Chapter 62
Everyone turned toward the direction of the sound. Even with a dozen or so pairs of eyes pressing down on her, Cordelia stood up and picked up the book lying in the center of the table.
The sound of pages fluttering filled the silence.
“First of all, don’t you think the emotional line is far too lacking? The description of their meeting is barely this much.”
Cordelia read aloud the sentences she had found, her voice gentle. In fact, the parts involving the princess only appeared briefly at the beginning, and later, when she defeated the monster and met Jade for a short conversation.
Even that barely filled two pages.
“It’s far too little to predict the gap where love might grow between them.”
After setting the book down again, Cordelia started to return to her seat—but then changed her mind. Resting her hand on the book’s cover, she spoke in the neatest tone imaginable.
“This work is so famous that most ordinary arguments about it must have been debated countless times already. So, I’d like us to take a slightly different perspective.”
“In what way, exactly?”
“By observing the story from the princess’s point of view.”
Cordelia began lightly.
“The Epic of Franchio is without doubt a captivating work. I myself read it many times as a child. Each time, it made me feel as if I had become a knight, setting out on all sorts of adventures.”
But it had been long since I realized I could never become a knight. If anything, the character closer to me in this story would be…
“So then, what sort of existence was the princess in this tale?”
As no quick answers came, Cordelia let out a faint smile with her eyes and spoke honestly.
“Yes. You don’t really know, do you. To be honest, I don’t really know either.”
Aside from being described as so beautiful that anyone would lose their senses upon seeing her once, and that she spoke gently to the knight, there was almost no information about the princess at all.
Isn’t it ridiculous? She was supposed to be the goal of the story itself, and yet we know less about her than about the people the hero met while searching for treasure.
“In this story, the princess was suddenly kidnapped, locked away, unable even to take a stroll, and then suddenly met the man who came to rescue her. And then she’s told she must marry him. With someone she had just met, with whom she had no interaction at all.”
Arranged marriages may have been common in that era, but this was something else.
“In a relationship where no emotions are exchanged, how is the princess’s position any different from that of a tribute?”
As soon as she let those words slip, murmurs arose among the people. While Cordelia waited with feigned indifference, one of the men finally spoke up.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit of an exaggeration?”
“After all, he did rescue her. In such a dramatic situation, why wouldn’t love be able to blossom?”
“Then, what about you, Viscount Roshiand?”
“…What?”
“If you were in the princess’s position, do you think you could love the person just like that?”
She asked with a faint smile, and the man couldn’t answer easily. Of course. Nobles by nature don’t treat commoners as equals.
Suddenly being told to marry a commoner—someone who once served nobles? Most would find that worse than death.
“At the very least, there is no love in this story. It may be called a heroic epic, but anyone with intellect should be able to see its essence, don’t you think?”
If you’ve got a brain, you should at least be able to grasp that much—that was the meaning behind her words. Some of the men coughed awkwardly or avoided her eyes.
Of course, this was a reading society known for lively debate and discussion. In other words, it was a gathering of people bursting with pride over how clever and wise they were.
“But then why would the princess immediately offer her cloth to wipe the knight’s wounds? Isn’t there also a description of her smiling happily at the wedding?”
As expected, someone tried to raise an objection. Cordelia answered calmly.
“When someone is standing there covered in blood, the first thing you’d tell them is to clean themselves up. If there had been true intimacy, wouldn’t she have tried to wipe him herself?”
Her reasonable logic silenced the man, but then another sitting beside him spoke up.
“I do find it quite an interesting perspective. In that case, Lady Cordelia, may I ask—what kinds of novels do you personally prefer?”
Ah, here we go. As if to say: Do you even know any truly worthwhile works?
“Well… I was quite impressed by works like The Story of Sally, My Beloved One, and At the Edge of the Distant Horizon.”
She reeled off her list of favorites as if for everyone to hear, but the men’s faces only filled with question marks. A faint cough came from somewhere in the room.
In the awkward silence, the man sitting opposite the first speaker adjusted his glasses.
“Ah… are you referring to those recent, rather popular secular novels?”
The word secular was amusing, but Cordelia merely chose to gaze at him quietly. Since she gave no reply, the man nodded as if interpreting her silence however he pleased.
“Still, Lady Cordelia, aren’t such works rather unworthy of someone of your standing?”
“Not really. Every story has something of interest in it.”
“I won’t deny I’ve read such works myself, but there were far too many indecent expressions.”
“Well. Indecent, perhaps, but aren’t they at least honest about desire, Baron Iland?”
The spark between Cordelia and the man threatened to ignite. Everyone around them watched the duel of words with keen interest.
“Shouldn’t human beings naturally seek more spiritual connection? If we are swayed only by desire, how are we any different from beasts?”
“You’re right, but sometimes even an unrefined, honest word can move someone’s heart, don’t you think?”
“Even so, expressions ought to be beautiful. What sincerity or value can there be in coarse words?”
“Isn’t it rather pessimistic to claim that sincerity loses its worth just because it isn’t beautifully expressed?”
“Anyone with taste would naturally be more moved by refined words than vulgar ones.”
Seriously? Was expression really that important? Of course it mattered—but it wasn’t everything. Weren’t there plenty of people in society who dressed their ugly schemes in elegant words?
It was true he wasn’t entirely wrong, but Cordelia felt an odd resistance to his argument. Human desire swirled just as much in high society. Just because the words were pretty didn’t mean the message wasn’t nonsense. Plenty of people here proved that.
She almost blurted out her true feelings but barely managed to hold back. Calm down, calm down. Right now, I’m supposed to be a refined, elegant, aloof beauty. I mustn’t lose my composure.
“Is that so? Personally, while I do like the language of love when it’s beautifully adorned, I find myself more drawn to someone who is perhaps a bit blunt but purely devoted to me.”
As long as he wasn’t being lewd, she preferred honesty. Playing the coy back-and-forth of courtship could be fun, but too much beating around the bush was just tiring.
At her words, the man let out a low sigh. Cordelia’s eyebrow twitched faintly at the sense of déjà vu.
“You must have been terribly bored, then.”
“…What do you mean?”
“Otherwise, how could you say such cheap things caught your eye?”
Woof woof.
She almost thought she heard a dog barking faintly in the distance. Tilting her head slightly, Cordelia spoke.
“But doesn’t The Epic of Franchio itself contain some coarse language, just to show that the protagonist is a commoner?”
“That is…”
“If the presence of crude expressions alone is your standard, then even many of the works we consider masterpieces wouldn’t escape such criticism.”
“Even so, there’s still a vast difference in literary quality.”
Other men nodded in agreement, though some gave Cordelia looks tinged with curiosity.
Still, the fact that the conversation continued was worthy of some applause. Now—how best to respond to be praised as having answered well? Cordelia paused in thought for a moment.
“Excuse me, but I don’t think I can let that remark slide.”
A clear voice suddenly cut through the discussion. Turning her head, Cordelia saw an unexpected figure watching them quietly.
It was the woman who had been sitting beside Viscount Owen since they entered the room.
Elisa Perriente. The woman with neatly kept dark-brown hair had been invited specially by the viscount. She was none other than the author of The Lady of Franda, a romance novel that had recently taken society by storm.
Cordelia had been rather surprised when she first heard the pen name. Not only was it odd that an author who wrote so openly about love and sexuality had such a demure appearance, but also that the viscount had boldly invited her here as a guest.
Most people in the room, of course, had no idea what kind of book the woman had written. They vaguely assumed it was some sort of love story. Only Cordelia, who had actually read a woman’s novel before, quietly nodded to herself.
“Forgive me, but aren’t you undervaluing the worth of romance far too much?”
Her voice was soft—smooth, like flowing water. Rising to her feet, she calmly fixed her eyes on Baron Iland.
Though she was rather short, standing made her eye-level higher than his seated one, so he seemed looked down upon. Perhaps disliking the sensation, the man hurriedly rose from his chair as well. But before he could say anything, the woman struck first.
“I found your recently published book quite fascinating, Baro
