Fortunately, Princess was spared of writing extensively in my stead once control over her body returned—not much was left. Mimicking my abysmal calligraphy proved to be an inconvenience, but the true challenge lay in extricating ourselves from the library, slipping into her room unnoticed, and feigning slumber in the bed as though we had spent the entire night there.
Confred arrived with impeccable timing, rousing us from our pretense of rest. We entrusted him with my posthumous works, to be placed upon my brother’s desk. Fermina, already awake by then, inquired about the incident. Princess recounted the abridged version of our rehearsed tale, and my heart soared at the discovery that the elegant elder sister expressed interest in reading what I had written, regardless of how crude the content might be. Princess, short of breath, swiftly sidestepped further discussion, only to chide me once again for harboring feelings beyond my control.
During breakfast, Princess attempted to educate me, whispering directives regarding which foods were innocuous and which were to be avoided at all costs. Her passion for the subject was endearing as she launched into diatribes about what constituted a ‘trap’ or an ‘unhealthy food masquerading as a healthy one’. Initially, I made an effort to mentally catalogue her guidance, but as the discourse grew increasingly arbitrary, the subject matter became intolerably dull. Ultimately, I acquiesced to allowing her to dictate my dietary choices if the occasion arose.
The conversation at the table turned to news of my father and mother’s impending return after a protracted absence. Discussions of my funeral arrangements followed, tempered by the brighter prospect of a Lady traveling to town that very afternoon—a prospect that presented an opportunity for us if we could persuade her to grant us passage.
“Her? Oh, no, Dubart. No way,” Princess’s denial was absolute when I posed the suggestion.
“What is the issue? Though we do not yet have the funds, simply exploring the shops in Bernan would be a splendid beginning. You do wish for me to find a way to cease living half your life, do you not?” I asked, genuinely surprised that she would forgo such an opportunity.
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“Not when she is our only option. That would be Tirrha, or Lady Lunatora to you,” she mentioned with disdain. “She is a nightmare to be around. Believe me, no trip to town is worth it.”
While ‘Lady’ was technically a title, it could be applied as a courtesy to any woman of noble birth, unlike the male counterpart—‘Lord’. Princess held no lands, but she was either Lady Aufelia to her peers and superiors or Lady de Irchard to others. If she had been granted a title, she would have been referred to almost exclusively as Lady Aufelia to distinguish her from her unlanded relatives.
Lady Lunatora, a distinguished guest, had been with us intermittently for seven years, if my memory served me correctly. Her father, the Duke of Grimesda, was nearly our immediate neighbor, and his titles were soon to be inherited by her elder brother, who also resided with us, completing his education under the tutelage of the Baroness of Nilsten—my mother.
“She seemed quite decent when she was first introduced to me,” I remarked, recalling how she had shown no shock at the sight of my dreadful appearance, which typically struck fear into girls of her age. “Am I to assume that you two do not get along?” I inquired, using the spoon as my intermediary—a gesture that made our shared face appear humorously absurd.
“Don’t let her pretty face fool you; she’s a snake. She’s petty, conceited, and the worst when she gets drunk and irrational.”
“And yet, she remains the only one with a carriage bound for Bernan today,” I interjected before she could continue. “Speak with her. Reconcile. What are you two even feuding over? Was it a battle for the prized tartarian shortcake?” I jested.
“That’s how it started, yes; it’s far more than that, Dubart. The bottom line is I’m not doing it,” Princess steadfastly refused. I did not press her for details on how such an enmity could arise from a quarrel over dessert, despite my curiosity.
“Suit yourself,” I conceded the point. “In that case, I would very much enjoy the company of Fermina and Rascal.”
We had been invited to join them. Rascal, eager to refine her abilities before my funeral, was fortunate enough to have the most talented singer in the duchy as her sister—Fermina, whose voice was nothing short of angelic.
“That, we can do, but if you are going to make me sigh in adoration of my sister again, we are out of there, you hear that?” she threatened and used the spoon to drink her soup instead of continuing the conversation.
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