Like Adelaide, Duke Berthier possessed not a shred of social grace, and he began dropping hints asking when Violet planned to go home.

Violet had a talent for interpreting even plain speech however she liked, and she didn’t catch Duke Berthier’s hidden intent at all.

More than that, Violet was on edge over the fact that no letters had come from Romer.

“I left instructions with the footman to tell Romer my whereabouts if he came looking. Why hasn’t there been any word? I can’t wait any longer. I think I may have to go find him myself.”

“Calm down, Violet. That worthless postman is probably too afraid to set foot in the Berthier estate.”

Vivian answered absently and bit into a macaron. Adelaide had no talent for lying. Lying was the sort of cowardly, treacherous thing only someone who deceived others would do.

Not that she thought of Vivian, who was calmly reassuring Violet without so much as a flicker of expression, as a cowardly traitor.

Let us go back one week.

Vivian, who had come rushing over upon hearing that Violet was at the Berthier estate, arrived with every word she planned to say already prepared.

“Violet, there are, no, letters, for you.”

“Well done. But could you try taking out the staccato so it sounds a little more natural?”

“There are no letters for Violet.”

“Adelaide, you’re putting stress on the word ‘letters,’ and it sounds significant. Like someone who’s hiding something.”

“I am hiding something.”

“For Violet’s sake. If our friend Violet were merely tending a flower bed in her head, I wouldn’t have rolled up my sleeves like this either. But as you well know, Adelaide, Violet isn’t growing a flower bed.”

“She’s growing a jungle.”

“It’s a very serious problem. She’s seventeen and still believes that hardship and adversity will make true love stronger. I knew by the time I was seven that the stories about princesses in fairy tales were just stories.”

“I never read fairy tales with princesses, so I never had any illusions like that to begin with.”

“How admirable. That’s Adelaide for you. You cut out the fantasies that do nothing to help you cope with reality.”

Adelaide had simply preferred fairy tales with dragons. Draco, who had been batting a ball of yarn around on her lap, gave an adorable little scrunch of its nose.

Adelaide pressed a kiss to that nose, black as a little kidney bean.

Draco grew bigger by the day and was now quite heavy when it sat on her lap, but Adelaide bore the weight willingly.

“I’ll handle the letters. It would be better for Adelaide to say something else. Something like, worrying won’t solve anything, so come over here and calm down.”

“Vivian. I am sick and tired of doing those bizarre contortions Violet calls yoga every morning. Do you know what’s even more dreadful? Yoga always ends with something called meditation.”

“All the better. Use what Violet is already comfortable with to make her forget that worthless postman.”

“I will never let the word meditation leave my mouth.”

The meeting continued in the same vein until the end. Vivian ultimately decided it would be more effective for Adelaide to simply stay quiet rather than speak.

Instead, Adelaide took on the role of intercepting Violet’s letters and throwing them into the fireplace.

Adelaide dutifully diverted the letters and tossed them in. Every letter with Romer’s name on the envelope burned without a single word being read.

Back in the present, Violet was simultaneously shredding her handkerchief and chewing her own lips to rags.

“Father must have used the same trick again! Good heavens, Romer might not have been able to get away this time. I’m sure of it. Otherwise there’s no way he wouldn’t send even one letter knowing I’m here!”

“If my lover had left home, I wouldn’t send a letter. I would come in person.”

Adelaide said it with a pointed edge. Violet leaned her damp, tear-streaked cheek against Adelaide’s shoulder.

Adelaide grimaced at the unpleasant feeling of her shoulder growing wet, but there was nothing to do but pat Violet on the back.

Vivian’s lips twitched as she scrawled something in her notebook.

“Vivian. I believe we discussed your keeping an observation log of me the last time.”

“Of course. This isn’t an observation log. It’s a record of Adelaide’s friendship. You have no idea what a beautiful pair Adelaide and Violet make right now.”

Vivian clasped both hands in front of her chest and exclaimed in rapture.

“If I could paint, I would have preserved this as a work of art rather than a long, tedious piece of writing. But my writing isn’t long and tedious like a prose writer’s, so I think this will do well enough.”

Vivian proudly read aloud what she had written: ‘Adelaide patted Violet on the back with a sullen expression. The reason for her reluctant look is likely her endearingly shy nature, which makes her embarrassed by her own gentle side.’

“Vivian.”

“Yes, Adelaide.”

“I’m not endearing.”

“Of course not. Adelaide is the most wonderful person in the world.”

“And I don’t have a gentle side.”

“Certainly not. I’ve seen Adelaide comfort a crying Violet five times over the past week, but I’ll gladly respect Adelaide’s opinion.”

With a small dragon on her lap and Violet, who at least looked like a pure white lily, tucked against her side, Adelaide radiated the charisma of a sovereign.

Stern and resolute, yet with an unconventional charm, the kind of sovereign who would also cradle a lost kitten.

Vivian was not dissatisfied with her own writing, but she resolved that she really ought to take up painting after all.

***

At that same hour, the imperial palace was in the thick of preparations for Prince Albert’s birthday banquet. The empress oversaw everything herself, driving the staff relentlessly to ensure nothing fell short.

Cyril recalled his own birthday banquet with a touch of gloom. It had naturally been grand and lavish, befitting the crown prince’s celebration, but every last detail had been approved and arranged by Cyril’s own hand.

“Brother!”

Cyril had come to discuss documents he had reviewed with the emperor, but as always, he never got to see the emperor and only left the papers on the desk in the study before turning to go.

He sent word in advance every time, yet the emperor always managed to have an urgent meeting, a walk, or a nap to attend to before Cyril arrived.

“Albert. It’s been a while.”

“That’s because you’ve been so busy, Brother. Have you seen the banquet hall? Mother wants to surprise me, so she absolutely won’t let me peek inside. Go take a look for me and tell me what it’s like.”

Cyril recognized this as Albert’s way of being considerate.

“The empress would be thrilled to see me walk in.”

His young brother had always been troubled by the poor relationship between his mother and his brother, and had made efforts to bring the two of them a little closer.

“Brother. Mother doesn’t show it, but she worries about you a great deal. Just the other day she was concerned that the responsibilities of the crown prince were too heavy a burden for you.”

“Albert, you always try to see only the good in people.”

“Brother.”

“His Majesty was reproaching me for being unfit for the position of crown prince.”

“That can’t be! If you’re unfit to be crown prince, no one in the world would do.”

Cyril didn’t argue further, pained to see his brother trying so hard.

The two brothers, who shared neither temperament nor looks, walked side by side down the corridor for a while in silence.

“Come to think of it, Grandfather told me I should marry too.”

“I know. I heard.”

“I told him you hadn’t yet taken a crown princess, so I had more time.”

“The marquis wouldn’t have been pleased.”

“Well, he didn’t look satisfied. But there’s a proper order to things, isn’t there? I may not be as clever as you, Brother, but I’ve had all the education a prince should have without exception.”

“Who did the marquis recommend?”

Cyril asked even though he already knew the answer. He regretted asking the moment the words left his mouth, but what was done was done.

“Lady Berthier. Adelaide, was it? You must have heard of her, Brother. The unruly young lady.”

Albert said Adelaide’s name with complete lightness. Dozens of sentences in Adelaide’s defense rose up in Cyril’s mind.

“Grandfather showed me her portrait, and she was very beautiful. But she’s not my type.”

“Lady Berthier might find that you’re not her type either.”

Cyril let that much slip out. Albert laughed, ha ha, without any sign of offense.

“True. Lady Berthier probably wants someone bolder than me.”

“I have no interest in who Lady Berthier wants.”

“Really? Word reached Mother’s palace that you invited Lady Berthier.”

“That would be Dager.”

“Don’t scold Dager for it. The truth is, I was the one who pried, because I was curious who had caught your attention, even briefly.”

“You scheme quite smoothly for someone your age.”

Cyril gave Albert a playful flick on the forehead.

“Albert!”