’s lips twisted into a frustrated frown behind her fan, she assumed he’d gotten it right. Bridget quickly covered her reaction with a bright, cheerful smile and took the blue fabric rose. “My, you really did remember! I’m quite pleased.” “I believe I’ve improved my skills somewhat.” “Why, yes, it is quite well done. You’ve always been skilled with your hands.” “Not at all. Back then, I would practice and practice.” To an outsider, the pair were having a heartwarming conversation about fond childhood memories. But Monica could physically sense the battle of nerves still raging beneath the surface as their metaphorical blades crossed. Bridget had purposely brought up those bygone days in order to trick Felix into revealing something. Monica was waiting quietly, curious how the battle would end, when she heard Elliott calling out to Felix from the hallway. “Is the prince in there? I have something urgent I need to check with him…” Felix turned his gaze to the door and shrugged, clearly disappointed. “Well,” he said to Bridget, “be sure to call me for your next tea party.” “Oh, gladly—once Accountant Norton’s etiquette is up to snuff.” Leaving things there, Felix exited the tea salon. Monica listened to the door shut, then let out a heavy breath, despite not having done anything. “That silver tongue of his will be the death of me,” spat Bridget, crushing the blue fabric rose in her fist. Her angry energy made Monica start to shake. Why was a furious beauty so intimidating? “Though it pains me to say, it seems the impostor has thoroughly researched the prince’s childhood.” “Um, is it p-possible that maybe…he is the real prince and the illness, um, changed his personality somehow?” “If such an illness exists that would turn a simple, honest prince into a boy who throws chilly words and false smiles every way he turns, then please do tell me about it.” “……” Apparently, Bridget was even more hostile toward the current prince than Monica had imagined. After taking a minute to consider, Monica made a suggestion. “Um, actually… On the day of the Festival of Sheffield, I’m planning to, well, sneak into Duke Clockford’s estate…” “You’re planning to what?” “And if you know what it’s like inside, I was hoping you would tell me about it…” If the real Prince Felix truly was at the duke’s mansion, as Bridget surmised, then the more information Monica had on the interior, the better. That was why she’d made the suggestion. But then Bridget leaned forward and said something completely unexpected. “Take me with you.” “…Huh?” “I’m saying I’ll sneak into the duke’s mansion with you.” “Whaaat?!” Monica nearly fell out of her seat. This carefully raised, sheltered noble girl straight out of a painting was volunteering to join her infiltration mission? How could she allow it? “Um! Well, for the infiltration, I’m going to be disguised as a gardener, so it might not be easy for you to—” “If it means meeting the true prince, then I will become anything—whether gardener, stable girl, or traveling entertainer.” Monica went on to use every awkward word at her disposal to try and talk Bridget out of this idea. But Bridget had her heart set on meeting the real prince and stubbornly held her ground. In the end, Monica wasn’t able to talk her down. Monica learned that day that a maiden in love was capable of just about anything, and the notion terrified her. While Monica was having her tea party with Bridget, a male student headed to the magic research clubroom. He was a tall young man with combed-back blond hair—Byron Garrett, the president of the magic-battle club and a third-year in the advanced course. Despite Byron’s position in the magic-battle club, he had never been able to defeat Cyril Ashley, the student council vice president. He’d also lost completely to Huberd Dee, a recent transfer student. But he hadn’t let that break his spirit—he continued to diligently spend every day improving his magecraft skills. Byron was going to return a book he’d borrowed from his friend, Conrad Askam, the president of the magic research club. As he arrived in front of the clubroom door, he heard lively voices coming from inside. The club didn’t have many members, but they frequently held heated debates. That must be what was going on. “Sorry for interrupting your debate,” he said as he opened the door. “I’m here to return a book to Conrad—” The moment he looked inside, the girl sitting on the club’s sofa raised her voice. It was Isabelle Norton, the daughter of Count Kerbeck. “There is only one choice here, and that is obviously the Silent Witch!” “Heh-heh. Then I will put the Starspear Witch into the running.” “Hmm. Then I’ll go for the nepotism option…and suggest my uncle, the Artillery Mage.” Byron was speechless. His friend Conrad and the other club members were indeed having a passionate discussion. But was that the daughter of Count Kerbeck and Huberd Dee—the boy who had only recently defeated him—joining in? What a weird lineup. Byron stood at the door, perplexed. His friend Conrad whipped around to face him. “Byron, my good man! Tell me—which of the Seven Sages, current or former, do you like the best?!” “Uh, me? Well…I suppose I would have to choose the Barrier Mage.” Byron’s goal was to join the Magic Corps, so he looked up to the Barrier Mage, their former leader. For some reason, Isabelle pursed her lips in frustration at this. “Ugh. It seems a new rival camp has appeared…” As Byron looked around, wondering what they were even talking about, Conrad pushed up his glasses and gave a creepy laugh. “Geh-heh-heh-heh. It is time for my incredible skills of elucidation to take center stage. Very well! We, the magic history research club, will explain all the feats of the Seven Sages!” At that, Conrad’s underclassman raised his hand. “President! I like the Starseer Witch best! The reason is she’s really, really hot!” “This is the magic history research club! We’re talking about magecraft!” sputtered Conrad, appalled. Another club member raised his hand. “Excuse me, President. I like the Aquamancy Mage.” “An understated choice. But certainly not a bad one!” “Oooh, President! I’ve always been a fan of the Thunderclap Mage, ever since I was a kid!” “Hmm. Hmm! The Thunderclap Mage, permanent holder of the record for most dragons slain… Yes, I understand completely. Every boy adores the Thunderclap Mage or the Artillery Mage at some point in their lives…” The commotion was about what Byron expected from this particular club. Soon, everyone was talking out of turn about the accomplishments of their favorite Sage. Isabelle—an outsider—raised her voice, not to be outdone. “Oh, if we’re talking about achievements, then my sis—the Silent Witch is quite accomplished! She has slain two terrible dragons: the Black Dragon of Worgan and the Cursed Dragon of Rehnberg!” Conrad’s eyeglasses glinted at Isabelle’s insistence. “Ah, yes. The slaying of terrible dragons is indeed a major accomplishment. But what makes the Silent Witch truly amazing are her contributions to the development of magecraft formulae.” “Ugh!” Isabelle winced. Conrad kept going, pressing his attack. “In fact, many of the Sages are incredible for reasons those without any knowledge of magecraft simply can’t understand. Forgive my rudeness, but how much do you know about magecraft, Miss Isabelle?” Isabelle covered her mouth with her folding fan and gave a frustrated grunt. “It hasn’t yet been a year, so I suppose I’m still a newcomer to the Silent Witch’s fanbase… And I will admit that my knowledge of magecraft is shallow.” “But, my lady, even without such knowledge, your feelings for the Silent Witch are true and genuine!” “Thank you, Agatha. But to tell the truth, I wish to learn even more about her…” Smiling at the maid waiting behind her, Isabelle proudly stuck out her chest. “Next year, I will choose fundamental magecraft as an elective!” The surrounding club members let out an impressed cheer in response to her passionate declaration. But one man swooped in to rain on their parade—Huberd Dee. “Hmm, hmmm. You know, I went to school with the Starspear Witch, the Barrier Mage, and the Silent Witch.” The excited group closed their mouths and stared at Huberd, eyes wide. Huberd leaned back against the sofa and smirked. “They were really somethin’ to see at Minerva’s, I’m tellin’ you. The Starspear Witch and the Barrier Mage teamed up during a big magic battle competition between laboratories. And the Silent Witch was always developing new magecraft formulae that put the Association to shame…” The club members ground their teeth as Huberd bragged. Isabelle shook as she told herself again and again that she was not jealous. Definitely not. Meanwhile, Byron still stood in the doorway, watching the lively group. How long is it going to take me to return this book to Conrad? Should he just put it somewhere and leave? No, Conrad was a close friend, but that would be far too rude. Genuinely struggling to decide, Byron wound up sticking around for the rest of the club members’ chat, and then it was time to head home.