Helena, Belle, and then Jemima arrive on the Sunday, spaced out from late morning to mid-afternoon. It’s great to have everyone back together. I really enjoyed my alone time with Violet, but it’s best had in moderation, right? Although it hasn’t been long since we last saw each other, we catch up and enjoy the warmer weather while it lasts.

Then it’s Monday and I get to see Evan again. We didn’t exactly talk over the break, but I know some of what he’s been up to via Ellen and Cyril, and I’m sure they’ve told him some of what I’ve done.

My friends and I arrive at the classroom fairly early, so I’m already in my seat when he gets here. He sees me right away. Well, the door is lined up with the back row, so everyone sees me first until the other members of the back row arrive. Anyway, he sees me, and he smiles, and I smile back.

“Good morning,” I say as he reaches his desk.

“And to you,” he replies, sitting down.

I catch Violet looking my way in my peripheral vision, so I glance over and see her there with a bit of a smirk. Really? We only greeted each other, you know. Well, that aside, I turn my attention back to Evan. While he gets comfortable and takes out his things for the eventual first lesson of the day, I ask, “How was your break?”

“Good,” he says. That he doesn’t ask me the same question back makes me think he’s thinking, so I wait and, after a handful of seconds, he expands on his answer. “It was nice visiting you. I had wondered what your parents would be like, and how your home may look.”

It’s hard not to giggle. Even though hearing that from a friend isn’t at all strange, it sounds different from a male friend. Maybe I’m more sensitive to this kind of thing after not speaking to him for so long. (Talking with my sister probably doesn’t help either.)

“What did you think?” I ask, trying to move my thoughts away from things that don’t matter.

“Well, I can’t say much of your home itself, but the garden was rather pretty. It seemed like the kind of place one could spend a whole day enjoying and not grow bored.”

This time, I couldn’t help but giggle, covering my mouth as I did. “That’s good to hear. Although we haven’t stayed there much before, my mother specially took charge of it last year, so I will be sure to pass on your praise,” I say.

Though I was trying to tease him, he simply nods. “Please do.”

Ah, that’s my loss. Next round. “And what of my parents?” I ask.

He hums in thought for a moment, fiddling with his inkpot, before he answers. “Your father… seemed to be a respectable man. He spoke in a, um, measured voice, but it was very clear. And your mother looked beautiful—you and your sister as well. I guess I see you nearly every day here and so got used to it.”

Almost rambling, he spoke that all rather slowly, the gears grinding away. Yet that doesn’t lessen the impact his words have on me. I feel my cheeks grow warm, at a loss for words of my own.

I guess because I don’t say anything, he looks over and panics, maybe thinking I’m upset. “Not that you didn’t look good when, um, you attended Ellen’s birthday party, but, um, you look pretty now too.”

His stumbling and hasty “apology” breaks me from my daze, and so I laugh away the feelings. It wouldn’t do to fall in love just because a man (indirectly?) called me beautiful. Besides, there’s no pounding in my chest, butterflies in my stomach, just a lingering embarrassment.

“Thank you for the compliment, but do keep proper etiquette in mind,” I say.

He soon works through my words and finally it’s his turn to blush. As always, it’s more of a flushed look, even the top of his neck becoming a pinkish red.

We talk a little more about my break (a calmer topic) before settling into silence.

The day itself feels awfully slow, using up my precious focus. Morning break and lunchtime help, but it’s hard, you know? Maybe I haven’t recovered from doing all my homework in a day or so. (Technically, I still have some reading to do, but I’m saving that for tonight and tomorrow night.)

When the last bell finally rings, I feel a weight off my shoulders. As tempting as it is to bring Evan along to see if Ms Berks will open the room for us, I only have a couple of things to ask her, so I tell him not to worry when he asks. “Clubs are only supposed to start in the second week,” I say.

He nods. “Good day, then.”

“And to you,” I reply, slightly bowing my head.

I walk quickly over to the clubroom, trying (and failing) to beat the rush. Though I somehow make it through the stream of students, I feel even more worn out. Fortunately, Ms Berks is prompt today, arriving not even a minute after me.

“Before you say anything, today’s staff meeting has been pushed to tomorrow,” she says as she opens the door.

“Thank you for coming anyway, miss,” I reply.

Chuckling, she enters the room and heads straight to her usual spot. I don’t plan on working on the last dress today, so I don’t need her to unlock the fabric box. Instead, I turn a chair around to face her, waiting patiently.

After a minute, she sighs and lowers her book. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Just a few questions, miss,” I say, smiling.

She rolls her eyes.

So I check with her when exactly the exhibition will be, and I work up to telling her about Lizzy and Iris being two of my “models”. Thankfully, she has no problem with that. Last of all, I remind her about the lace for the sea dress, no other additions I want to order. With that done, I thank her again and then leave.

I’m not sure where my friends will be at this time, but I think to walk to the dormitory via the path that goes around the back of the main school building. Usually, if they’re not in the dormitory’s lounge, they’ll be walking our usual route and so I’ll run into them on the way.

That’s the plan. However, it only lasts until I take a few steps outside.

“Lady Kent.”

My mouth immediately purses, and then I force it into a polite smile, turning towards the voice. “Sir Ventser,” I say.

He’s by himself, loosely holding a book at his side, a finger keeping the page. More of a natural smile on his face, his hair a bit messy like he’s been running his hand rather than a comb through it. “I was sad to miss you at my birthday,” he says, closing the distance between us to a couple of paces.

I smile awkwardly in reply. “I apologise, but something came up.”

“Oh yes, so I heard,” he says, humour in his voice. “My aunt had quite the tantrum when she returned. We all thought it was because of my cousin, but as she complained to grandmother, well, few of us could keep from laughing.”

Maybe it would’ve been funny for me if those casually mentioned family members weren’t a princess and a queen. No, it still wouldn’t be. I can vividly remember Gwen’s small hand tightly squeezing mine. Thus, like always when I speak to Gerald, I keenly feel the different worlds we live in. And, like always, his seemingly wilful ignorance of that upsets me, eating at my self-control.

“Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment. It’s just that, from my perspective, it was a grown woman shouting at two children,” I say.

He seems to take a mental step back, reasserting some of his “mask”, tempering his expression. “Come now, I hardly expect you would have trouble with her. While she may puff herself up, she buckles at any resistance,” he says.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t taught in… what class would even teach that? History?

My silly thought calmed me down a bit, but not enough. “I had a child with me. If anything happened to her, how could I ever look her or her mother in the eye again? How could I ever forgive myself?” I said, my tone measured yet growing cold.

His gaze slides to the side, unwilling to meet mine. Maybe he is capable of thinking and basic empathy.

I let out a sigh, lightly shaking my head. “If that is all,” I say more than ask, hopeful I can leave.

“The reason I wanted to speak with you, that child you brought as your guest? My cousin seems fond of her and wants to meet her again or exchange letters. If you would tell me—”

I tried to wait for him to finish, I really did, but it was too painful. “She can’t.”

He mentally stumbles, his mouth frozen in the middle of what he was saying, eyes losing some of their focus. “Pardon?” he says.

How happy would Gwen be to hear a “princess” wanted to be her friend? How excited would she be to receive an invitation for a tea party at the palace, and how many letters would she write? But she can’t. She just… can’t. They live in two different worlds and, for one afternoon, I was the bridge between them. I was… the fairy godmother who gave her a carriage and a dress, and at midnight the magic wore off.

But, you see, Cinderella was nobility, so she could have her happily-ever-after. She wasn’t one of the commonfolk. That invitation to every eligible maiden, do you really think it went to Jane Doe, farmer’s daughter, illiterate and barely able to do arithmetic?

I gave Gwen a memory, but I couldn’t give her anything more than that.

He doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of my frustration, I know, so I try to keep it back. I do try.

“My guest lacks the status to even wish Lady Victoria a happy birthday, never mind accept an invitation from or correspond with her. I brought her because of a promise I made, taking responsibility for her on the day, but that was a one-off. It would be best if that is clearly explained to Lady Victoria lest she misunderstand and think ill of my guest.”

I said it all in a flat voice, as if reading aloud words on a page, forcing down my emotions. At the least, he seems to listen to what I say and think it over. However, he’s more guarded now, his reaction unclear.

“Even if that is the case, these are modern times and my cousin is hardly a central figure in the royal family. I know my aunt left a poor impression on you, but that is something that can be worked around, and I promise she will be on better behaviour if she knows the girl has ties to the Kent family,” he says, every word missing the mark.

I lower my head, just looking at him keeping that frustration burning. He’s… like a symbol of everything I hate about this world, or something. Ellie’s world wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it… tried. Often failed, but it tried. This, this world was just some woman’s romanticisation of high-society, right? The ubiquitous veganism, running on magic rather than coal or other fossil fuels, rewriting “Great Britain’s” colonial history. It’s just… carelessly self-indulgent without reason.

God, my thoughts are never simple when he’s around.

Climbing above the roiling feelings of homesickness (for a place I’ve never been to) and resentment of this society, I answer him by simply saying, “No.”

And I walk away.