Friedrich carefully helped me sit up. I let out a short sigh and told him plainly, “Let’s read separately. I can’t concentrate like this.”
Friedrich made the disappointed face I’d expected, but I had no intention of indulging him. At this rate, we’d waste the entire day and go home having accomplished nothing.
“Here — read this.”
I grabbed the nearest book and handed it to him.
Friedrich stared at me, making one of his rare shows of reluctance, but I deliberately ignored it and went back to the book I’d been reading.
Finally, the pages started turning at a proper pace. Reading together really is a hopelessly inefficient arrangement.
I’d made it all the way to a section on chili pepper cultivation when something caught my eye.
Hm?
I glanced to the side and found Friedrich nodding off, his head dipping and bobbing with the unmistakable rhythm of someone falling asleep. Well. He and books really don’t get along, do they?
It’s barely been a few minutes since we started reading separately.
I was about to wake him, but something in the depth of his sleep made me reconsider.
The beanbag chair had a full backrest — I could adjust his position without disturbing him. I guided his head back against the support and settled in to read again, but then his neck drooped sideways at a precarious angle, like it might snap at any moment.
He’s going to get a herniated disc like that.
I debated what to do. Before I could decide, his wobbling head dropped and landed on my shoulder.
I froze and looked at him. His breathing had evened out into the deep, steady rhythm of someone truly asleep.
Waking him would be no small feat.
I hesitated a moment, then gently shifted his upper body so that it rested across my lap instead.
It was more comfortable for me that way, too.
“Do you have insomnia? Is that why you followed me here — to treat it?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, entertaining the reasonable suspicion, and in doing so found his face in sharper detail than usual.
Skin still faintly downy and soft, paired incongruously with thick, densely set brows that seemed to belong to an entirely different face. Lashes that looked almost false, they were so long. A straight, elegant nose. Lips so vividly red they looked painted.
“You look like an angel.”
And sleeping so obediently on top of it all.
It was the kind of face that deserved its own name — sacred, almost absurdly handsome, the sort of beauty that belongs in a museum painting rather than a library beanbag. It arrested the eyes with the authority of a masterpiece.
I exhaled quietly.
I could easily spend the afternoon just looking at him, but that would defeat the entire purpose of coming here.
I set down the farming book and picked up the magical theory text again.
I turned the pages in silence, sinking back into focus, and after a while the sun outside shifted and began to angle in through the window, cutting across where we sat.
I should have drawn the curtain earlier. Too late for that now — Friedrich’s weight across my lap made moving out of the question.
Then the light fell directly onto his face.
That has to be blinding him.
The thought had barely formed when Friedrich’s brow creased with a faint frown.
I was already reaching out, about to cup my hand and cast a shadow over his eyes, when he stirred. He turned his body to avoid the light — and buried his face into my front.
I stared down at him, startled into stillness, unable to bring myself to move him away.
The warmth of his breath seeped straight through the thin fabric of my summer dress and pressed against my skin.
My stomach, where his face rested, began to feel flushed and restless. My heart was beating faster — though I couldn’t tell anymore whether it was mine or his.
“Friedrich.”
I called his name softly, barely above a whisper. He didn’t stir. Only his breath, slow and steady, let me know he was still there.
He ran warmer than most, and right now he felt even hotter than usual — but I found I didn’t want to move him away and wake him.
Without quite meaning to, I bit gently down on my lower lip. I looked at him, his face hidden against me, and a soft breath slipped out between my lips.
I picked up the book again, but the concentration I’d managed before was entirely gone.
In the end, a few minutes later, I gave up reading altogether and lay back against the beanbag, closing my eyes.
The sun had moved on to fall across my pillow. Friedrich hadn’t shifted at all.
“It really is perfect napping weather.”
I closed my eyes slowly, and drowsiness swept over me faster than expected. My consciousness began to sink, soft and gradual, like settling into still water.
“…Your Highness.”
“……”
“Princess.”
A quiet voice called for me in quick succession. I opened my eyes slowly to find Elsa.
“…Elsa?”
“It is closing time, Your Highness.”
“Already?”
I jolted upright and looked at the clock. It was nearly six. How many hours did we sleep?
But more bewildering was Friedrich — still lying in exactly the same position I’d left him in, fast asleep without so much as a twitch.
Did he pull an all-nighter last night? How is he sleeping this soundly?
“Friedrich. Friedrich.”
I patted his shoulder and nudged him awake. He flinched, then slowly uncurled, his body turning over with a languid ease.
His eyelids lifted gradually. I watched his face come into focus — and felt a strange, unguarded thought rise up before I could stop it.
…Why does his skin look like that?
A short nap and he looks this dewy? Is that even allowed?
I was still staring at him, somewhat dazed, when his eyes met mine. A beat passed — then he scrambled upright with a start.
“I — why did I — “
“You must really hate reading. You were out almost immediately.”
The teasing landed, and Friedrich’s cheeks flooded with color in an instant. He ducked his head and muttered,
“I’m sorry. I must have been a burden — “
“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t a big deal.”
I patted his shoulder lightly, as if to say let it go.
“You slept really well. Did you not sleep last night?”
“……”
Instead of answering, Friedrich pressed his lips together. The answer came from an unexpected direction.
“He appears to have insomnia,” Elsa offered. “He’s been asking for chamomile tea quite frequently these days, I’m told.”
I glanced at Friedrich to see if this was true. He hesitated, then exhaled briefly.
“I’ve been having nightmares. Night after night.”
“Is that so? Maybe it’s the heat.”
“Not exactly — it’s been a pattern for a while, but…”
He paused, then finished the thought quietly.
“Since coming to the palace, I haven’t had as many. I think my body’s gotten sluggish from sleeping too well.”
“……”
I sat with that for a moment, then steered the conversation away, keeping my voice deliberately light.
“Your body must need more nourishment. Elsa, please pass word to the kitchen to pay more attention to his meals.”
“Understood.”
“Anyway — we need to head out, Friedrich. It’s closing time.”
Friedrich nodded, then, as naturally as he had when we’d arrived, reached out and took my hand.
I startled slightly, but gave nothing away and simply fell into step beside him.
“And how did you find the chair, Your Highness?”
The head librarian looked at me with hopeful, eager eyes. I smiled.
“I liked it very much. Wonderfully comfortable.”
Not terribly suited for reading, perhaps — but for the occasional nap when one is feeling tired? Perfectly adequate, I decided.
After returning to Rene Palace, we had dinner together as usual.
Breakfast and lunch we all tended to manage on our own, but dinner had gradually settled into a fixed ritual — everyone gathering in the dining hall to eat together. It had quietly become the way things were done at Rene Palace.
When Joachim heard that I’d spent the afternoon at the library with Friedrich, he turned openly envious and started in on him immediately.
“The prince doesn’t exactly strike one as a passionate reader.”
Denying it would have made my conscience twinge, given how the day had actually gone.
Friedrich, for his part, made none of his usual sharp replies — he simply sat in silence and chewed his salad.
Then Marie, who had been methodically working through her steak, spoke up.
“But Prince Friedrich is exceptionally skilled with a sword.”
“A sword? The prince?”
“Yes.”
“And how would you know that, Your Highness?”
“I saw it a few days ago, by accident. I woke up early and went for a walk, and there he was — moving through his forms bare from the waist up, fast as anything.”
“Bare from the — “
Joachim looked at Friedrich with an expression of mild scandal.
“Is that how you plan to make an impression on Her Highness? Showing off like that?”
“Only the top half.”
“Well, obviously — we’re not living out here alone — “
And then Joachim stopped mid-sentence.
I noticed it at the same moment. We both turned to Marie at once.
“You saw this in the early morning, Your Highness?”
“Yes — it was before dawn, I think.”
“Do you remember exactly what time, Marie?”
Friedrich’s transformation into a child lasted from midnight until six in the morning. If he had woken before then — if he’d already been awake as an adult — the spell might have…
“Five forty-seven in the morning.”
Friedrich answered quietly.
Joachim and I both stared at him with matching expressions of blank astonishment.
