The next morning, I finally have a chance to give my apology gift to Gerald. When I thought about it, I realised my best chance was coming to the classroom early, and I was right. The last few (school) days, he came with a friend, but not today.

“Sir Ventser?” I say.

He turns around. Really, it’s a bit mean of him to not even greet me and go straight to his desk. Even if we’re on bad terms right now, doesn’t he have any manners? I feel sorry for whoever gets roped into marrying him. Well, I guess it’ll be a political marriage, probably a princess from one of the countries on the continent, so his manners are probably going to be the least of her concerns.

“Yes?” he says.

Ah, even if it’s just in my head, I should try not to badmouth him too much. A bad habit I don’t want to get into. Badmouthing should always be done to the person’s face.

Before I sidetrack myself too much more, I take out the handkerchief. “As an apology.”

He looks at it with a critical eye, rather reluctant as he takes it. “You sewed it yourself?”

“Yes,” I say, wondering why everyone has to ask that. It’s not like you’d care if I had a maid do it, would you? Goodness knows you probably can’t comb your own hair, so don’t go around asking questions like that—as if the present would mean any less if not done by me.

Wait, no badmouthing. I hide my thoughts with a polite smile.

“What exactly are you apologising for?” he asks.

Oh shove off, you prat. Though tempted to just walk away, I patiently put it into the plain terms he’s so fond of. “I am apologising because I was dishonest with you. While I was upset with you at the time, that is no reason for me to lie. In the future, I shall make sure to be honest with you, even if I think it may be poor etiquette to do so.”

“You are not apologising for wasting my time, then?”

I tilt my head, giving him a questioning look. “Why would I do that? You’re the one who suggested the activity—are you saying it would have been a waste of my time to partake?”

His expression twinges, but doesn’t slip into anything unsightly. With a shake of his head, he turns to the side and sets his gaze to the window, offhandedly dropping the handkerchief into his (briefcase-like) bag.

You know, he didn’t even say he liked it. Come on, Eleanor, what’s so great about him?

“I have never met anyone quite so vexing,” he says quietly.

And it gives me pause. Is he… speaking honestly? Normally, he would only let slip something like that if I really pissed him off, right?

“The world is a vast place and I am sure there will be plenty more vexing when it comes your time for politics,” I say.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth that I can see. “No, I have been privy to some such already. In a way, they are straightforward: they have something they want and wish to use me to obtain it. However, when it comes to you, I am at a loss, treated with worse than disinterest.”

“There’s nothing worse than disinterest from those you seek approval.”

I don’t know if he’d finished speaking, but I had to say that, his words poking at the wound Lady Horsham and Evan picked at just yesterday.

His face gives away nothing. “I see,” he quietly says.

Ah, I’ve gone and ruined the mood like I always do with him. We just… really don’t get on, do we? “It’s not that I hate you,” I say. “When we talk, I usually feel like you are rather thoughtless, so I end up teasing you. If I hate anything, it’s that part of you. I know I don’t know what your circumstances are, but, if you talk so carelessly with other ladies, you will surely come to hurt them.”

There’s a second of silence, and then he says, “I am a prince, you know.”

Smiling sadly, I turn away. “See, you say things like that,” I whisper, unsure if I want him to hear.

It’s a real long shot for Violet to catch his eye, yet I’m feeling more and more like she deserves someone better. How crushing would it be for her to hear him say those words? As good as calling her his servant, really. He cannot be wrong no matter what happens. A lowly baron’s daughter…raised proper, she couldn’t disagree with him, couldn’t disobey him, couldn’t be wilful. Royalty is a class unto itself, above the upper-class and especially far above her.

She would be trapped.

Just thinking of that makes me feel sick. Really, Eleanor, what were you thinking? What’s so good about him?

This is, it’s going to end up with a bad mood between us. At the same time, I’m not someone who lies frivolously, promised to be honest with him.

I’ve no choice then, do I?

“Unless you change, I don’t think we can be friends,” I say.

His reply is quick. “I do not remember saying I wished for us to be friends.”

“That’s fine, I was merely making my position clear. I hardly think myself so important to warrant changing oneself, but I said I would be truthful, so I was. However, you should keep my words in mind before needlessly approaching me.”

“Are you telling me I cannot talk to you?” he asks.

I wave him off over my shoulder, still not looking at him (and maybe he’s still not looking at me either). “As if I would give His Royal Highness such an order. This is simply a lady’s advice,” I say.

Perfect timing, Lord Smarden (one of Gerald’s friends) enters the room. With me and Gerald how we are, it’s not overly obvious we’ve been talking anything serious and it even looks like I’m already heading back to my seat.

So I do just that, leaving that stupid prince without a goodbye. Small victories, you know?

But it’s all still as I said: I don’t hate him, just that part of him. Thoughtless, you can’t be thoughtless when your every word has such weight. I can only be thoughtless because my words carry no weight. When I speak, who listens? When he speaks, who doesn’t listen? And for those who do listen to me, I do my best to make clear my position, to not mislead them.

I don’t know, it’s this very convoluted thing, woven into the unspoken rules of society. As such, my feelings aren’t all that concrete.

Well, I suppose it’s like when I talk to a maid: she’s going to listen closely to my every word. Because he’s so important, especially people like Violet will try to understand every nuance of his words, maybe invent her own.

“I am a prince,” can easily become, “I am your master.”

Oh I know I’m really hammering him on this point. We’re still children at a school, so what he does is nothing newsworthy, but it is gossip nonetheless; how long will it be before the gossip becomes dull, escalates?

It’s not good to get myself all depressed so early in the day. I did what I wanted (apologised to him), so I should set my sights ahead.

Ah, speaking of ahead, there’s festivities this week: the Celtic celebration called Samhain. I’m not sure if or how it was celebrated in Ellie’s world, but here it’s on the first Friday of November with some stuff going on for the three days before and after. Otherwise, it’s pretty similar to Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night put together, bonfires and fireworks and a bit spooky.

On the mysticism side, it’s believed that the boundary between us and the faeries is at its thinnest at this time. There’s then also a lot of rituals (varying by region and village and family) to do with the bonfires. Some places collect fuel from every house and burn it together as a sign of community, while others douse their fireplace and then relight it by a flame brought from the bonfire. And there’s things like carrying a flame around the house to ward off evil, or purifying yourself with the smoke of the bonfire.

Really, the only thing off the table are sacrifices. Live sacrifices, I should say, since I’ve heard rumours that (in the past) sheep and horses which died while moving from the summer pastures to the winter ones would be put on the fires. I think the reason was that the faeries had “chosen” them to ascend to the heavens. Much quieter, I’ve heard that the people who died on the journey were similarly cremated.

Then, like Halloween, there’s some dressing up and going house to house for “treats”. Because of Ellie’s influence, I’ve always thought of faeries as tiny things, but the mythology of them here is actually more like fae. That is, the faeries are written and drawn as closer to humans in size. Some look half-human and half-goat, others like dragons, all sorts of stuff. Like in Ellie’s world, it’s only children doing the “trick-or-treating”, and the treats are usually dried fruits—the closest thing to sweets for most people. Oh, that’s called “guising” (as in disguise). It’s supposedly to bring good fortune, something symbolic about giving tribute to the “faeries”.

What else…. Tricks, well there’s sometimes little pranks which are blamed on the faeries. Of course, don’t even think about being caught, parents unlikely to believe you. Like how the boundary between us and faeries is (believed to be) thinner, it’s also believed that ghosts can manifest, or the dead are otherwise celebrated a bit. That’s not as common these days, I think, the church a bit insistent on souls going to heaven rather than wandering the earth.

All things considered, I guess I probably could have left it as Halloween and Guys Fawkes Nights put together. Oh well.

Anyway, it’s more a celebration for commonfolk than the upper-class, so there’s not much going on at the school. A (small) bonfire will be lit tonight, and on Friday the afternoon classes will be cancelled so we can idly shuffle around in the cold. If the ballroom was done (the renovations over summer were delayed, to be finished over the winter break), then we would have a ball, traditional dancing and outfits and all that.

Still, I’m looking forward to what the celebration will look like in town. I’ll miss the big bonfire on Friday, but it should be going strong on Saturday, and I’m sure Gwen will share some treats with me.

Oh my gosh, will she be dressed up as a faerie? Lottie will know I want to see that, right?

It’s hard to focus on the classes throughout the day and I’m tempted to skip out on the water magic class, but I go. As much as I enjoy embroidery, I don’t want to ruin my wrists or anything like that, so moderation.

My indecision makes me later than usual, most of the seats already taken by the time I get there. The chairs arranged in neat rows, I guess we’re not practising today, so I don’t have to join my group. Rather than shuffle past a bunch of people, I sit on the empty back row.

And someone familiar soon sits next to me.

“Lady… Kent?” he says.

“Lord Basildon,” I reply, turning and bowing my head for sleepy prince.

As always, his eyes are a touch unfocused, his hair a bit messy. As if noticing where I looked, his hands comes up to half comb, half smooth down his hair. “I just wanted to give my thanks. Over the last week, I have not missed a lunch or supper.”

Giggling for a moment, I cover my mouth, and then say, “I’m glad to hear that.”

He looks at me, his gaze gentle, a slight smile. Leaning in, he softly asks, “Say, do you fancy me?”

Hey, heart, are you racing? No? Okay.

I shake my head, but I guess I understand where he’s coming from. All my other “gifts” had a reason, while his was simply because I went through the list of princes I knew. Of course he would expect a present to have ulterior motives.

“It is a hobby of mine, and I already have more handkerchiefs than I can get rid of. Rather than add another to the pile, I thought to make something useful, that’s all.”

He smirks, an eyebrow raised as if challenging me. “I see.”

With that, he turns to face the front.

Nothing more is said.