TPB 6

Chapter: 6

The secret worked like this: when Christina—the wealthy young marchioness who hosted the gathering—managed to secretly acquire an erotic novel, Natalie and Emily would hollow out the inside of some thick poetry collection and slip the novel inside, disguising it as a refined volume of verse.

Strictly speaking, erotic novels were not officially banned books. The name sounded grandiose, but thanks to censorship they were not especially explicit.

Even so, because they dealt with sexual themes, they had become a wildly popular new genre.

However, for unmarried young ladies of the upper class, merely owning such a book was enough to ruin their marriage prospects—it might as well have been a forbidden text.

In a rigidly moral society, women were burdened with far more restrictions than men. Above all else, the realm of sex was something absolutely denied to them.

A proper lady was supposed to be ignorant of sex.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that marriage was the ultimate goal of every lady, yet most unmarried women knew nothing about marital relations—let alone sex itself. It was deeply contradictory, but those contradictions were precisely what society demanded of women in this era.

Seen in that light, this secret gathering was almost miraculous.

The beginning of their meetings dated back to the year Natalie debuted in high society. Bored to death by balls that were nothing like she had imagined, Natalie happened to strike up a conversation with Christina, who was likewise hiding in a corner with an indifferent expression.

“I’d rather never dance again than have to lock eyes with that man while stepping to the music.”

Christina, having just turned down a gentleman with the lie that her dance card was full, tossed out the joke—and Natalie froze as though she’d been struck over the head.

Good heavens. That line—surely not.

Natalie had stubbornly insisted on attending a girls’ boarding school at sixteen. In that closed-off environment, where girls of various classes but similar wealth were gathered together, she had fatefully encountered her first scandalous novel.

The line Christina had muttered was, astonishingly, a line from that very book.

“…Miss Dowey, that just now—”

“…Oh my. Miss Daus, you too?”

And so the meetings of two began—until Emily discovered a book Christina had lent Natalie in her room, and the gathering became a trio.

Those were good days.

But her reverie was short-lived.

Caught completely off guard, Natalie slammed the book shut and screamed.

“Have you lost your mind, Christina?!”

“So? I went through hell to get that.”

Christina grinned slyly, as though she had expected exactly this reaction.

“I told you I don’t like this author.”

“Just read it once.”

“No.”

“Why will you read everything except David’s work? It’s exactly your taste. Do you think I don’t know you?”

No. You don’t. You don’t know anything!

Clutching her pounding chest, Natalie shoved the offending book even farther away.

Lately, most of the books Christina had been acquiring were by an author using the pen name David.

He had burst onto the scene like a comet two years ago and was classified as an erotic novelist.

Like other works in the genre, his novels did not feature anything especially graphic. Natalie doubted such descriptions—ones that made your body writhe just from reading—could appear in the corner of a magazine for another hundred years.

Still, driven by an uncompromising spirit of challenge, he had finally gone so far as to describe doing it while standing up. Naturally, he cloaked it in metaphors and symbolism to avoid censorship, leaving room for interpretation.

“My goodness… girls, you can do it—standing up, apparently… how… how shocking… Is there—are there illustrations?”

At the time, Christina had been so excited she muttered on like a woman possessed.

To understand why the idea of standing upright was so shocking, one had to reflect again on just how solemn this era was.

The Church preached restraint of sexual desire—and went a step further by recommending only a single “proper” position even between married couples. You know the one: the woman lying modestly on her back while the man looked down at her.

After encountering David’s work, it could be said that noblewomen in particular had their eyes opened to a more colorful world.

Beyond that, David gained notoriety for his outrageously melodramatic romances—stories unlike anything else on the market.

Married women who felt suffocated by a society that demanded especially strict morality from women found vicarious satisfaction in his boundary-shattering tales. Some women even learned to read solely to consume his novels.

Already famous, David had recently become the talk of the town once again. His newest work had begun serial publication in a magazine.

An affair between a high-born noblewoman and a stable hand.

It was widely considered only natural for a gentleman, worn down by manners and propriety, to keep a mistress from time to time—as long as he fulfilled his duties at home. That kind of rationalization was shockingly accepted.

But the reverse was far more likely to spark scandal.

Add a forbidden gap in social status, and David’s new work was bound to ignite controversy. Once again, people found themselves wondering who he truly was.

Whether he wanted it or not, the mystery-loving David was undoubtedly the hottest figure in Grand Batten.

“Just ten pages. Just read ten pages. When have I ever begged you for anything? Why won’t you read it?!”

Christina, a devoted fan of David, clung to Natalie daily, pleading with her in a way utterly uncharacteristic of herself. It was a constant battle—spear versus shield.

“…It’s too explicit.”

“But you read everything else just fine.”

“Still. It’s embarrassing.”

“But you like that kind of thing.”

Natalie glared at Christina in silence. Christina merely shrugged, putting on an innocent act.

“If Mother finds out we’re reading things like this, I won’t be allowed out of the house for three months!”

That was when Emily, who had been quiet until now, suddenly shouted—her face flushed as she hugged the book to her chest, imagining the worst possible scenario with a strangely excited expression.

“If Mother finds out, that’s still the best case! What if other people notice? Forget marriage—we won’t even be able to set foot in society again!”

“As expected of Emily, you get it.”

Christina said proudly, and a brief silence fell over the young ladies.

“Pfft….”

Someone let out a snort, and the next moment all three burst into unrestrained, unladylike laughter.

“So true! Marriage would be completely out of the question!”

Emily shouted.

Exactly. Natalie couldn’t have agreed more.

***

As the sun began to set, the lamps of Malick House were lit one by one. Located in the heart of Dwan and just a ten-minute carriage ride from Windsorbell Palace, the estate belonged to the royal family and was considered one of the most beautiful buildings in the capital.

Members of the direct royal line of Grand Batten typically spent their childhoods at Malick House. Crown Prince Edward, Prince Ian, and Princess Charlotte had all grown up here under the care of the late Queen Dowager.

A carriage came to a stop before the entrance. A woman standing there waved as if she’d been waiting.

“Charlotte.”

The moment Ian spotted his identical twin sister, the stiffness in his expression melted away.

“Welcome, Ian.”

Smiling brightly, Ian leaned in and lightly kissed Charlotte’s cheek. He was unmistakably the affectionate youngest child—a side of him rarely seen by others.

The close siblings naturally linked arms and began to walk.

“Judging by your complexion, it seems Mother has been pressuring you about marriage as well. That’s why I’ve been avoiding Windsorbell Palace lately.”

Windsorbell was normally where the royal family stayed on weekends without official duties, but lately Queen Violet—on poor terms with the King—had been using it almost as a private residence.

“‘Nearby,’ you say. I’m heading straight to Valderma.”

At Ian’s firm declaration that he would leave the capital entirely, utterly fed up with their mother, Charlotte laughed out loud.

The twins were frighteningly alike—even in temperament. They were always warm and elegant on the surface, yet arrogant and fastidious at heart, true to their royal blood.

If there was a difference, it was that the younger twin was more easygoing.

“But hiding in Valderma won’t save you from portraits of princesses.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Ian asked, frowning slightly.

“Well, you just refuse ruthlessly and move on. Look at me—I’ve held out for four years already.”

Cruelly enough, women had something called a “marriageable age.”

Even princesses were no exception. Charlotte had been hounded by portraits of princes since before she came of age. It was a wonder she had lasted this long.

“Well done. Please continue to forget your duties as a princess. Edward probably hopes you will.”

Ian, too, did not wish for Charlotte—his soulmate—to marry. A princess’s marriage usually meant becoming part of another country.

“Thanks, even if it’s just words. Anyway, if we’re like this, imagine how badly His Highness the Crown Prince is being harassed.”

Edward, two years older than them, was ruthlessly rejecting every proposed match. Everyone was watching closely to see whom the Crown Prince of Grand Batten intended to marry.

Charlotte paused in front of the drawing room door.

“Oh, Edward’s been here for two days now. He seems to have something on his mind. He said he wanted to talk to us.”

“Edward?”

Charlotte nodded, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Edward had never once shown weakness or confided his worries to his younger siblings. He had always handled everything alone—and never disappointed anyone.

That had always left Charlotte with a sense of regret, and she found herself quietly hopeful.

Maybe he’s finally ready to lean on us.

But that hope didn’t last long.

Her blunt older brother hadn’t summoned them for advice—he had summoned them to deliver a notice.

“I love Eris. I have since the moment I first saw her. I’m going to marry her.”

A bomb dropped from Edward’s lips.

…Eris?

Was he talking about their cousin—the former Crown Princess of Hainsnover—Eris, who had been divorced not long ago?

Ian and Charlotte nearly set their teacups down at the same time.

“Mother, the House of Lords, the Cabinet, and the Church will all oppose it. They’ll tell me a divorced woman cannot sit on the throne and pressure me to give up my right of succession.”

Damn it. That was the Eris in question.

Charlotte’s lips slowly parted. She couldn’t understand what on earth her obstinate brother was saying.

So this is why Edward has been wrecking every marriage proposal that came his way.

And Eris’s problem wasn’t just that she was divorced. The official reason for the divorce was that she had failed to produce an heir for five years—a tremendous disgrace.

“I’m prepared to give up my right to the throne.”

“…He’s lost his mind.”

Charlotte muttered sharply without realizing it.

Indeed. Ian couldn’t have agreed more.