Bibliophile Princess: Volume 1 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Color Illustration

  Arc 1: Bibliophile Princess

  Arc 2: The Men Behind the Stage

  Arc 3: Her and Her Prince’s Treasure

  Afterword

  About J-Novel Club

  Copyright

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  Arc 1: Bibliophile Princess

  Act 1: False Fiancée

  When I heard an echo of familiar laughter, my foot nearly slipped from the ladder rung. Surprised, I looked down, peering out a window that had been left open for ventilation. I could see two shadows beneath the trees of the palace’s inner garden. One belonged to someone I knew well—the heir to Sauslind Kingdom’s throne, Prince Christopher. At the young age of twenty-one, he was both noble and wise, with a promising future ahead of him.

  Normally His Highness took full advantage of his rank and appearance, charming ladies of all ages, while bringing cunning nobles to heel with his keen discernment. He was well-known for his youthful, kingly disposition. It was this man, always guarded, always dignified, whose carefree—defenseless—laughter now filled the air.

  As someone who’d been by his side for four years now and (pardon me for being presumptuous enough to say as much) knew his character well, I was flummoxed at what I saw.

  He was a prince, but he was also human. There were times when he acted his age, laughing and cracking jokes. That side of him was usually reserved for the closest of his inner circle, however.

  Inner garden or not, it was still located within a palace rife with schemes and political maneuvering. You never knew who might be watching. My heart ached with a sharp, heavy pain seeing him so defenseless.

  Then I let out a quiet sigh.

  The time had finally come.

  ~.~.~.~

  My name is Elianna Bernstein, the daughter of a noble family graced with the marquess rank in the Sauslind Kingdom. But my titles don’t stop there, for I have another attached to my name that other noble ladies do not. I’m the fiancée of Sauslind’s Crown Prince, Prince Christopher.

  Four years ago, at the age of fourteen, I left the remote countryside to step into the radiant capital and make my debut into high society. It was then, overwhelmed by the dazzling noble ladies and their daughters, that I was summoned (for some reason) to stand beside Prince Christopher as his betrothed.

  While the Bernstein family did hold the rank of marquess, our political weight put us below the bottom rungs of the earl families. If you’re wondering why the crown prince would select the daughter of such a family as his bride-to-be, well...unfortunately, it wasn’t for the kind of heart-pounding romance that might excite the ladies of the world. Nor was it my blinding beauty or anything so fanciful that might appear in the dreams of a starry-eyed maiden.

  No, I had faded blonde hair with slight curls and similarly dull gray eyes. My features were praised as adorable by my family but earned me disgraceful nicknames from others. I was simply a plain Jane, nothing particularly desirable about me. Prince Christopher was my complete opposite, with hair that shone like sunlight, eyes like a cloudless blue sky, prominent, stunning facial features, and a presence that lit up whatever room he entered.

  So why was someone like me chosen for a position—so coveted by other marriageable noble ladies—as the crown prince’s fiancée? Well, simply because it was convenient. Our house wasn’t aligned with any of the political factions of the court, nor did we count any troublesome people of influence among our relatives. Plus, my father and brother didn’t have any interest in power (though in a way, that might disqualify them as nobles of the court). Since I didn’t hold affections for any particular individual either, I was selected as a way of reestablishing balance in a court whose political factions were vying for supremacy.

  When we first met each other, Prince Christopher had glistened brilliantly as he said, “Lady Elianna, you need only stay by my side and read your books.”

  My family was famous for producing a long line of book-lovers. One of our ancestors had opened a regional library in our territory and made it widely available for public access. The vast, colorful assortment of rare tomes that it contained, collected by generations of marquesses, was said to rival that of the royal library’s selection. The Bernstein family was full of eccentrics that would take a good book over having three meals a day.

  I was no exception. I’d been buried in books ever since I learned to read. Where other ladies preferred dresses and jewels, I liked novel books. This had earned me a nickname that any normal girl might lament as shameful—not the more endearing alternative, “bookworm,” but rather, “Bibliophile Princess.”

  Bibliophile Princess I may be, but even I knew the prince’s proposal was bizarre. For a moment I misunderstood and got the absurd idea he was selecting me to read books aloud to him. When I tilted my head in confusion, the prince went on to cite the advantages for the Bernstein family in the impending factional conflict and power struggle, presenting his demands as a business deal.

  “To be perfectly frank,” he said, “if I don’t decide on a bride quickly, my mother and others around me will become insufferable.” Then he went on, “So what will it be, Lady Elianna? Now that you have made your societal debut and are of marriageable age, you won’t be able to avoid your obligations as a noble. You could settle with some other noble’s son, be forced to oversee his household affairs, all the while being dragged into the noble ladies’ social gatherings. However, wouldn’t you prefer to stay by my side and live life just reading books?”

  “...Haah.”

  I could more easily imagine the mental exhaustion I’d face as the betrothed of the crown prince before me than I could the hardships of being a future nobleman’s wife. Just to be clear, I realize that reaction might come off as rude toward our country’s handsome heir-to-be, but those of the Bernstein family were equally dispassionate toward anything that wasn’t a book. By that standard, it was a rather normal response from me.

  Prince Christopher offered a charming smile. “If you become my fiancée, you’ll be able to turn down those engagement parties and dance parties, increasing your available reading time.” Then he amended, “Of course, you will still have to attend public events and events hosted by the royal family.”

  Regardless of my opinion, there was no way a puny house such as mine could reject a request from the crown. Even someone as ignorant of the world such as I knew that his proposal was unprecedented. Basically, he was offering me, a simple noble lady, a loveless transaction.

  “...I appreciate the kind offer. I was concerned for the hardships that would eventually befall me and felt melancholy over the loss of reading time I would face.”

  The prince grinned, his next words like the seductive whisperings of the devil. “Besides, once you have the title of my betrothed to add to your name, you will be free to enter the royal archives, where you’ll be able to peruse and borrow to your heart’s content.”

  Printed words flowed through the veins of the Bernstein family. As the daughter of said house, there was no way I wouldn’t jump at such a tempting prospect.

  The royal archive, as its name implied, differed from the royal library. Access was limited to only those within the royal palace, and it held the crown’s personal, prized collection. A holy land for any book-lover.

  That was the reason my father and brother—who’d sooner lock themselves away in our territory and live comfortably as custodians of the regional library, immersed in books—reluctantly worked inside the royal palace. I’d always listened eagerly as they told me about the crown’s collection of rare tomes. Now I would be able to see them for myself, touch them m
yself, and have access to an unexplored world. There was no greater bliss than that for a book-lover.

  Prince Christopher offered a dazzling smile of his own when he saw my face beaming with joy, eyes alight. “Then our engagement is decided. I’ll be free from the nuisance of searching for a bride, and you’ll be free from your shackles as a noble lady. And in exchange for burdening you with the duty of being my betrothed, I’ll make absolutely sure your free time remains uninterrupted.”

  For the first time, my heart pounded the same way it did when I touched a brand new book.

  The prince was true to his word. After our engagement was announced, he ensured I could read my books freely, unburdened by my new position. I was skeptical from the outset, particularly in the beginning when the queen and her entourage incessantly invited me to their tea parties, the court ladies hounded me with their questions, and the high-ranking nobles yanked me this way and that with their expectations. Fortunately, the prince and his associates quickly (and cleverly) put an end to all that.

  I’d spent the ensuing four years free from incident as the prince’s betrothed in name only, never really appearing in front of others. But now his true intentions were beginning to become clear to me. It matched the whispers going around as of late as well. Whispers that said the Bibliophile Princess was indeed a fake fiancée, and that the reason the prince still hadn’t gone through with an official marriage despite my coming of age was because, now that the political power struggle had calmed, he could finally welcome his true love to court—the real princess he’d longed for.

  Rumors couldn’t be accepted at face value, but I also knew the reality which served as definitive proof. In Sauslind Kingdom, men and women were considered adults when they reached the age of eighteen. Provided their partner was an adult and it didn’t offend society’s sensibilities, a woman could be wed while she was still underage. But the prince had been non-committal, extending our engagement on the basis that I was still “too young.” There were no talks about an official wedding, not even now that I’d reached adulthood. That only reinforced the credibility of the rumors.

  There was nothing to be done about it. Ultimately, what the prince and I had agreed upon was a mutually beneficial engagement. A girl who hadn’t even undertaken princess training couldn’t be made a princess. There existed no romantic feelings between us, just a shared struggle against societal pressures placed on men and women of our positions. And now I could see it as clearly as if I’d read it in a story—the day the prince would annul our engagement had come.

  The girl accompanying His Highness was the daughter of a viscount, and she had just recently entered the inner palace for etiquette lessons. Noble ladies entered the palace for such lessons for a variety of reasons. Some as part of bridal training before their wedding, some for added prestige before a marriage proposal, and some as a part of job hunting. Although they were the daughters of noblemen, there were a number of houses in such circumstances where a lady would have to seek employment. From what I heard, positions associated with the palace, such as maid or court lady, were particularly well sought after. There was honor in serving those of higher rank, as well as the opportunity to acquaint oneself with promising lords working at the palace. And for some, the chance to fall in love with a prince, just like in a romance novel.

  The name of this viscount’s daughter was Lady Irene Palcas. Talk about her had grown recently, and I’d encountered her myself a number of times. The first time I spotted her was in the royal archives. Though it really all began when I overheard the staff members in the archive talking about her. “There’s this really adorable lady who just recently began etiquette lessons here,” they said.

  The lady to whom they referred had soft chestnut-colored hair, bright brown eyes that would captivate anyone who looked into them, and a soprano voice that filled the air wherever she went. One so sweet you’d never tire of hearing it. She was warm, sociable, and overflowing with charisma. She seemed to be my exact opposite, a true lady. I began to remember her face after seeing her stop by the archives a number of times on errands.

  Our first real encounter happened when I discovered one of the archive’s ladders had been damaged and was searching for a person to whom I could report the problem. I heard the echo of voices coming from the break room and peeked my head in. Inside, the smell of tea leaves hung thick as heavy perfume. I spotted a tea set in disarray, a panicked Irene standing beside it.

  “Oh, I was so careless... Forgive me, Prince Theodore,” she said.

  “No, it’s nothing, really,” answered Prince Theodore, the curator of the archives. Although he was the younger brother of the king, the age gap between Prince Theodore and His Majesty was so great it seemed more appropriate to think of him as Prince Christopher’s older brother instead. He was still single, despite his royal status—a popular, charming man in the prime of his life with stunning dark golden brown hair and ultramarine eyes.

  “More importantly,” he continued, “you weren’t injured, were you, Lady Irene?”

  “No, I’m not, but...whatever shall we do about this? I’m afraid I’ve soiled someone’s book. This title is popular among the women of the working class district, no? Is there really someone within the royal palace who would favor such literature?” Her voice was thick with genuine skepticism.

  The book in question, now covered in tea leaves, was popular with the masses. Penned by a housewife in a fishing village, it provided an interesting—and sometimes emotionally heartrending—account of her daily life.

  I peeked my head in the door, feeling awkward, and spoke up. “Um... That’s my book.”

  Members of the Bernstein family didn’t value printed works based on the rank of those who wrote them, but the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the nobility. I felt ashamed hearing the disbelief in her voice, as if she couldn’t imagine this could be the favorite book of the prince’s bride-to-be.

  “Oh goodness,” she murmured, cutely pressing her hand over her mouth. Then hastily she added, “Please forgive me, Lady Elianna! I was careless and soiled your book! I am truly, truly sorry!”

  Did she think I was angry because she’d spilled tea leaves on my book?

  Before I could dispel the misconception, Prince Theodore cut in with a sigh. “Lady Elianna’s negligence is to blame here. She knows not to leave her personal belongings unattended. You needn’t apologize so profusely.” He first comforted the cowering Lady Irene and then said to me, “Leave the book with me. I will clean up this mess. Hurry and be on your way, Lady Elianna. And do be more careful next time.”

  His curt tone left little room for discussion. It was all I could do to inform him of the damaged ladder before leaving the archives behind.

  After that incident, I often spotted Lady Irene trying to foster good relations with Prince Theodore. I’d also noticed her, just two weeks prior, engaging in friendly smalltalk with Glen Eisenach, a red-haired knight who was part of the Imperial Guard and also the prince’s bodyguard. Not an especially strange sight to see; Lord Glen was a bright, charming individual, popular among both men and women.

  But when I next saw her together with Alexei Strasser—son of a duke and the prince’s right-hand man, referred to in whispers as the “Ice Scion”—I was a bit surprised. Lord Alexei, as his nickname might imply, had black hair with icy blue eyes and an astute aura about him. He was equally indifferent to everyone regardless of rank, whether it be a beautiful noblewoman or nobleman of greater status. Thus it was rare for me to see anyone able to engage with him so openly.

  I also heard hushed whispers that she was personally close to the court’s master musician, Alan Ferrera, a popular Adonis type with honey-colored hair. At the time, I didn’t think much about it; her reputation among other ladies seemed a bit dreadful, but being acquainted with such a cast of popular young men would be enough to draw both ire and envy. But from an outsider’s perspective, His Highness and Lady Irene gave off an air of intimacy, and the way she l
ooked at him with such single-minded devotion made the unspoken clear. She had feelings for the prince.

  So that’s it, I thought, only now realizing. It may be rude to say as much, but a certain proverb came to mind. “To shoot the general, you must first begin with his horse.” My noble birth aside, as someone who loved books and often holed myself up in my room to read them, her exceptional networking skills seemed praiseworthy. As the prince’s betrothed, I should be the one displaying such prowess.

  Did Lady Irene lay the groundwork to approach His Highness, or were the men around him showing such consideration for her because she’d drawn his interest? I couldn’t be sure. I was, however, certain about one thing: the relationship between these two hadn’t started recently. The way he laughed so joyously and smiled at her told me that much.

  “Lady Elianna?”

  Someone’s voice abruptly cut in, dragging me back to my senses. At some point I had dismounted from the ladder and the voices in the rear garden had disappeared. I suddenly realized I’d been a daze this whole time.

  “Is something wrong? Did something happen?” The deep rumbling voice inquiring after my wellbeing belonged to Prince Theodore, the royal archive’s curator. He wasn’t much for words under ordinary circumstances, but since I began visiting the archives frequently, we’d grown close enough to speak openly.

  Before I could bring my panicked brain under control, he spotted the book in my arms and the ladder behind me, and knitted his brows. “I believe I told you just the other day to call someone to assist if you wanted a book off the higher shelves.”

  He was right. It certainly wasn’t becoming of a noblewoman to clamber up and down a ladder herself. I muttered an apology.

  Prince Theodore breathed a sigh. He was already busy enough lately as it was, and now I’d become the target of his exasperation. “I wasn’t informed you would be visiting the palace today. What happened to your bodyguards? This may be the palace, but you mustn’t go around unattended.”