Tuesday brings more of the same slog. The only difference between today and yesterday is that, at the morning break, it’s Violet who comes over.

“Lady Dover, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask brightly.

She stands in front of my desk, her friends a couple of steps behind. Though Lady Hythe and Lady Minster are smugly glaring at me (if you can call those glares), Lady Horsham looks a little troubled. Ah, and she doesn’t have her hair braided—what a shame.

Violet clears her throat and glances down at the table. “So, the accounting exam must have been a fluke.”

“Oh, you want to see my results? Sure, go ahead,” I say, offering her my exam papers from the morning classes.

She sets her eyes sternly, but accepts them.

“You have done well, haven’t you?” I say, making conversation. “I’m glad your hard work has been suitably rewarded.”

Ignoring me, she starts looking through the first page, and her expression weakens. I mean, it’s so subtle that I doubt anyone but me would have noticed. Most telling, she says nothing and simply puts down the papers, not even bothering to check the rest.

“Is that all?” I ask.

She meets my gaze for a moment and then breaks away, leaving me with a harrumph.

If she’d only checked the other exam instead of algebra—in algebra, similar to geometry, I nearly got every answer correct but lost marks for not showing my workings.

So the day carries on. Nothing else to do when I finish my lunch, I come back to the classroom. About half the days, Evan also comes back early and we might chat or work on homework or (at least for me) have a nap. Today’s one of those days, his glum face letting out a sigh as he sinks into his seat. It’s unusual for him to show off such bad posture.

“A tuppence for your thoughts?” I ask him.

Though a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, his tone is still lumpy when he says, “Are my thoughts really worth that much?”

“Thruppence, then, but I shan’t go any higher.”

He idly rubs his chin, not really cheered up yet. “You would think I am used to disappointing my family by now is all,” he says lightly, as if talking weather.

The notably poor exam results on his desk are likely the topic of the mentioned disappointment. I… haven’t been in this position before, trying to cheer someone up over bad grades. It’s all well and good saying they don’t matter, but they do to him, don’t they? If not these ones, then the next ones that do count and will be sent home with his teacher’s report for the term.

And it’s all well and good me saying that school doesn’t matter, that it’s not like he’ll be disinherited, but there is more of a pressure on the boys to do well. For us girls, it’s not like marrying someone comes with a grade requirement. Sure, there’s a facet of personality at play as some boys might like a studious girl, but I don’t think that’s particularly common.

Put a simple way, it’s a positive for a boy to be clever and a negative for them to be dumb, while it’s just a quirk for girls. Maybe it’s different for commonfolk, but it is like that for the upper-class and maybe for the middle-class.

So, what can I do?

“How is your sister?” I ask.

He doesn’t jump or show any fright, but his expression changes, softens. “You know of her?”

“No but, since you’re offering, please do tell.”

He chuckles, turning away from me to hide the splotches of red staining his cheeks. After a few calming breaths, he faces forward again, talking to the table rather than me. “Well, she is a few years younger than me.”

“Is she cute?”

“Very,” he says with a laugh. “I found her rather annoying in my younger years, always following me about, asking me to read to her or to play. Yet… it’s funny how much I miss her since I started schooling.”

I rest my chin on my hand, nodding along as he speaks. “What’s her name?”

“Ellen,” he says, a wry smile on his lips.

“Ah, good name.”

“I shall let my mother know you like it,” he says, turning enough to catch my eye.

Resisting the urge to lean over and flick him on the forehead, I grumble instead, muttering, “Stupid boys, can’t come up with their own lines.”

He chuckles, bringing his gaze back to his table. “Now we spend most of the year apart, it seems like she is growing up quickly, and I worry she will soon realise how dull her brother is.”

I can relate to that, so I do, telling him of Joshua and my own sibling worries.

Evan laughs me off in the end with a simply said, “As if any brother could resist doting on his sisters.”

Before I say anything else, Gerald enters the room, accompanied by his usual friends. I haven’t really thought about it, but another thing that makes the princes the princes is that they don’t have friends. Evan’s too shy, Cyril likes to spend his free time writing, Leo finds quiet places to nap, Julian doesn’t get on with other boys because of (being bullied for) his looks. If it’s like the book, happy prince practises his magic and is a bit eccentric, and dopey prince doesn’t like to talk and so gets left alone.

Gerald has friends, but he doesn’t really. He’s actual royalty and grew up with a very small circle of people even allowed to visit him, never mind children his age. There’s friends and there’s friends and he only has friends. He can chat with them and hang out, but he can’t be himself.

Or something like that. I’m not him, so I don’t know.

However, I can speculate all sorts of things. He might worry someone is just trying to get close to him for his status, or that he can’t get close to someone because of theirs. His actions do reflect on the whole country to some degree. His father is next in line to be king, and he himself will be king one day. How he conducts himself now is an indicator on how he will act later.

Anyway, he catches me looking over at him and takes that as an opportunity.

“Lady Kent, how are your results looking? It sounded like you did well in algebra.”

Oh shove off, I finally got that glum look off Evan’s face. Soured, I reply, “Not that it matters.”

His smile became strained at that reply. “Though it may not matter to our grades, these still hold weight.”

“To you,” I say sweetly, smiling.

He clears his throat and comes closer to my desk, passing in front of Evan’s. “It is a chance to show your worth; of course such an opportunity should be taken.”

“What worth? You do know all I am good for is becoming a bride and for that I am already qualified but for my age, able to both walk down an aisle and read my vows.”

Okay, I’m getting bitchy, but he’s pushing me to it. I thought he could read the mood?

“Well,” he says, almost a huff. I guess he’s fairly upset with me. “I… know you are surely a capable learner.”

I give him a gesture that says, “So?” before asking, “What reason do I have for putting in the effort?”

His smile nearly breaks. “The pursuit of bettering oneself is its own reward,” he says.

“And I have better ways to better myself than rote learning pages out of a book.”

Ooh, he narrowed his eyes—so scary! “Think of your parents who are paying for you to attend,” he says… calmly.

“If they wished for me to simply learn, surely they would rather have hired private tutors,” I say, tilting my head to the side.

Such a twitchy smile. “Fine, then let us give you a reason to properly study, shall we? I shall ask three of our teachers for an old exam paper. If I do better than you in two of them, then you will have to study with me on Saturdays. Otherwise, I will leave you alone and you can keep doing… whatever you want.”

I nod along and, when he finishes, I think for a second. Leaning over, I whisper to Evan, “Is he asking me on a date?”

Evan snorts, turning away and burying his face into his arms, the muffled sound of a wheezy laugh continuing for a few seconds longer.

When I look back at Gerald, he’s trying to show nothing and failing, his eyes unwilling to meet mine. “Sure,” I say.

Those shy eyes widen for a moment before he catches himself. “Really?”

I tear off a corner of my algebra exam paper and then quickly scribble out the agreement. “If you beat me in two tests, you win, otherwise I do,” I say, narrating what I write. Looking up at him, I ask, “That is correct?”

He’s still a bit uncomfortable, but nods. “Yes.”

“Wonderful,” I say, taking out my school diary. I slide the slip of paper inside to keep it safe—it’s not like I use my diary for anything else now I’ve learnt my timetable. “If that is all?”

As though not expecting his bet to be accepted so easily, it takes him a moment to collect himself. “I will let you know when I have the exams.”

“Very well. Then, good day to you.”

“And you,” he says, bowing his head. Finally, he leaves, his “friends” looking rather amused by everything that happened.

At my side is someone else who is rather amused. I stare at Evan, catching his eye as he turns his head enough to peek out from his arms. “Did you enjoy the entertainment?”

His face is flushed from laughing, so much so that even his ears are red. I wonder if he got teased for how easily he blushes. Maybe that was the start of his shyness? Well, not that he’s all that shy around me now.

“Yes,” he says—such a simple reply. I leave things there while he calms down and the colour fades, and he eventually breaks the silence, his expression becoming far from cheery. “Did you mean what you said? About… your worth.”

Though he spoke softly, I don’t, speaking my mind. “In a way,” I say. “I know it’s not really a comfort to you, but our grades don’t actually matter, do they? That is, you would hardly ask to see what grades she got in school when considering an engagement.”

He nods along, but doesn’t butt into my pause, so I continue.

“Then, when else would my grades matter? When else is someone going to look at me and decide whether or not my ‘worth’ is enough?”

I ask those questions without expecting an answer, and he obliges, silence his reply.

Smiling to myself, something finally comes to me. “Say, when you go home for Yule, do you think your sister would rather hear you’re top of the class, or that you embroidered a handkerchief for her all by yourself?”

When I look over, he has a sweet smile directed at his fidgeting hands. Ah, he really loves his sister, doesn’t he?

“I suppose the handkerchief,” he softly says.

Reaching over, I flick his cheek, and he lets out a small yelp. When he looks over, I grin at him. “Trick question. She’s happy with either because you worked hard.”

He gives me an awkward smile, rubbing where I flicked him. “You think so?”

“Well, I think we should aim for the handkerchief. That seems like a much more realistic goal for you,” I say, putting on a serious expression.

He chuckles. “Yes, I guess so.”