Translation:
Night of Frey
A romance novel published three years ago, it was one of Lawrence Blanc’s most popular and bestselling works.
The story begins when, one night, a mysterious man appears in the dream of Count’s daughter Frey Siciliano. The problem is, whenever she wakes, she can never remember his name or face.
Even so, she continues to meet this kind and gentle man every night in her dreams and falls into a fated love with him. But Frey already has a fiancé, promised through a family alliance, and so she is tormented by inner conflict.
At last, when she resolves to refuse the marriage, she meets her betrothed for the first time. Yet the more she talks with him—though cold and curt—his manner and behavior strangely remind her of the man from her dreams, leaving her in deep confusion…
That’s the gist of it. The details can wait for later!
“A special reason? Well… while reading recently, I came across a description of such a piece of jewelry, and I thought it must be very beautiful.”
As Deborah shyly explained, many around her nodded. Perhaps she had read it in some historical text or old record. That was what most would assume—but Cordelia was certain.
She’s read my novel.
From the furtive glances, a few others seemed to have as well. Some of them were even turning their heads to hide their faces.
Of course Cordelia knew her novel was popular. She had even received quite a few anonymous letters, likely from young women.
But to think that not only had people around her read her novel, but that they were even commissioning items inspired by it…
Naturally, it felt good.
Wow, I really am amazing, aren’t I?
Half-embarrassed, half-excited, Cordelia tried to steady her racing heart.
“Lady Cordelia, is something the matter? You seem a bit short of breath.”
“Oh, it’s just a little warm.”
She wanted to thank them for liking her work so much, or ask which scene they enjoyed most, but secrecy was a cruel burden. She remembered the effort it had taken to restrain her talkative nature at her first capital banquet, and the thought made her wistful.
She managed to still her trembling shoulders, but her lips refused to obey, tugging into a smile again and again. Stop grinning, come on!
Cordelia raised her fan to cover her mouth. It made her look as though she were laughing softly. Combined with her peerless beauty, the effect was devastating.
Lifting her chin, Cordelia accepted the attention with practiced poise. But a few, displeased, spoke up.
“Still without a match again, Lady Cordelia… are you not afraid you’ll miss your chance at this rate?”
“We understand your caution, but surely some compromise is necessary?”
“We do hope for good news soon.”
Though it sounded like concern, their words were really just needling. Instead of replying, Cordelia simply hid behind her fan and smiled.
Inside, however, she was shouting:
“I’ve already found someone! A handsome, kind, wonderful man!”
But of course she couldn’t say that. They’d only ask why, then, she was still here. Had she been rejected? To admit yes would wound her pride; to say no would be a lie.
Either way, it would only draw attention. Absolutely not. After all the trouble she went through to find him, there was no way she was letting anyone else near.
That sweet, adorable boy was hers alone. He always told her she was beautiful, but he didn’t seem the type to be swayed by looks alone—still, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down.
Above all, she didn’t want Noah attracting undue notice because of her. Noah always said he was fine, but truly fine people didn’t make that kind of face.
Thinking back, her own behavior had been reckless. When she focused on one thing, she often ignored everything else around her. She quietly reproached herself.
“Can’t I fix this somehow?”
“Give it up. That’s incurable.”
That had been Kallia’s blunt response when Cordelia once asked seriously for advice. And indeed, even she doubted she could change. Still, she did want to rein in her hot temper somehow.
Thinking of a calm disposition brought one face to mind.
“By the way, isn’t Lady Mirian here?”
A gentle, shy girl of eighteen, she had recently become quite noticed in this social season.
But since returning from Roychel Castle, Cordelia hadn’t seen her at all.
This banquet was large and splendid, likely drawing most nobles still in the capital. For Mirian not to appear even here seemed odd.
Cordelia tilted her head, recalling the girl’s friendly face that always greeted her at such events. Soon an answer came.
“She hasn’t attended any gatherings for some time.”
“Has her marriage been arranged already?”
But if so, she wouldn’t have cut off appearances so suddenly.
Puzzled, Cordelia asked, and one of the group whispered quietly,
“There are rumors, that she ran off in an elopement, bewitched by some man.”
“My, really? I heard she’d gone missing.”
“Same difference. Things like that are usually covered up—it would be disgraceful otherwise.”
“Heavens. Still waters run deep, don’t they?”
So many words over something uncertain.
Cordelia marveled again at how gossip could balloon with speculation in an instant. She was about to interject when a sharp sound drew her gaze.
A little distance away, a woman snapped her fan shut, her eyes cold and cutting.
“Isn’t this idle chatter too much? What if something truly happened?”
Her voice was high, but chilling. With her sharp, upward-slanting eyes, she looked all the more severe. Cordelia recognized her—she had seen her at banquets before.
Jasmine Robin. The only daughter of Count Robin.
“Well, we only meant it could be possible.”
“Hmph, why so touchy? You nearly frightened us.”
“There are things that should be spoken lightly, and things that should not. By now, shouldn’t you know the difference?”
Perhaps because of her cold air and blunt manner, Jasmine had few acquaintances in society. Though long past twenty, no marriage talks had succeeded—her reputation proved as much.
Called out so directly, the others faltered, changing the subject awkwardly. Cordelia kept silent, not wishing to spark a quarrel.
Then, unexpectedly, Jasmine’s eyes met hers. The look was scornful, as if to say pathetic.
Hey! I was about to stop them too, you know! It’s not like I just stood by!
They had barely exchanged words before, yet whenever their eyes met, Jasmine always glared. Cordelia wondered what on earth the woman held against her, but the chance to ask never came.
And now, it seemed, wouldn’t again. Blast it!
Mouthing silent words, Cordelia let out a long sigh. Shaking off the discomfort, she turned her attention back to the conversation. A curious topic had just arisen.
“Speaking of books, the upcoming reading salon will be public.”
There were many circles in society, and the one hosted by Viscount Owen was among them.
The old man, more famous for his love of reading than his meals, held gatherings each month, inviting prominent young writers. Nobles could also attend as observers, joining in lively discussions.
Even Lawrence Blanc had once received an invitation through his publisher. But unwilling to reveal himself, he had regretfully declined.
Soft exclamations spread. The man who had spoken looked around, face full of pride.
Someone nearby asked,
“Will anyone be allowed to attend?”
“Yes, for this occasion.”
“And why open it publicly?”
“Because if water flows only in one direction, the land will never be fertile.”
After his elegant phrase, he cleared his throat lightly.
“Of course, it may not be the most entertaining event for the ladies.”
“Truly, anyone can attend? Sir Horell?”
The speaker turned his head toward the men standing nearby, but then a bright voice rang in his ear. Looking back, he saw an unexpected face watching him.
“…Lady Cordelia?”
Meeting his stunned expression, Cordelia smiled.
“That sounds very interesting indeed.”
“You all seem to have business with the guild.”
The voice was deep yet smooth, tugging at the ear. Noah and his companions still kept their heads bowed. At their feet, sturdy boots came into view. The man stopped before Noah and spoke again.
“As it happens, I need a guide. Yes, you there.”
Hearing the gruff summons, Noah stifled a sigh.
“Do you mean me?”
“Yes. I wish to meet the guildmaster. Will you take me?”
Polite though the words were, there was no choice in them. To demand an audience with the guildmaster directly meant this person’s rank was considerable.
Avery, at Noah’s side, discreetly poked his ribs. Knowing his friends’ concern, Noah briefly caught the finger and let it go, then raised his head.
“Please, this way.”
Whispering reassurances to his companions still bowing, he quickly led the man off, away from them. Entering the building, climbing the stairs, Noah glanced around, then opened a door to an empty room.
“So, if I wait here, the guildmaster will come?”
The man followed in, grinning. This time Noah didn’t bother to hide his sigh.
“Rumors spread quickly in this trade.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Then why… do you mean to have everyone calling you a corrupt noble?”
Leaning against the closed door, Noah gazed at the familiar face before him. At last, he spoke the title.
“Uncle.”
The navy eyes that met his gleamed mischievously, filled with Noah’s reflection.
