November had a book hidden on his lap below the desk and was more interested in its pages than the syllabus the professor was droning over. Huit looked over and pushed his glasses farther up his nose, "What's that?"
"A book." His voice was low and didn't take his eyes off the pages in front of him. In the entire classroom, November was undoubtedly the most eye-catching person. He was handsome, in a soft sense, with gentle eyes that always seemed patient and two moles above the left side of his lips. His dark hair fell just below his ear that he would often comb with piano-playing fingers.
Huit scoffed and leaned in closer, eager to take a glance at the pages, "I can see that. What's so interesting about it?"
The citizens of Arcadia were, in general, not very interested in books. November shrugged and didn't appear bothered by Huit's probing, "I just like the story." The book was old with pages yellowed from age. By some miracle, it had survived to the present day. He found it in his old man's study and wondered why he hadn't raided the room earlier. Because now he was absolutely captured by the pages and the magic woven into words. Who knew books could be so wonderful?
But Huit didn't seem entirely convinced. The boy frowned and kicked the leg of November's chair to summon his friend's attention. Instead, the professor's attention was caught instead, "Quiet!" He hissed and both young men straightened in their seats.
They waited for a moment until the old man finally fell back into his long, monotone speech. "What was that for?" November sighed.
Huit shrugged as though he'd done nothing wrong, "I just want to know why you're so interested in the book. Did you know Princess Ceci is supposed to be joining this class?"
He'd only been told a thousand times. So he returned a kick to Huit's chair, "I know!"
This time when the professor spun around to glare at them both November and Huit sat perfectly straight like two obedient statues. The poor man was left with no choice but to move on.
But he was interrupted anyway. The classroom door swung open and at first, November only caught the bright glow of red and golden sparkles that seemed to dance and flash around her.
"Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry that I'm late!" Princess Ceci bowed ninety degrees, her silken hair fluttered around her like a beautiful veil. The entire class was silent. Even the professor was stunned and captivated by her charm.
"U-Uh," the middle-aged man stuttered like a high school boy, "Don't worry about it. Don't worry about a thing, Princess Ceci!"
She smiled and dazzled like a bright afternoon sun. No one dared to look away. "Okay, then I'll be in your care." She turned towards the classroom and winked.
November's book fell to the ground and he, like everyone else in that class, was enraptured. And when she strolled down the side of the classroom her steps were light as though she was gliding. Or maybe floating. Or maybe that was just his mind, his brain, floating away from reality until the chair next to him was pulled back and Princess Ceci sat down.
Oh. November couldn't breathe.
She looked at him and beamed, "Please don't get a heart attack, okay?" She giggled and leaned her head into her palms. Embers flickered off her fiery hair.
His heart stuttered and he didn't notice how her eyes caught sight of the book now crumpled at his feet. "Oh, you dropped something!"
A deep embarrassment blossomed and threatened to engulf November whole. He reached down and grabbed his book, then tried to hide it in the bag leaning against his chair. His face was as red as her hair.
She laughed and the professor didn't seem bothered at all. "Oh, don't be so shy! I won't bite I promise. Just be sure to finish it before the Festival of Remembrance."
He nodded and forgot all about his book. And forgot all about the class that was going on. He also forgot about the professor who seemed as equally as entranced by her as he.
It was only when he was back in the privacy of his own home did November seem to snap back into reality. He felt inexplicably dizzy and the whole world seemed tilted. Groaning he held his head and crumpled to his feet. There were no lights on. His apartment was lonely and dark.
There was a lantern on a cabinet placed at the front door entrance and he thought about lighting it with his magic, but didn't. November felt sick.
But slowly he rose to his feet and looked around the familiar layout of his own apartment. There wasn't much there, only the barest of necessities. Aside from his father's study that was abandoned and rarely visited, the entire spaced seemed as though no one had lived there. He tried to keep plants at some point but for some reason, they kept on wilting under his care.
November stumbled into the living room and fell on the couch. The old leathery thing squeaked under his weight as he slung his arm over his eyes. Why did his head hurt so much? Daylight was falling fast into dusk and orangy hues penetrated the apartment.
A thought, a memory suddenly flickered inside of him and November jolted up from the couch, scrambling to his bag. His hands shook as they fumbled and searched and prodded and felt. And only when he came across that old leather cover did November breathe out a long sigh of relief. Good. The book was still his, and still intact.
The tension in his bones unwound. He still had a bit of time before the Festival of Remembrance and had to finish the book before then, lest he want to be marked a criminal. The sentence for not participating in the burning of books was not a light one and November wasn't the kind of guy that enjoyed inviting trouble.
He went and lit his abode up with candles, avoiding wasteful expenditure of magic, then settled back on the creaking leather couch. The old book was peeled open and he resumed reading the place he left off.
He had just finished the part about Queen Cecilia's crowning. The young girl was ignorant and dumb and liked to kick her legs out as she sat upon the tall throne. In the book, the Queen's mother was stern, cruel, and ruled behind her daughter with an iron fist. It was set in Arcadia, but an Arcadia that was much unlike the one that he knew. This Arcadia saw cloud and rain more often than the warm glow of the sun. And in this fictional world, the winters were long and cold.
November couldn't imagine a world that was any less than perfect. And perhaps that was why he was so attracted to the book's dark and dreary world.
But even in this dark and pitiful world, the characters found moments of respite. The Little Queen was bombarded with drama and mishaps. The Royal Mother was still recovering from an assassination attempt and the Queen overheard hurtful words of castle servants that complained about being ruled by a child. She fled to find comfort with her professor Lorn.
"What's wrong, Your Little Majesty?" Lorn smiled. He was like a handsome big brother to her that had patience greater than his age. His hair was dark and fell just below his ears and he had two moles above the left side of his lips. But Cecilia's favorite thing about him would always be his long slender hands. She affectionately called them piano-playing hands.
Queen Cecilia, only nine years old, hugged his waist like a spoiled child and huffed. Lorn chuckled and patted her head, "It is not yet hour for your lessons. What could have possibly happened for you to seek me so? I thought you despised philosophy."
"I don't like philosophy." She looked up at him then finally let go. She straightened her posture and placed her hands in front of her like a proper lady, pretending as though she hadn't been clinging to him like an indignant child, "I don't like languages or calligraphy either. History is more interesting. I want to hear more about my great-great-uncle, King Rivion the Conqueror!"
Lorn shook his head and invited the Little Queen into his study. He knew that she was probably lonely and bored. "Or perhaps you should tell me about my father. Erm," she paused and pressed a finger to her lips, her head tilted "my late father. That's what you call someone that's dead, right?"
He smiled at her sadly and nodded his head, "Yes. His Royal Majesty King Prostherios would be your late father." Lorn's study was more akin to a small library than an office. Each wall was stacked with books from floor to ceiling. There were piles of books littered on the floor and on his desk as no room was left on the shelves. Lorn had tried to break up the monotony of book covers and papers with plants but for some reason, each green addition to his office only lasted about a week or two.
There was a small armchair, a perfect fit for the young Queen Cecilia. It like it was a throne molded to her needs. She sat upon it and smiled at Lorn then asked with a tone both lady-like and childish, "Will Sir. Eitherfel please grace me with a story about my late father?"
There were many stories about the Great King Prostherios. The stories that circulated in the capital city boasted his prowess, his power, and his conquests. But Lorn sighed and decided not to tell her those exaggerated tales of false grandeur. Instead, he began with, "Alright, my Little Queen now listen closely, for I will tell you about a King who was but a man, both valiant and cruel."