The last week of term, it comes with a certain lightness to it. Everyone is talkative and laughing, in the dormitory and at breakfast, in the corridors and sitting in the classroom before registration. Mr Milton clamps down on that somewhat, handing back our exams after taking the register.

“Lady Kent,” he says.

Top of the list.

Congratulations to me for my ability to do arithmetic and simple multiplication and division. More seriously, I guess I’ve at least not made silly mistakes. Clever Gerald is next, and Violet is after another guy (Lord Sandwich). Evan manages a better place than last time, but still near the bottom of the guys—more or less the middle as a couple of ladies did better than him and a couple of guys did worse. It’s not that interesting to me, so I’m not exactly counting.

Only other thing of note is that magic classes are cancelled for the week, no mention of clubs.

The morning lessons also see our exam papers returned. Gerald at the top, Violet top of the ladies and beating most of the guys, Evan not doing great but not looking devastated by the results. That’s good, I’m rubbish at cheering him up.

Finally break, I’m half tempted to sleep, but I have a sort of feeling what will happen. Though I glance at Gerald, he doesn’t make a move my way. Hmm. Violet, she looks over and then can’t stop herself. Smiling to myself, I neaten my papers.

“Lady Dover, did you want to see my results?” I ask.

Oh she’s frustrated, her gaze flicking from Accounting to Geography. I’m not sure if it annoys her how poor my one grade is or that I beat her in the other (or that I even beat Gerald). I wonder if she remembers what I told her when we first met…. What was it? “I might be able to read and do arithmetic, but don’t mistake me for someone clever,” or something like that. I was six, so it was probably less wordy.

She lingers for a minute as she looks through my Accounting paper, I guess checking what she got wrong. Now and then, a few words slip through her lips, harsh (and directed at herself, not that anyone eavesdropping would notice).

I mean, why would you say, “Stupid,” to someone who got it right?

When she finishes, I expect her to just walk off with a harrumph or something, her mood thoroughly soured. But she doesn’t. No, she whispers, “Congratulations.”

It… sounds a lot better coming from her than the teacher. Maybe I’ll have to seriously try next time. Nah, I’m too lazy. “Thank you,” I say to her, bowing my head.

Watching her go back to her seat, I get a burst of giddiness, reminded of how much I’m looking forward to the holidays. They’ve been so boring the last few years, Clarice always visiting friends and Joshua had tutoring all year round.

Stopping my thoughts, Evan speaks up, a whisper as he leans towards me. “Say, I’ve been hearing about what happened—the misunderstanding?”

It takes me a second to remember. Oh right, I said I’d tell him, didn’t I? Whoops, slipped my mind. Yet something seems suspect…. “Sir Ventser hasn’t said something about it?”

Evan shakes his head. “I heard he made a scene with Lady Dover, but he hasn’t said anything when people have asked him what the note said? Does that make sense?”

I click my tongue, thoroughly annoyed. I know I said you didn’t have to apologise in front of everyone, but you have to at least settle the rumours, right? Shaking off my bad mood, I say a soft, “Sorry,” to Evan for the scowl I sent his way. “That is, he read a note that fell out of her school diary and misunderstood why she had it.”

Surprising me, Evan’s expression darkens.

What was it he said to me? He dislikes how pushy Gerald is with me and how he shows me such an angry face? That he should know better?

I can’t say I disagree with that assessment.

“It worries me that my sister will come here,” he says, more to himself than me.

Oh; my heart breaks. Is that why he dislikes Gerald? He imagines his sister being confronted in such a way? I… can’t say anything to that. Not a word. My heart still aches when I think back to the scene between Gerald and Violet and she’s only my friend. Clarice, she’s strong, but….

Some things are better not thought.

That melancholy follows me through the day, Evan and I shuffling off to embroidery club in silence. I’m not sure it’s still on, but might as well see. Cyril gets here early enough to wait outside and I half-heartedly ask after his results so far. I’m happy to hear he’s pleased with them, mostly in the top half. It also serves to help Evan as it sounds like our class is rather stacked with talent; comparing grades in the two exams both we and Cyril have been given back, Evan only has a couple of marks less than Cyril and yet placed much worse.

My worry for the club being cancelled is soon proven unfounded, Ms Berks arriving. However, she does tell us the Friday one won’t be on. (It seems she can’t skip the last teacher meeting of the term, but I’m not convinced, sure she’s sneaking out on a carriage the moment classes end.)

When it comes to sewing, well, I’ve sort of run out of things to do. I spend the start of the hour sketching, but my lack of artistic talent shows in the “dresses” I draw. A waist that thin, I’m not sure if it’s an hourglass figure or a health problem. Rather than start again by drawing out the dress pattern (the flat shape of the bits of fabric that stitch together to make a dress), I decide to sneak in a present for Evan’s sister. He’s done a rabbit for her, but we thought a flower for her birth month—daisy or sweet pea?

Well, I poke around the loose fabrics and there’s a bright yellow piece, small and round, so I quickly decide on daisy, picking up white thread for the petals. Simple stitches close together, giving the petals a smooth appearance. Then, for the middle, I use yellow thread to add a bumpy texture with little French knots.

I don’t mean to brag, but it has a nice aesthetic. A very cheerful piece. Still some time left, I use sky blue thread to nicely hem the edge of the fabric with a buttonhole stitch.

The bell rings as I’m tidying up. Perfect timing. I hand Evan the daisy and say, “For your sister.”

He just chuckles and thanks me.

Cyril waits for us to finish putting away our things before we leave together, thanking Ms Berks on the way. (I also throw in a, “Best wishes for the holidays.”) So we go into the hallway in our good spirits, a few things on the tip of my tongue to ask the two of them as we walk.

Only, there’s someone there waiting for us.

No one else going to greet him, I say, “Sir Ventser,” and lightly curtsey in the little room I have between Evan and Cyril.

“Lady Kent,” he says, bowing his head.

Evan moves a touch forward, putting himself that little between me and Gerald. Oh he warms my heart. Cyril, are you watching? No, I guess you’re picking up on the mood and closely watching the prince.

Gerald moves his gaze to Evan. “Lord Sussex.” Then to Cyril, but he doesn’t know Cyril’s name.

“This is Lord Canterbury,” I say.

Cyril bows and I catch a certain tension in his expression. Or rather, he’s back to his usual grumpy look. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir.”

“And yours,” Gerald says.

I might be seeing things, but he certainly seems on the back foot. He is confronted by three rather… interesting faces, to be fair. Evan tense, Cyril grumpy and me, well, I would call my indifference cold compared to my usual warmth, but I don’t think I’ve shown him much of my warm expressions.

“May we be of some help?” I ask. Better get things over with.

His eyes glance at the other two before settling on me. “I hoped to have a word.”

For a moment, I worry Evan will say something, noticing him… still, but he doesn’t. As for me, I don’t particularly want to talk to Gerald, but Violet did say he apologised. “Very well, if you would accompany back to the dormitory.”

And this time I know Evan’s about to speak up, so I quickly turn to him and say, “My apologies.”

His eyes, I feel like I’ve hurt a puppy. He seems to understand what I’m apologising for, though, reluctantly nodding.

“It’s a good thing Lord Canterbury is here to keep you company lest you feel lonely,” I say lightly, smiling for him.

He reluctantly smiles at that, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

“Good day, then,” I say before turning to Cyril. “And to you.”

They return my goodbye and so I quickly head off with Gerald. I say that, but I walk off and give him the opportunity to follow me. My pace perhaps more brisk than when I walk with Evan, we reach the main building in little time. (I may normally take the longer way back by going around the building, but I assure you Gerald has nothing to do with this change.)

There’s near enough no one here, yet the few here do take notice of him—I guess being a prince does that. Because of that or something else, he doesn’t speak, not until we come to the outside of our classroom.

“May we?” he asks, gesturing at the room.

It’s empty. I guess he wants some measure of privacy. Of course, we can’t close the door, but we can talk softly on the far side of the room all we want. (And of course, those who spot us are fully entitled to make whatever misunderstanding they wish.)

Rather than answer him, I walk over to my desk, turning my chair and sitting on it. Then I look up at him, my expression asking him why he’s wasting my time.

His expression, well, it’s troubled in a way different from how he normally looks when talking with me. “You looked close with Lord Sussex and Lord Canterbury there.”

“Feeling jealous, are we?” I ask, perhaps a little nastily.

“Hardly,” he sharply replies.

I did ask for that. Looking at him proving annoying, I rest my elbow on the table, chin on my hand, and gaze over at the blackboard instead. “If that is what you wished to discuss, then I am afraid my personal relationships are no business of yours.”

He makes an annoyed sound, something like a snort. “No, that is not what…” he says, trailing off. After a moment, he clears his throat. “That is, I wanted to say I have been thinking carefully over the things you said to me.”

A tiny drizzle of guilt garnishes my feelings. While I might stand by what I said, I certainly said it in the harshest way I could, the moment getting the better of me. And it certainly makes me a hypocrite, but I won’t apologise to him for it. The only part I regret is the shouting and I think that that is perfectly excusable given just how obnoxious he was being.

“I hardly think I said anything worth such thought,” I say when his pause drags on.

“You did,” he says softly. His exhale stretches into seconds, loud in the silence. “You were… right to scold me so.”

I’ve never been so annoyed by being told I’m right. “If that is so, then why has the misunderstanding not been cleared up?”

“Pardon?”

“Others still think poorly of Lady Dover because of what you said so loudly,” I say plainly, not wishing to engage in a game of mind-reading.

I don’t know what face he makes, but his voice is a little stiff when he says, “What of it? With the situation at the time, I simply—”

Standing up so quickly my chair falls over, the crash cuts him off. And I look at him without hiding any of my enmity. Without saying a word, I walk past him. He doesn’t stop me.

God, he just… knows exactly what not to say. The complete opposite of Evan. Going through the hallway, all that comes to mind is more and more things I want to scream at him. He didn’t listen to a word I said, did he? This was just so I could tell him how good of a person he is, wasn’t it?

Rather than never speak to him again, I hope I have the chance to say to his face: “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

In such a foul mood, I blindly leave the main building, deafly taking a handful of steps before I finally hear someone calling my name.

“Lady Kent!”

I come to a stop and turn around, already my hectic emotions settling. I almost call him just Evan, barely catching myself in time. “Lord Sussex,” I say.

He looks pretty agitated. I guess he was waiting here for me? Oh he’s too sweet—he really is wasted on me. Anyway, my face reflecting my most recent thoughts, he calms down.

“Did he…” he asks.

I don’t know exactly what he’s asking, but I shake my head. “Forget about him, he’s a hopeless idiot,” I say.

Perhaps that’s not the sort of thing one often hears said of royalty because Evan quickly bursts into a fit of laughter he can only try to stifle. I giggle along for a bit, his good humour infectious. When he settles, I move my thoughts forward, putting Gerald out of my mind.

“Say, if you would, could you mention that Lady Dover did nothing wrong?” I quietly ask.

The weather as pleasant as can be expected this time of year, rather than go back to the dormitory, we walk for a little longer. I did promise to tell him about the misunderstanding, so I should properly do so.

It’s the least I can do for my friend—both of them.