After work, Lottie and Gwen are here to pick me up. With the earlier finishing time, there’s enough daylight for us to wander around for a bit, which means we go see the bonfire. I guess I was spoiled by the school’s one, the one in town about the same size. Ah, but it’s in sort of a public square, somewhat enclosed on all sides, so there’s a lot of ash scattered about like a light dusting of snow. It makes me wish for a snowy bonfire over the upcoming holiday.

Though it’s tempting to go buy up a bunch of fabrics with my pay from last week, I hold off for now. There’s still a lot of sewing to do for my next dress, so no rush. Instead, we check out a few of the more middle-class shops where they sell souvenirs or other trinkets, getting ideas for birthdays and Yule.

Then back to school I go. Some time before supper, I have a nap until then. Afterwards, I return like a moth to the flames of the bonfire, content to pass the evening in thought there. If it wouldn’t be so awkward, I’d actually sit in front of the fireplace in the dormitory’s lounge now and then. Well, it’s not so much awkward for me as it is for everyone else, but I’m kind enough to spare them from walking on eggshells around me.

I do a bit of sewing before going to bed early, kept warm by my hot-water bottle. The lace-like pattern is pretty intensive, so I’m maybe a quarter done (but I’ve also spent a lot of time this week in front of the bonfire and not much time sewing).

The next morning, Len is back to guide me to town. As usual for Sundays, Lottie and Gwen are at church, so I only head into town for the start of my shift. Everything’s back to normal at the café and the day goes quickly. Though I always want to spend time with Lottie and Gwen, I feel bad keeping them out in the chill, so we don’t hang out at all. Instead, I catch up on some sewing in my bedroom, spend some more time at the bonfire (burned half down by now).

Monday. End-of-term exams next week, the various lessons go various ways, Mr Duxford (Geography) only now finishing the syllabus and telling us that any of it may come on the tests, while Mr Leicester (English—writing, not literature) basically tells us what the two topics will be for the exam and how he wants them answered. (For the creative writing, the opening to a traditional fantasy story; for the persuasive writing, an argument for or against cutting down the forest beside the town to make room for more housing.)

It’s a somewhat tiring day. However, my energy returns by the end of it, happy to go to embroidery club. Evan’s been quiet all day as he diligently took as many notes as he could, which worried me, thinking he might want to study instead, but he comes along without saying anything.

Lady Horsham doesn’t join us by the time Ms Berks arrives, and I guess she’s not coming. I don’t go out of my way to eavesdrop, but I naturally pick out Violet’s voice when she talks and she chatted about a study group at morning break. Maybe me thinking too much, I wonder if she wants to impress clever Gerald, catch his eye after he showed an interest in me for my results in the mocks.

Anyway, out of kindness, I suggest to Evan he can study instead of sewing, and he accepts with a complicated expression that I read as: For what good it’ll do. Well, I help him with the maths subjects—for what good that will do. He’s not terrible, but my understanding is that the boys were basically taught better at their last school, sort of putting him at the bottom of the boys and above the average girls. (Gender segregated education a great way to reinforce gender stereotypes.)

At the end of the hour, we pack up and leave, giving our thanks to Ms Berks as usual. Once we’re outside, I go to say goodbye and head to the bonfire rather than join him on the walk back to the dormitories.

However, he stops me with an urgently said, “Wait.”

So I do.

He fiddles with his bag, undoing the clasps and lifting up the flap. From inside, he takes out something small and offers it to me. “For your birthday,” he weakly says.

Oh, it’s a hair clip? I say that, but they’re not like (most of) Ellie’s ones that you just flex to open and close. It’s a French hair clip with a sort of clasp—okay, I won’t try to explain. But it’s ornamental, the top of it a silver coloured metal shaped into something leafy and flowery.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling warmly. All my hair in a ponytail, I gently tease out my fringe just so I can clip it back. Ah, where’s a compact when I need one? Mirror, mirror in my pocket. I guess Evan will have to do. “How does it look?” I ask.

He fidgets as if unwilling to look at me. It’s probably rather embarrassing for him to give a gift to a girl outside of his family. “Nice?” he says.

“That’s good, then,” I reply.

With how pale my hair is, I tend to avoid silver as it makes my hair look grey by comparison, but I guess I can make an exception. However, I do worry that this isn’t exactly a gift for a friend. It might be that he didn’t know what to get, or he asked someone else (say his sister or mother) and they… misunderstood.

Or maybe I’m the one misunderstanding. Just because I’ve been forthright with only wanting to be friends doesn’t mean he has to feel the same way.

“Say, where is it from?” I ask.

He rubs the back of his head, looking off to the side. “Just a shop in town. To tell the truth, I, um, don’t know what to buy a lady or what is acceptable, but the shopkeep suggested it. He said it would be the perfect gift for, um, a sister and, well, I didn’t correct him,” he says, finishing with a nervous chuckle.

That… doesn’t entirely clear things up? However, he is aware that gifts can have meanings, so there’s that at least. I’m sure these things will be explained to him over the holiday now his family is aware of him having a lady for a friend. Probably. Hopefully.

Anyway, I’ll let this pass for now. Hair accessories aren’t quite normal jewellery, so it’s not exactly, well, off-limits. A necklace or bracelet or (heaven forbid) a ring, I would have to turn any of those down. Maybe I’m too soft, sending the wrong signals. This is why I wanted to be friends with girls. When it came to Violet, all I had to worry about was making sure she had an afternoon snack lest she get grumpy.

After another thank you, he goes off his way while I dither.

Receiving a gift, I’m reminded of grumpy Cyril, and I feel a little bad. It’s not that I’ve gone out of my way to avoid him, yet I feel like I almost have. Family, he called me, us. From what I know of his family situation, he probably has no expectations of me; however, I have expectations of me. I may have invited him to come over in the winter break, but… I should do more. I thought he hated me when we were younger, so I tried to keep my distance, but that’s not the case.

Well, given I’m already here, I head back inside the building, passing the club room and stopping outside the library. I peek inside and, sure enough, he’s there.

Grumpy prince. Yes, it’s pretty easy to see why when you see him hunched over a sheet of paper, a dark expression on his face as he’s deep in thought, constantly clicking his tongue or otherwise making those kinds of irritated gestures. I’d’ve thought writing to be more… pleasant of an experience.

Rather than simply spy on him, I quietly step in and shuffle over to the table beside him. He doesn’t notice me, lost in his work, and that’s fine. I open up my bag and take out my small sewing kit and a fresh handkerchief. (Since I helped Evan, I didn’t get started on Gwen’s present—don’t tell her, but I’m actually doing the pony embroidery for a Yule gift.)

I can’t say how long it is before he notices me. Well, I joined him just after four and, by the light, it’s half past—I guess I can say. Sorry.

Anyway, I don’t have to be focused to sew, so I notice him noticing me. Our eyes meeting, I smile and bow my head in a polite nod. After a moment, he does the same, and then returns to his writing.

So it goes for a while longer. Only when twilight comes do we leave, nothing said until outside the library.

“How is your present?” he asks.

My heart skips a beat before I realise he means the hot-water bottle rather than hair clip. “Oh it’s wonderful. These bedchambers get so cold, you know?”

He chuckles, and it’s a dry laugh, serious to match his general impression. “Well, the fire faeries favour me somewhat.”

Rub it in why don’t you. It gives me a thought, though, not usually thinking of faeries as fire faeries, rather just faeries that use fire magic. I wonder which it is: does each faerie have a type of magic, or can each faerie use any magic?

Well, whatever. “Good for you,” I say, perhaps a little grumbly.

That makes him laugh again. “And for you,” he says.

Maybe he was called grumpy prince because he makes you grumpy?

Coming outside, I’m once again in a position to dither, intending to go to the bonfire; however, I’d like to talk with him some more. Nothing for it. “Say, would you accompany me for a short while?” I ask.

He fiddles with his cuffs, something of a habit of his since he was a kid. A thinking one, I’d say, rather than nervous. “I suppose I could.”

“You’re not happy to?” I ask lightly, leaning forward to get a better look at his face.

He snorts, and lets out a sigh. “I would say you’ve become impudent with age, yet you gave me such cheek as a child too.”

“Do not fret, it is well deserved in your case,” I reply.

Despite trying not to, he smirks.

I was rather guarded with him the first times we met at school, unsure of myself and of him and the distance between us back then, but it seems I need not have worried. My impression of him, from the book and from our childhood, was quite wrong.

In Snowdrop and the Seven Princes, Eleanor was simply supportive of him. Moody and arrogant, yet he warmed to her words of praise, and then he convinced her that the relationship between a man and woman transcended that of familial bonds. (I guess it’s lucky they were second cousins and not siblings.)

Ahem. In reality, he seems more… normal. I guess stories have to exaggerate. The way he talks to me and responds to what I say, I’m getting the sense that he likes to have those sort of light-hearted exchanges. Poking a bit of fun at each other, I don’t dislike it.

We chat like that on the way to the bonfire. Once there, I start on an idea that’s been bouncing around my head.

“Is the library always so empty?” I ask, sitting beside him on a low bench. The bonfire isn’t being fed any more, barely any warmth coming from it.

“More so right after the last lesson. Some people come to do homework and then leave when done,” he says.

I nod along, rubbing my hands to keep away the cold. “You know, on Monday and Friday, we have the embroidery club next door. If it’s all the same to you, you could join us and have a table to yourself.”

“And who exactly is ‘we’?” he asks.

“Me and Lord Sussex, and sometimes Lady Horsham.”

He chuckles, stretching out his legs. “Like I would wish to witness your flirting.”

Oh dear, does someone need to teach you delicacy? “We are only friends, I assure you of that,” I say sharply. “But if you are so opposed, then don’t come. I was only trying to be nice.”

A few seconds of silence pass before he says, “It was merely a joke, why are you getting so upset?”

Ah, the return of eleven-year-old Cyril. I think he will have to spend some time over the winter break learning discretion from my mother and Clarice. “Because rumours like that may hurt his reputation and I’m rather defensive when it comes to any of my friends,” I say.

Oh he grumbles, and mutters a half-hearted, “Well, it’s just the two of us,” but it sounds like he’s suitably chided. I leave it at that, moving the conversation to other matters. Whether or not he comes will just be a surprise. Though I don’t say as much, I make it clear there’s no hard feelings through my warm tone, and he quickly cheers up.

It’s already around five o’clock and rather dark, so we don’t talk much longer before heading back to the dormitories. All things considered, I think I did get closer to him today. I’ll put aside the small hiccup and call it a win.

Hopefully, he comes on Friday.