Tuesday starts better than Monday. That moodiness is over and I don’t feel so exhausted from the very get go. Breakfast, class, lunch—they’re okay again. Easier to focus and all that. I don’t feel like I’m pushing myself to keep going.

Back to normal.

The end of the classes isn’t the end of the day for me, water magic class still to go. I wouldn’t say I regret signing up for it, but I wouldn’t sign up again. Most of the lessons are listening to historical lectures and that’s not exactly fun. I like Ms Rowhook, and she’s talented at magic, but it’s the content of the lessons that is the problem.

Well, no point fussing. I pack up my things when the bell goes, say a goodbye to Evan and a see-you-later to my friends, and then off I go. The wind has died down today, a bit of sunlight trickling through the thinner clouds. Still cold, but the winter uniform is warm enough.

The classroom at the back of the school is nearly empty when I get there. Chairs neatly arranged in rows, just as cold inside as outside (though without the wind). I sit down in the middle of the back row, rubbing some warmth into my arms with some magical help.

“A lady of many talents, are we?”

I look up at sleepy prince, finding there a crooked smile and half-closed eyes. Come on, Leo, as if the cold hasn’t woken you up. “My only talent is attracting trouble,” I say.

“Oh? You wouldn’t be thinking of someone in particular when you say that, would you?” he asks, falling somewhat heavily into the seat beside me. Oh so graceful and elegant.

Of what he said, well, Gerald comes to mind first, but he is a close second. “Have you done something troublesome?” I ask.

He laughs, a kind of light chuckle. “You didn’t much care for your reward?”

“I think we can both agree on your intentions with it and I don’t exist for your amusement,” I say, not at all heated even if it is rather frank.

He finds amusement in my reply, settling into a relaxed position. “Yet you so happily wear that hair clip some other suitor gifted you? Surely I can be forgiven for feeling slighted,” he says, the cheerful tone belying his supposed hurt.

I know he’s bluffing. He has no way of knowing Evan gave me this hair clip, not unless he asked Evan, and I doubt he would have bothered to do that. Too much effort to ask around after me. Besides, he probably thinks not naming the “suitor” is better. This way, I don’t know what he knows, might accidentally reveal something—might say something like, “Lord Sussex isn’t my suitor!” For how much it comes up in stories, you’d think it works, but it at least doesn’t work on me.

“If you’d like a consideration, do send a request to my mother and she will make the necessary arrangements for after I debut,” I say sweetly.

“What if I am too impatient?” he asks.

I drum my fingers on my knee, letting out a hum as I pretend to think. “No.”

That single word lingers in the air for a few seconds before he says, “No… what?”

“Just no,” I say, and I turn his way a little more so he can clearly see my smile. “There is no negotiation. I gave you my terms; if they are unacceptable, then that’s the end.”

He holds my gaze for a moment, and then looks away. A sigh slips through his lips. “There is playing hard to get, and there is playing too hard to get,” he softly says—as if it’s some crystallisation of philosophy.

“The only one playing here is you,” I say.

That crooked smile back, he asks, “Is that so?”

Until the class starts, I keep the conversation back on real topics, asking if the blanket came out well and following on from there. How was his Yule and all that. Oh he still tries to talk sweet, but it’s artificial sugar that gives me a headache. Not literally. Maybe a different analogy would be better….

He quiets down when Ms Rowhook arrives, and he quickly falls asleep once the lesson starts. As tempting as it is to leave him there at the end (especially since he’s in the way), I loop around the long way and wake him up on the way out.

Routine takes over after that. I go to my room and work on the pattern for my blue dress, hoping to get it ready for cutting on Friday. Some time before supper, I go downstairs and hang out with my friends. Eat. Finish homework in the evening, do my calisthenics before teatime.

You know, back to normal.

When tomorrow comes, it’s more of the same. A mix of time by myself and time with my friends. I really can’t yet bring myself to spend all of my free time with them. It’s getting easier to, well, fit in with them, but I do like my chats with Evan in the morning and at break, and I don’t want to work on my dress in the lounge.

Oh, but we do all go for a walk after breakfast, the weather as pleasant as it ever will be for this time of year. Not a long walk, nothing more than a lap of the main building that starts at the dining hall and ends at our dormitory. It’s nice, though, and I hope we can keep doing it when the weather’s tolerable.

Thursday is more of the same. A pleasant day accompanied by temperamental showers, the clouds not quite willing to just pour down.

That in particular is a problem for me at the end of the day, treated to icy rain on the way to earth magic class. Lovely. The paths may be covered, but the wind still blows some of the rain over, stinging the back of my hand. Are pockets really that un-womanly? Not even Ellie could get a good pair of jeans with real pockets, and don’t get her started on those fake pockets. At least my clothes don’t get my hopes up.

Anyway, I rub away the cold sting from my hand while I find a place to sit in the classroom. Julian likes the front, I think, where I usually find him when he gets here first. I guess it’s hard for him to see over others? I’d rather go for somewhere more in the middle, but I’ll indulge him.

I don’t have to wait long for him to join me. He doesn’t say anything when he sits down, but he does sit down next to me.

“Lord Hastings, are you well?” I ask, a smile that’s perhaps a little teasing on my face.

“I have been better,” he says.

From his tone, I feel I have caused him some kind of… inconvenience? It’s not like he hates me, but he is being surly. “Have I done something?” I ask, not one for guessing games.

“Not as such,” he says, and he holds out for a couple of seconds before shaking his head, letting out a sigh. “My sister—”

“Say no more,” I say, cutting him off.

He hesitates a moment, and then turns to me with a questioning frown. “What?”

“Obviously, I left such a good impression on your sister that she has been singing my praises to your parents, as well as asking you what you think of me and giving you leading questions like, ‘Isn’t she pretty?’”

I leave all that to sink in for a second, and then burst into a giggle.

“A joke,” I say, staring expectantly at him, waiting for him to laugh.

But he doesn’t laugh.

“Not a joke?” I quietly ask.

He doesn’t say a word, but his expression is quite grim, lips pressed into a thin line and eyebrows low.

Oh dear. Florence did ask me something like that in a letter—where I got the idea from—but I didn’t think she would ask him as well. I mean, “What do you think of my brother?” isn’t exactly, well, I knew what she was asking, and so I gave her an answer that made clear I only saw him as a friend. I think. Um, what exactly did I write?

“You left a good impression—we shall leave it at that,” he mumbles.

“If it helps, my sister also saw fit to tease me over my guests,” I say.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a long second. “The snowdrops are coping?”

Very subtle. “Yes, they are. My mother is hopeful the rest will flower soon,” I say.

“Good.”

We chat a little more before Mr Churt arrives, about Florence. Unlike Evan, Julian is in contact with his sister, but he says it’s mostly her checking that he’s okay. With a wry smile, he says, “I sometimes joke to myself that she straddles the line between endearing and overbearing.”

No, she’s clearly entirely endearing. What brother would hate to be doted on by his little sister? You can’t fool me, sneezy prince. Just wait until her debut and the suitors start lining up and then we’ll see who’s overbearing, right?

Putting that aside, it’s nice to talk to him again. I wish we could see each other more than just this class. Cyril, I have two hours a week to talk to him (if I can dare to interrupt his writing), but I only have these handful of minutes before and after the lesson for Julian. I would send him a letter if not for that pesky thing called etiquette. (Assuming he would even want to correspond with me, such a thing… embarrassing if it is ever discovered.)

So close, and yet so far away. We’re like two planets in orbit, only crossing paths at this special time. Well, except that time he came to my classroom, but I’m sure that took most of his courage. Hardly something I could expect him to do more than once a term.

When it comes to the lesson itself, Mr Churt only really says one interesting thing: classes will alternate between lecture one week and practical the next; if we don’t want to mess about in the mud, then we can skip the practical classes. The planting we did last term didn’t get much participation, so I’m really surprised he’s going to have practical lessons at all. I guess he really does like plants?

Leaving at the end, there’s time for a last bit of conversation with Julian. I don’t have anything specific to say, a question about the weather on the tip of my tongue, but he does have something he wants said.

“Before I forget, I thought you should know my sister really did appreciate her present,” he says.

I did send her an embroidered handkerchief, didn’t I—albeit a bit late. Buttercups, which she said she particularly likes. Walking side by side, I can’t see his expression without being noticeable about it. From his tone, he sounded sincere, so I respond sincerely. “It was no trouble for me; I’m glad she liked it.”

The path splits up ahead, where we go our separate ways. Yet not now, as he comes to a stop and I follow. “When everyone smiles, it can be hard to tell who is sincere and who polite,” he says, almost a whisper. And I wonder if he even meant to say it, seemingly speaking more to himself than me, which is reinforced when he turns to face me, lifting his chin to look me in the eye. “Whenever she received a letter from you, she looked happy, and especially so when that handkerchief came with. As her brother, thank you for that.”

Oh, just, it’s hard to resist ruffling his hair. You’re like the cute little brother who acts cold but secretly loves his sister. Except, well, you’re the older brother, and you don’t act cold, and you aren’t exactly hiding your feelings.

More seriously, it’s somewhat familiar to what Evan said to me. Such good brothers, really.

“No, the pleasure is mine,” I say, and there should be no doubt in his mind that my smile is sincere.