It was a full year after our initial meeting before I saw Miss Bertia again. Despite being my fiancée, attempts to deepen our acquaintance through several invitations for tea had been thwarted by her ongoing “medical recuperation,” during which she secluded herself in her estate in Noches territory.
I even inquired about her condition from her father, Marquis Douglas Ibil Noches, who served as prime minister at the palace. Each time, he would force a smile, as if swallowing a hundred bitter bugs, and say, “My daughter actually suffers from an incurable disease.” I’d mastered the art of lipreading, and I could clearly see him mouth called stupidity after disease.
If it truly were an incurable illness, continuing the engagement would be challenging. I am capable of making such assessments as a member of the royal family, you know?
Her withdrawal made me wonder if somehow it was my fault, prompting concern on my part. To better understand what was happening in her territory, I had someone—whom I called “errand runner”—investigate the situation.
The reports from my errand runner quickly became the highlight of my otherwise mundane days. Thus, I learned that Miss Bertia, dressed like a boy, had been running around her estate morning and night. Surely, a lady in medical recuperation couldn’t possibly be out sprinting and shouting, “Just two more kilometers!” drenched in sweat, right?
Finally, the day came when she appeared before me once again.
“It has been a while, Prince Cecil! Don’t recognize me? I am Bertia Ibil Noches, your fiancée!”
The day before my eleventh birthday, I arrived at the designated meeting room in the palace that I often used for such occasions. Waiting for me inside was Miss Bertia, accompanied by Marquis Noches, her father. As soon as she saw me, she greeted me with a beaming smile—perhaps one that was a bit too exuberant for a noble lady, especially one betrothed to the crown prince.
How she had changed. The Miss Bertia I reunited with after a year was no longer the round, snowman-like figure I remembered, but had slimmed down to a slender and elegant appearance.
“Can you even recognize me? You must be surprised, right? Ow! What are you doing, Father?!”
“Prince Cecil, I apologize for my foolish daughter’s behavior. We will revisit her education,” her father said as he lightly reprimanded her with a rap of a knuckle on her head, causing her to tear up a bit. I couldn’t help but smile wryly.
It was problematic that the marquis resorted to physical admonishment, but I lacked the courage to point this out to him, especially with his imposing full-beam smile.
Yet I couldn’t let her be dragged back into seclusion again, especially not when she was my fiancée, and one I hadn’t seen for a year at that.
“Please don’t worry, Marquis Noches. It’s rather childlike and cute, isn’t it?”
“Prince Cecil, as usual, you are the one who is not childlike,” the marquis retorted without reserve, but I remained unfazed.
“That is often said about me.”
I tried to smile in as youthful a manner as possible, which even prompted the marquis to grin.
Miss Bertia, still holding her head, blushed and stared dazedly at my face. I wasn’t boasting, but I often received similar gazes from girls. Family members and my father’s advisors worried about me becoming a womanizer in the future or called me cunning, while others said they looked forward to my reign as king for the same reasons.
“Your Highness, could you please repeat what you said?” Miss Bertia suddenly asked, fidgeting.
The meaning of her words eluded me, prompting me to tilt my head in confusion. Then, with a shy expression, she opened her mouth to speak.
“You said… c-cute…”
Do compliments like “childlike and cute,” when spoken by peers, hold special meaning for her? Perhaps she interpreted these comments through a unique filter.
Yet, as she blushed and fidgeted, avoiding direct eye contact while looking up at me… Well, she could be considered cute in the general sense of being a girl.
“Bertia. You needn’t ask the prince. Doesn’t your father say it enough?” The marquis interjected, visibly startled by Bertia’s request, quickly stepping in to mediate.
Indeed, begging a royal to compliment one’s cuteness might be seen as unseemly for a noble lady.
Then again, if her father often called her “cute,” why should she resign herself to not hearing it from her fiancé? That feels a bit unreasonable, doesn’t it?
Marquis Noches turned to Bertia and added words of caution. “Do not be deceived by appearances. Though the prince always smiles, his eyes do not. He does not possess the emotions to truly appreciate what is cute; he is a cold person. Even if he says cute, it is nothing more than a polite platitude. My cute carries far more affection. So, be content with that.”
Does the marquis realize just how rude he is being, perhaps even more so than Miss Bertia herself?
“But, Father, you always prepend it with ‘stupid kids are more’… It’s not really pleasant. And… it’s completely different when said by someone handsome!”
“Bertia…” The marquis looked at her with eyes that seemed to lament his daughter’s naivete.
As I watched this exchange, a look of pity for this unfortunate pair nearly slipped through… but I managed to maintain a smile instead.
Truly, “stupid kids are more cute” is hardly a compliment, Marquis. Certainly, less of one than “childlike and cute.” If said directly, it could easily be taken as an insult.
“Your Highness, it appears that my daughter indeed needs reeducation and a serious talking-to, so we will be leaving now…”
“It’s fine, Marquis Noches. That’s part of her charm, isn’t it? She’s adorable, don’t you think?” I quickly shook my head, interrupting the marquis’s attempt to remove her from the room.
I didn’t want to be separated from my fiancée under the guise of her needing “reeducation.” Whether the marquis was trying to prevent his daughter from embarrassing herself in front of the crown prince or if it was a typical fatherly reaction of not wanting his daughter to fail, I wasn’t about to let it happen.
I’ve been feeling quite bored… and lonely not being able to see my fiancée often. Moreover, I need to ascertain whether she truly is suitable to be my future queen.
“Your Highness…” Both Bertia and the marquis called out my name simultaneously.
Their tones contrasted starkly. One was somewhat dreamy and distant. The other, although apologetic, seemed on the verge of a frustrated sigh. It appeared the marquis, while competent as a prime minister, could not hide his simple, transparent nature very well in private. Or perhaps he isn’t trying to hide it at all?
“Marquis Noches, you were scheduled to meet with my father later, weren’t you? May I invite Bertia for tea in the meantime?”
“No, that wouldn’t be…”
“Yes, I’d love to!” Bertia cut in before the marquis could finish his reflexive rejection.
Marquis Noches… Even though you’re maintaining a smile, I definitely heard that sigh just now.
“Thank you. And let’s also plan for tomorrow’s meeting,” I said, ignoring the marquis’s muttered disapproval. By mentioning “tomorrow’s meeting,” I made it difficult for the marquis to refuse.
In this way, I ensured an opportunity to spend more time with Bertia, subtly weaving in commitments that the marquis couldn’t easily back out of. This interaction not only helped gauge her suitability as a future queen but also allowed me to see how much influence she could exert, even in small matters.