Episode 60
“You look just like a prince.”
A fairytale prince on a white horse must look just like this—dressed in spotless white, coming to take her away. A man handsome yet masculine, large in build but never oppressive—such men were rare.
Cordelia gazed at Noah, utterly enchanted, as if he were the very image of a young girl’s dream of love.
“As expected, since you really are a prince, just wearing the clothes makes it all come alive.”
“…I’m not a prince anymore.”
“So what? The prince you were then is you, and the man you are now is still you.”
Cordelia spoke lightly as she rose from her chair. In that moment, she felt something in her right foot.
Ugh, did I sit too long?
Her foot tingled slightly, but not wanting to show it, she forced herself to speak cheerfully.
“Anyway, thanks to you, I’ve had a feast for my ey—ah!”
As soon as she tried to step toward Noah, a sharp tingling swept over her foot. Frozen in place, Cordelia couldn’t move at all. Noah quickly came to her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ugh…”
The sensation of a cramp was always strange. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it felt like moving would be disastrous. Since she wasn’t alone, she couldn’t very well scream inelegantly, so Cordelia forced a bright smile.
“It’s nothing.”
Noah’s gaze dropped slowly, settling on her right leg, stiff and unmoving as if glued to the floor. A flicker crossed his eyes.
“Please excuse me.”
“Hm?”
Noah crouched and slipped his hand under her knee, then lifted her lightly into his arms. Startled by the sudden weightlessness, Cordelia instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Ah!”
“Sorry—am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No! Not at all!”
Seizing the moment, Cordelia leaned into his chest. Above her head came a soft laugh. Startled, she looked up—and their eyes met.
Being pressed close was always a peculiar feeling. Warm skin against her, the steady thump of his heartbeat like sweet music, his breath so near, his lips impossibly close—Cordelia couldn’t tear her eyes away, swallowing quietly.
Noah’s hold on her tightened slightly. From above, shadows fell across his handsome face, giving it a different air than before. His gaze, fixed intently on her, felt stronger than she expected.
Wait—wasn’t this turning into something dangerous?
The awareness of his hands holding her surged through her, stirring a mix of apprehension and anticipation. She stared at him, waiting—only for Noah to blink, then suddenly stride toward the parlor door with lightning speed.
He set her down on the sofa and knelt.
Dust on his clothes be damned, he tore off his gloves, slipped off her shoe, and began massaging her cramped foot firmly.
Looking down at the annoyingly handsome crown of his head, Cordelia almost sighed in exasperation.
Of course. What had she expected from him?
Even knowing this would happen, she still felt embarrassed for hoping otherwise. Yet his hands worked wonders—her foot relaxed, the ache melting away. Still, Cordelia spoke with a hint of sulkiness.
“Your clothes are white, you know.”
“Didn’t you already give them to me?”
She knew he meant “don’t worry about it,” but the sulky feeling didn’t go away.
“Wasn’t the mood nice just a moment ago?”
“Is your foot better now?”
“Much better. So… don’t you want to pick up where we left off?”
“That’s the kind of thing only lovers do.”
His guileless answer left Cordelia dumbfounded. So this was how he wanted to play it?
His face was still just as handsome, but she found him unbearably irritating.
She liked him, and she was sure he liked her too—so why not just start dating already? How had she ended up in this push-and-pull she’d never asked for?
Suddenly everything felt tiresome. Overthinking was never her style anyway.
“How long are you going to keep hiding your feelings?”
“Until you give up, Lady Cordelia.”
So she asked bluntly, and he answered just as bluntly.
“Well, for your information, once I set my sights on something, I never give up.”
“Is that so? I give up easily, myself.”
“Then why not just blame everything on me and let yourself be swept away?”
“Don’t say ridiculous things.”
His stern glare only reinforced the wall of his stubbornness. Cordelia realized pushing further would only sour their moods, so she stepped back.
“Fine, I get it. Anyway, sit over there. You’re not my servant—you don’t have to go this far.”
After all, it would be silly to part ways after quarreling when they hadn’t seen each other in so long.
At her gesture, Noah quietly picked up his discarded gloves and sat opposite her. His face was close to expressionless as he fought down his emotions, and Cordelia, failing to read his thoughts, hugged a nearby cushion in frustration.
Ugh, infuriating!
“I don’t usually have this much patience, you know. You’re really lucky your face is so pretty.”
Muttering with her chin propped on her palm, Cordelia turned her head toward the door. Noah studied her profile, then asked in a slightly lower voice:
“Am I really… your ideal type, Lady Cordelia?”
“Not worth answering. Why ask all of a sudden?”
“Because… if I’m not, would you stop looking at me altogether?”
The mere thought burned in his chest. Hiding the ache, Noah pressed a fist discreetly against his sternum. Instead of spilling those searing feelings, he drew out a memory.
“Lady Cordelia, when you were in my body, did something happen at the palace?”
“Hm? Why bring that up?”
“Well, actually…”
As Noah quietly explained what had happened at the marquis’s estate, Cordelia suddenly remembered and let out an exclamation.
“Oh, right! I ended up helping out somehow, but when they wanted to see your face, I just ran away!”
“…Helping how?”
“I chased off a man who was pestering someone in a deserted place. He looked like trouble waiting to happen—how could I just leave her?”
“That’s true.”
“By the way, do you make picture books too?”
Cordelia’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, her blue irises dazzling like stars. Noah mentally berated himself for such thoughts, but answered calmly.
“Yes. Though honestly, it’s been troubling me.”
“How so?”
“The marquis said that aside from a minimal theme or conditions, he would leave it to my discretion.”
“Oh, makes sense. If he meddled too much, nothing good would come of it.”
“He said the theme was ‘everyday life.’ But… the daily lives of nobles and commoners are vastly different.”
He spoke from experience, having lived both. As an apprentice, he had spent nights in the workshop, gone to evening gatherings, visited colleagues’ homes. By being part of such lives, not merely observing, he had realized just how many paths and twists human lives could take.
His narrow world had expanded through those experiences, and with it, his fascination with people. It was only natural, even if it ran counter to the kingdom’s artistic trends.
Cordelia thought deeply, then spoke.
“Well… it’s not my field, but since we’re talking about books, here’s my take.”
“Yes?”
“First, think about who your readers are.”
“My readers?”
“Exactly. I think the marquis entrusted the work to you because he wanted to see things invisible from his own perspective. That means he doesn’t just want some book to display.”
Cordelia always wrote what she wanted, but that didn’t mean she ignored trends. She knew her audience and their tastes—consideration for them was essential.
Her time in society had been invaluable in that regard. It was a place driven by desire, making it easy to read what people wanted.
And she also knew a thing or two about the current Marquis Poliette.
“He’s a noble, yes. But there are already more than enough records about nobles. If he wanted stories about nobility, it would’ve been easier to hire an artist from their ranks.”
With the rise of academies, literacy had skyrocketed, and naturally the readership had broadened too. Where once books were so expensive only nobles could own them, advances in printing and papermaking had made them affordable for commoners.
Since many readers now came from the common class, Cordelia had even researched their lives and preferences. Winning their empathy required that kind of observation.
“Of course, if you go that route, you’ll end up with only the most ordinary, predictable scenes.”
The Marquis of Poliette was, above all, a practical man and an able administrator, before he was a knight. Cordelia knew this from what her elder sister, the queen, had said.
“So think about it. Why do you suppose he asked you, after seeing your mural at the sanctuary?”
Cordelia had heard of that mural’s fame: a woman delivering divine judgment against an old man who had deceived everyone, set against the backdrop of a natural disaster. Viewers said the sacred grandeur of it overwhelmed them on sight.
“Murals in temples are usually close to myth, because they’re places for honoring the divine. But here’s the contradiction.”
“What contradiction?”
“That he asked the artist of such a holy, lofty mural to make a picture book about his own lands.”
That contradiction had been bothering Noah as well. Since the marquis liked the mural, did that mean he wanted the same tone for the book? Noah had tried asking once, but received only vague answers.
“Then the conclusion is obvious.”
Unlike conflicted Noah, Cordelia stated it as if it were self-evident.
