School is school. We have mock exams this week, so the usual boring lessons are instead boring tests. I’m not fussed and get through Monday in a series of naps once I finish answering the questions.

Even though I catch Violet glancing at me a few times, I don’t think she knows, only suspects, and she can’t bring herself to actually say anything. It would hardly be defensible for her to outright ask me if I’m working as a commoner. Even saying something like, “There’s a girl who looks just like you in town,” would be straying close to bullying territory. The sort of thing the guys will think poorly of her for and make the other ladies uncomfortable. It’s one thing to nitpick my conduct, another to “insult” my looks by comparing me to a commoner.

Embroidery club is still on, but Evan skips to study. Not much reason for me to be there alone, yet I still go, taking stock of all the threads and fabrics Ms Berks got for us—I don’t want to spend all my pay on sewing materials.

Well, maybe I could sew some more dresses rather than buying them. It should be cheaper? I’ll ask Lottie.

As for actual embroidery pieces for the eventual exhibition, I don’t really know. When I think about Ms Berks’s wedding dress, I just… can’t believe I’ll make anything like that. I know she and Evan liked my little Friendship piece, but there’s a difference between “pretty” and “moving”.

She’s, well, her artwork has changed my life. I understood what she said, understood that it must have felt so painful to go through, but it was her art that conveyed the real depth of that pain, the real vastness of her emotions. Can I really make something that evokes those kinds of strong emotions in someone else?

I mean, all I’ve experienced is loneliness. Do I want to share those feelings? I said those words so easily to Evan, but can I say them so easily to everyone? I’m sure that part of what let Ms Berks put to thread her feelings was that she didn’t intend to show it anyone. Not “art”, but a “reflection” of herself, able to be honest because of that.

The reason why I made the Friendship piece is because I wanted to share my hope. Though I say that, when you hope for something, it’s like it’s out of your control, right? Hope it’s sunny, or hope you get top marks in a test, or hope to make friends. There’s only so much you can do to make it come true.

There’s only so much I can do.

I don’t want to make art about my loneliness. To me, it’s childish, and I’m sure others would see it the same way. I’m only sixteen, so it has to be childish. I might as well write a poem about how unfair homework is.

And I also don’t want that emotion to define me. I don’t want people to remember me as “that lonely girl”. It’s not me that’s lonely but my circumstances, and I’m doing my best to change them. It’s not like I want to hide my weaknesses and only show my strengths, really it’s not. I’d be fine making art about how stubborn I can be, how lazy I am when unmotivated, how shy I get when I feel left out. But I can’t imagine a way to show that and have it be interesting.

I want to ask Ms Berks about all this, yet I want to make sure I think through it properly first. So far, I’ve been entirely relying on her.

Ah, come on, this is why Evan needs to be around. I’m not suited to thinking.

After club finishes, I practise seamstress stitching, making a doll’s dress out of spare fabric in my room. Don’t want to mess up and waste my hard-earned cash if I do decide to make my own clothes. (Maybe a shirt and skirt this time? Elastic is rare, but I can use a slip of cloth as a belt….)

Tuesday is more exams, the only break being P.E. after lunch—a bit of a walk, avoiding the mud. At the end of the day, it’s water magic class. Being more like a club than an elective, there’s no exam, so I’m looking forward to another lecture on the history of water magic.

Wait, I’m not looking forward to that.

It’s no big deal. If it’s boring, I’ll just think about other stuff and daydream. Shuffling over to my “usual” seat (at the end of a middle row), I get comfortable.

Last week, Ms Rowhook talked about Roman times, today is about the middle-ages, specifically the Norwegian-Norman conquest stuff. The Battle of Hastings equivalent. Anglia being a more compact country than the original Great Britain, ten sixty-six became more of a three-way clash than the original. And while the conquests were repelled, there was still a lot of movement between Normandy and Anglia through trading, so the “Anglish” language still became “English”, suitably influenced by French culture through Normandy.

I think. All I really know is that I live in Anglia, I’m Anglish, and I speak English.

How water magic relates to all this, the Norwegians were able to navigate well thanks to a strong familiarity with the water and air faeries out at sea, so they came down south, wanting to strike at Lundein and the generally richer areas around there. That put them in conflict with the Normans who sailed over.

I know, it’s boring, but we’ll all get through it together.

The lecture eventually finishes, and I’ve come up with a cute design I’d like to sew into my next dress. Waiting for most of the rush to pass first, I then get to my feet and start heading off.

Only, on the way out, I notice a group of ladies. Curious, I lean over to see what they’re looking at.

It’s a guy, fast asleep in the corner of the room—not even sitting on a chair.

My brain working quickly, I walk over, nonchalantly sliding through the ring of ladies with an, “Excuse me.”

I ignore their mutters and lower myself to a (knees together) squat, keeping my dress neat. Then I say, “Lionel Basildon, is it?”

His face scrunches up, and he yawns, and he stretches out his arms, and only after all that do his eyes crack open, looking at me with a squint. “I prefer Leo,” he says, breaking into another yawn as soon as he finishes.

“I’m Nora de Kent, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I can’t exactly curtsey, so I bow my head.

“And you,” he says, his head more lolling than bowing. “If I may, where am I?”

“Water magic class.”

He nods, yet another yawn catching him. “Yes, I suppose I did sign up for that. Finished, is it?”

“Yes.”

Scratching the back of his head, he sits forward (rather than leaning against the wall). After a deep breath and a roll of his shoulders, he elegantly stands up, the motion smooth. Though he offers me a hand, I raise myself myself with what elegance I can cobble together.

“Well then, I shall take my leave,” I say, this time able to curtsey.

“Ah, thank you for waking me. I would hate to have slept through supper.”

I smile, but say nothing more, turning around and walking through the (now looser) circle of ladies; they move aside for me, narrowed eyes staring.

So that was “sleepy” prince, living up to his name. I couldn’t imagine anyone else (male or female) falling asleep like that, and I’m glad I wasn’t mistaken. He’s the second son of a count and apparently had a leisurely childhood without the pressure of succeeding his father. His older brother is eight years older and, by now, married and has a son and daughter of his own, if I remember correctly.

Anyway, Leo’s basically a good-natured person whose sleeping presence is regarded as art in of itself, often attracting a group of ladies to gaze upon him. He doesn’t particularly mind that, but being late for class ends up being troublesome, and missing a meal a common problem. In the story, Eleanor often woke him up, and he would often hold her hand or whisper sweet words to her in a half-awake state. (I made sure to keep some distance for that reason.)

As for looks, he has a similar build to Gerald, both normal enough looking guys with a bit of an aristocratic touch to some of their features. A bit tall, a bit slim, brown hair that’s on the lighter side with streaks of navy blue, that colour reflected in his eyes. While Gerald appears stern, Lionel appears friendly yet a bit out of it, in a way always looking like he’s just woken up from a nap—and that’s usually true.

I’ve not been thinking of the princes much. A wish, huh. I do still think it would be nice to go to Ellie’s world. But, for now, I think I’ll be happy enough if I can make friends. As scary as the future is at times, I’m lucky enough to be born who I am. My status guarantees a pleasant life. My parents kind, I don’t feel that worry about being forced into a marriage, forced to be the “ideal” lady.

Bashful Evan and grumpy Cyril, I’m sort of on track to be “friends” with them. Sneezy Julian, well, I sort of bossed him around last week, but I don’t think he hated me for it, so we’ll see. Clever Gerald is, um, complicated, because I don’t want to get between him and Violet.

Sleepy Leo, I don’t know. Eleanor didn’t really know him. Well, she certainly knew him—if you know what I mean. But she didn’t talk with him much or ask other people about him. To me, he’s nice in the same way all well-brought-up boys are, and that’s most of the guys here. There’s something to be said about his casual atmosphere, yet I wouldn’t call that a personality.

I guess that just means I should get to know him better. If I go by the book, I should be able to run into him now and then (entirely by accident).

The last two princes, Happy and Dopey, aren’t quite as easy. Eleanor met Happy one evening in late October when he put on a light show sort of thing, being talented with light magic. I can turn up on the same day, just there’s no guarantee it’ll happen like it did in the book. As for Dopey, she met him at metal magic classes… which have been cancelled. It was only the two of them attending it in the book, so of course the class would be cancelled in real life.

Ah well, I’m sure there’ll be a chance eventually.

Besides the princes, there’s no reason I can’t be friends with other people. Sure, I won’t get a wish from it, but friends basically are a wish, right? It’s hard for me to approach guys in general beyond the culture or etiquette or whatever you want to call it. I don’t have anything to talk about; small talk isn’t really my thing. The same is kind of true for the ladies, but I can compliment them and try and work from there, I think? “Oh I love what you’ve done with your hair!” (Or something less dramatic.) Styling hair, makeup, (to an extent) fashion—I can probably talk for a bit on those topics.

How did Ellie do it? She smiled, and greeted the girls she knew, and eventually got pulled into a conversation with Hatty. Clicking with someone, I don’t really understand it. I guess no one does? Every person is like their own puzzle piece, full of jagged lines, and some people just happen to fit together.

I don’t know. Do I need to know? I don’t know if I need to know.

To distract myself, I spend the evening thinking about what would make a nice dress pattern, trying to remember what I’ve seen Iris and the other waitresses wearing. Oh, and Lottie. She has more of a mature image than I want to have, but I might need that sort of outfit one day.

Oh no. Now that I’ve thought of Lottie, all I want to do is make a cute dress for Gwen. But, if I dote on Gwen this much, how bad is it going to be when Clarice gets married and I have a little niece or nephew? Double oh no—if I ever have children, aren’t they going to be so incredibly fat? How am I supposed to stop myself from feeding them cake and sweets every day?

For now, I distract myself with sewing. That I’m sewing doughnuts and cupcakes (each with a cherry on top) is merely a coincidence and nothing to do with what I was just thinking about.