Chapter 97 – End-of-Year Season (4)

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, author."

"Haha, really?"

"Yes, the Crown Prince just couldn't stop bragging about you."

Princess Mary said this with a light glance at Crown Prince George. He gave a small cough and responded in a playful tone.

"Did I now? I just thought you'd like to hear about it..."

"Oh, I certainly did. But weren't you more excited to talk about it than I was?"

"Ahem."

The Crown Prince pretended to look away, though his gaze was clearly fixed on his wife. And in that gaze, unmistakably, was affection. A lot of it, too.

Anyone could see at a glance—they were a couple deeply in love.

It's rather amazing, really. They started in a political marriage, and it was originally arranged for her to marry his brother, yet they get along so well.

Watching them, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu. In some ways, Crown Prince George reminded me of a younger, more carefree Mr. Miller.

Of course, Princess Mary wasn't much like Mrs. Clara.

Both had soft, gentle voices, but where Clara felt a bit light and airy, Princess Mary carried a calm weightiness.

I had always been curious how my newly popular work ended up as the backdrop for a royal wedding. But seeing her personality now, I could understand. She had the kind of nature that could achieve what she wanted without raising her voice.

"Anyway, did you come to see the play today?"

"Ah, yes. It was quite enjoyable."

"It's a shame it's so different from the original, but it had its unique charm. A fine play, truly."

"Haha, thank you."

Well, it had been heavily adapted.

I nodded as I replied to Mary.

It reminded me of the time I collaborated with Lewis Carroll. Oscar Wilde, with his aestheticism, and my style honed through writing web novels, were like night and day.

Oscar Wilde added grand opera-like arias to each chapter's highlight, and at the climax, he even threw in a chorus and harmonies to give the dialogue more impact.

Honestly, I didn't know much about this side of things before, but I was amazed. Leave it to Oscar Wilde.

He'd boast, explaining how he'd adapted each part and what effect it would create. Even though I was a complete novice when it came to comedy, listening to him felt like a revelation.

"Hearing that, I'm sure Oscar Wilde, the adapter, would be pleased."

"Hmm, this Oscar Wilde—he's the one who uses this room?"

"Ah, yes, that's right."

I glanced around the adaptation room in response to the Crown Prince's words.

Truth be told, this room belongs more to a middle-aged man caught up in his world than to an actual adaptation studio. It smelled more like a bachelor pad.

Hmm... Should I have taken them somewhere more refined?

But all the theaters were busy, and the Crown Prince preferred quieter settings. This was the only place where we could have a conversation without attracting attention.

As for Oscar Wilde? He was busy somewhere else, probably being dragged around by Mr. Carté for introductions.

"Oh, it's not that this place is bad. I'm a former Navy man myself. I've lived in worse places than this. It reminds me of home."

"Ahem."

It was a rare sight.

Even Crown Prince George, so deeply in love with his wife, was showing a bit of stubbornness about this.

Now that I think about it, his home also had that quiet, unassuming, humble vibe.

"My issue is with the adaptation itself. Why did you feel the need to adapt it? And with someone like Oscar Wilde, no less?"

"Well, what can I say? When you come across such a goldmine, how could you not use it?"

Honestly, I knew nothing about opera. My experience with classical music was limited to what I'd heard in films and anime.

So how could I have taken charge of the adaptation? It's like the old saying—leave medicine to doctors and pharmacy to pharmacists.

But it seemed the Crown Prince hadn't fully accepted my reasoning.

"Isn't that just an excuse? You were just looking for an opportunity to relax, weren't you?"

"Ah, how did you know?"

I was genuinely startled when the Crown Prince revealed he already knew that my trip to France for "recuperation" had been a pretext for a break.

"Wait, how did you know about that?"

"Don't underestimate the royal family's intelligence network. We have eyes in places you'd never expect… Ow."

"Really, Your Highness," said Princess Mary, poking the Crown Prince in the thigh.

The idea of secret eyes... Hmm, now that I think of it, Britain is the birthplace of 007, James Bond. MI6 is a frequent subject of conspiracy theories, too.

It seems that while the organization might not officially exist yet, something covert was already happening behind the scenes.

Hmm... Maybe I should write a spy novel next.

But first, I need to focus on the celebrities right in front of me.

"Ahem. Well, even if it wasn't for recuperation, I had no choice but to take some time off to calm my readers. And while I was at it, I figured I'd catch up on the vacation I'd been missing."

"Hm. Vacation is certainly important. But if that was your plan, why didn't you come to York? I've been wanting to show you my home."

"Haha. Next time, for sure."

I said that, but it probably wouldn't be easy.

I mean, how could I? Even if he is laid-back, visiting a royal's home casually? What kind of nerve would that take?

I don't want to. I just want to live quietly and peacefully.

"Thanks to that, I had to come all the way here myself. Reflect on that."

"Ahem. I'm sorry about that, but… to be honest, if you're going to be king, don't you think it's necessary to occasionally visit the capital and see how your people live? In Joseon, we call that an amhaeng—a secret trip."

And with that, I launched into stories about Yi Seong-gye eating seonggyetang and King Sukjong meeting a geomancer.

Of course, I'd learned all of this from internet memes, but since they were stories about royalty, the Crown Prince and Princess seemed to find them entertaining.

Great, I successfully changed the subject.

Or so I thought.

"Waaah!"

"Oh dear, Edmund."

Princess Mary rushed over to baby Edmund, who had started crying from where he lay on the bed.

Oh, has it already been that long?

I quickly picked up on Princess Mary's subtle hint and stood up.

"Well then, Your Highness, it's been a pleasure."

"What? Leaving already?"

"Yes, I have some things to take care of as well."

"Hmm... I see. Then next time, you must come to York. Promise me."

"Haha. Yes, I'll try to, if the opportunity arises."

"Mary, shall we then...?"

"One moment, Your Highness..."

I stepped outside to give the couple some time with their child.

"Hm. That aside..."

That bed—wasn't it the one Oscar Wilde used?

I hope His Majesty-to-be doesn't pick up any strange habits.

***

—So, this is the Academia library.

—Yes, if it's Lys, she'll definitely know where Excalibur is!

The actor playing Peter nodded and started walking.

Technically, the actor playing Peter was just walking in place while the other actors, playing the roles of fairies, moved around him, but even that was enough to bring the small stage to life.

And then, in the library, they arrived at:

—Shall I tell you the legend tied to this place?

A child with androgynous features and fairy wings sang a solo aria in a delicate voice.

—A secret lake buried in the deepest depths.

—The dwelling place of a great fairy.

—Where the betrayed king dreams an eternal dream.

—A distant utopia where time has stopped.

An old woman in the box seats watched the young singer with sparkling eyes.

At that age, to have such flawless vocal control, such perfect rhythm!

Even compared to the Vienna Boys' Choir she'd seen before, the child was not lacking in any way.

—The sword buried there will shine brighter than thirty torches combined!

—It will reveal those hidden in shadow and burn the wraiths with its brilliant flames!

Quite a promising future.

The old woman nodded. But despite that, the role they were playing was Liss, the least popular character.

In her opinion, this child was the best performer on stage right now.

'Must have lost out in the competition.'

If it wasn't about talent, then it had to be something else—perhaps the child's family background.

The old woman felt the urge to offer her patronage. After all, if this was the talent she had been searching for to lead the cultural future of the British Empire, a few pounds would be a small price to pay.

—Thank you, Liss.

—It's nothing, Peter. I pray for your safe return.

'Hm. They resemble each other.'

The elderly woman, lost in thought, glanced at the pamphlet she had picked up at the entrance of the theater. Though the print was small, the cast names were discernible.

Peter: Sydney Chaplin.

Irruril: ...

...

...

Lys: Charlie Chaplin.

"Chaplin, is it?"

Brothers, perhaps?

The elderly woman tilted her head in curiosity but decided to put the matter aside for now. She would have Captain Lace look into it later.

"Ah, I've done it again," she sighed internally.

Her habit of thinking about work—or somehow connecting everything back to it—was one of her less desirable traits. Some might even call it an occupational hazard.

After all, wasn't it work that had taken up all her precious time, even prompting her to refuse the invitation from her grandson and his wife to join them?

But for now, she needed to focus on the play.

Her gaze returned to the stage, watching the children as they moved about, and she gave the performance her full attention once more.

"Hmm... impressive."

The quality was remarkably high. She had heard that the owner of the Savoy Theater had put considerable effort into this production, and it certainly showed.

The original story was something she was already familiar with. But the children's novel Peter Perry and the Fairy Forest had always been a bit too whimsical, targeted primarily at young readers, making it less enjoyable for adults.

Yet, this play was different. Thanks to Oscar Wilde's adaptation, his focus on aesthetic beauty, and the fairies' allure, the lines and direction gained a powerful intensity.

"So he hasn't lost his touch, even after all that time locked away writing," she mused.

His talent was undeniable. A rare gem, truly.

She had chosen to leave him be, too messy to get involved with. But in hindsight, it was fortunate that the rebellious young man from the East had discovered this diamond in the rough, or rather, in the muck.

The music, too, was well-coordinated, adding depth to the performance. It had a more refined harmony, reminiscent of Austrian or German compositions, far superior to what was typically second-rate in England.

In short, it was sophisticated.

Even her discerning ears found delight in the sound.

"The composer is Richard Strauss, isn't he?" 

Her eyes sparkled with recognition.

She had heard of him before, particularly his spectacular failure in Germany. But if he succeeded here in England… Perhaps England could once again become the "Mother of Music."

Just as that thought crossed her mind—

Clap, clap, clap, clap!

"Oh dear."

Her thoughts had distracted her, and she'd missed part of the play. The curtain was rising again.

Fortunately, it was just the intermission.

Relieved, she considered asking Captain Lace to fetch her a drink. This box seat, though luxurious, was a bit warm, wasn't it?

Of course, it would be cool by most people's standards.

But before she could act on her thoughts, they were interrupted.

"Excuse me, is that... Mrs. Alexandrina?"

"Hm?!"

Behind her, a tactless East Asian man, speaking with the distinct accent of a colonial, had approached her.