Madam Suther clicked her tongue in annoyance and quietly retreated from the room.

Left alone, Robellia sniffed for a while before opening her cupboard. The number of boxes she used to keep letters in had grown to three. She took out the latest one and turned to the last page to read it.

I am studying hard, but my father says I must be at least sixteen before I can be recognised as his heir. Only then will I be able to meet Your Highness with the confidence that weighs heavily on my heart.

Two more years. Half of that time she had already spent waiting in the belief that they would meet again one day. Thinking of it that way made it seem bearable, but to Robellia that day felt like an impossibly distant future, as if it might never come at all.

If only he would say, Wait for me. Just those words, and she could wait forever.

Robellia tried to recall the dazzling boy’s face from her distant memories. But so much time had passed that the image had become so faint that she could no longer be sure that her memory was correct. This, too, made her sad, and Robellia cried for a long time afterwards.

* * * 

Another two years passed, and autumn came. Robellia had grown into a proper young woman of eighteen, but the princess’s palace remained frozen in time, as if nothing had changed.

Sitting by the window, Robellia took out Akan’s letter from last winter and read it again.

[Dear Robellia,] 

[First of all, I hope that by the time this letter reaches you, your cold will have completely healed. It has snowed heavily here too.]

It was around last spring that Akan began to cut out the formalities in his letters. About every third letter now addressed her as ‘Robellia’ instead of ‘Your Highness’.

And Robellia couldn’t help but be pleased. It made her feel as if the distance between them had suddenly become much shorter.

[Lately, I’ve been concentrating on training. It’s not easy, but it’s something I have to do.]

Robellia read the letter again, even though she already knew its contents by heart. Deep in thought, she pondered every word. 

In noble families, the eldest son usually became the official heir at the age of eighteen – or sixteen if he was exceptionally gifted. Now sixteen, Akan worked diligently to complete the tasks set for him by his father. The Duke of Roxas seemed to have no shortage of demands on his heir.

But Robellia already knew the truth. Though Akan had never said so openly, it was clear what he really wanted.

Akan wasn’t just trying to become a lord. He was working to hasten the day when he would be officially recognised as the heir, so that he could present himself to the Emperor. Only then could he visit the Imperial Palace with confidence.

Robellia looked forward to that day even more than Akan. Now of age, she found it increasingly difficult to resist the pressure of choosing a mate.

She skimmed the letter, as she had read and reread it countless times over the past two months, almost to the point of memorisation. But the few lines added below the closing remarks on the last page – those she read over and over, savouring every word.

[Robellia, I feel selfish asking this, but you may have to wait a little longer. But I promise to come and see you. So please wait for me. Until then, take care.]

Akan must have known. He must have realised that from that spring, when Robellia turned eighteen, it would be much harder for her to refuse marriage.

So when he asked her to wait for him at the Imperial Palace, he was really asking her not to marry anyone else. If she did, she would have to leave the palace immediately.

No matter how many times Robellia read these words, her heart fluttered. But the real reason she kept returning to that letter was something else.

Since last winter, when the letter arrived, she hadn’t heard a word from Akan.

The messenger who had carried her letter north hadn’t returned with an answer – or hadn’t returned at all. Determined not to give up, Robellia hired another messenger to send another letter north, but the same thing happened. And the next.

Was it her father? Or her brother? Or perhaps the Duke of Roxas? It could have been all three. One way or another, it seemed they had tired of Akan and Robellia’s persistence and were now trying to silence them completely.

Though she wanted to resent her for her strong opposition, Robellia knew deep down that her father was actually a remarkably considerate parent. The very fact that he hadn’t forced her to marry another man showed how much the Emperor cared for her. Among royalty, and even among noble and common families, it was common for daughters to be married off to men chosen by their fathers, whether they liked it or not.

“Two years…”

No matter how long they waited, it wouldn’t be more than two years. By then Akan Roxas would be eighteen and of age.

The thought of waiting another two years was overwhelming, but the thought that this time it would really be the last brought her some comfort. Robellia, who had spent her youth waiting for only one person, didn’t care that she was past the usual age for a royal marriage.

She pulled out some fresh stationery and took up her pen. Although she had given up actually sending letters, she continued to write them faithfully, as if she were keeping a diary.

[To Akan I long to see.] 

* * *

Would Robellia’s boy still shine as brightly as he once did?

Eight long years had passed. Now, in the autumn of her twentieth year, Robellia often wondered if her childhood memories of him had been overly romantic.

As the last letter faded into a yellowed relic, so did her memories. It had been a long time since she had stopped writing unsent letters.

So, just this year – just until the end of this year, she told herself. After waiting so long, she would at least see how Akan Roxas had grown. Then she would give up. Sitting on the grand stage of the lavish banquet, the princess made up her mind.

“Your Highness.”

“Hm?”

Robellia turned at the whispered words of her maid, Emily. Across the banquet hall, she saw a familiar man watching her from a distance. It was Lord Banor, with his curly brown hair.

After a long wait for the princess to choose him, Lord Banor had recently given up, or so it seemed – news of his engagement had reached Robellia. But for someone who now had a fiancée, why was he staring at her so uncomfortably? Robellia unfolded the fan her maid had given her and used it to shield her face.

Besides Lord Banor, the unmarried princess attracted the attention of many. But Robellia had only danced a single song with her father at the start of the banquet and had stayed away from the main hall ever since. Concerned, Emily leaned forward and spoke softly.

“Your Highness, perhaps you could go down and dance another song?”

“No need. Don’t worry about me – go and enjoy yourselves.”

With the princess showing no intention of moving, the maids were unable to relax and enjoy the banquet. Robellia felt a little guilty, but she just couldn’t bring herself to join in the fun. She just wasn’t in the mood.

Tonight’s banquet marked the last day of the Autumn Harvest Festival, a feast hosted by the Emperor himself for the nobles. In other words, it meant that winter was approaching – and that another year was soon to begin.

That spring, Akan had already turned eighteen, reaching adulthood. Robellia had been so sure he would come. And yet… why didn’t he?

With a sombre look, she scanned the opulent banquet hall, its lively atmosphere in stark contrast to her mood.

“Robellia.”

A familiar voice – her brother’s – reached her ears and she let out an exaggerated sigh, as if to make a point. It was obvious that Raves had come to scold her again.

“Yes.”

Robellia replied, closing her fan and turning her head with an expression that, while not outright defiant, was far from respectful. Raves stood in front of her, flanked by two young men, his disapproving eyes fixed firmly on his sister.