Ch16. Tonight, I’ll Go

Addie heard the question, but she did not look up right away.

She simply sat there and folded her hands lightly over her knees, as if the motion helped her think first before she spoke.

A bird called somewhere outside. Far away. The sound slipped through the crack of the window, then disappeared.

“I don’t know,” she said. Her voice was very even. So even that it sounded as though she were speaking about someone else’s life. “But I do know one thing. Someone who truly wants to reject a person does not send something three days later.”

When she finished, she lowered her eyes again. She did not continue. Did not question her.

It was as though she had said only what needed saying and left the rest of the road for the other person to walk alone.

The room stayed quiet for a while. Addie’s gaze slowly lifted from her knees and settled on the princess’s face. Then on the hands rubbing over the wax seal. Then, very gently, on the faint shadows beneath her eyes. Those shadows had deepened over the past three days.

Deep enough that each morning, when Addie helped her dress, she had needed an extra layer of powder to conceal them. She had never mentioned it. Just as she had left many other things unspoken. She stood. Picked up the bowl of porridge. Walked over.

Then crouched down directly in front of the princess until they were at the same eye level. She placed the bowl where the princess could easily reach it. Then stayed there. Still crouching. Looking directly at her. Addie’s gaze was unusually straight.

Nothing like the lowered eyes and obedient manner she normally wore while serving. It was the look of someone who had temporarily set aside the role of “maid” and become simply a person who had known the princess for a very long time. “These three days…”

Her voice dropped lower.

Almost as though she meant the words only for this room. “Your Highness hasn’t tasted anything you eat. You haven’t really slept. You go out and say you’re fine, come back and say you’re fine, and you’ve had me send word to your tutor three times that you were unwell…”

She paused.

“I don’t know what happened that night,” she continued. “And I don’t need to know.”

“But the way you’ve been these three days does not look like someone who was rejected and is ready to let go.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the letter. Then returned to the princess’s face.

“That letter,” she said at last. “It has been sitting here for so long that perhaps it knows the answer better than I do.” She set the porridge down properly. Stood again. Returned to the small chair.

Lowered her head. And became Addie again. The one who did not ask.

Did not hurry. Simply stayed. The letter was still in the princess’s hands. The wax seal was still the same deep red. Sunlight illuminated it clearly.

It looked like something that had already waited so long it no longer minded waiting a little more. And it could wait. Just like the man who had written it. He could wait. At Addie’s words, Anna lowered her head. The letter had been rubbed and crumpled so much that it was far more wrinkled than when it first arrived.

A little more and it might tear.

“But I… I’m scared…” Her voice shook. “I don’t dare open it…” For the first time in days, tears slipped from her eyes.

It was not dramatics. It was the feeling of having had her dignity swept onto the floor once already and not wanting to watch it happen a second time.

She had no idea what the letter said.

But the fear of it still felt unbearably heavy. Addie watched the tear fall. She did not speak. Did not immediately offer a handkerchief.

Did not say, “Don’t cry.” She simply watched quietly. Let the tear fall.

Let it land on the already crumpled letter. Beside the deep red wax. Let it fall exactly where it needed to. She waited for a while. Then she took a neatly folded handkerchief from her sleeve. Walked over. Placed it gently into the princess’s hand. She did not wipe the tears for her.

She simply gave it to her. Let her decide whether to use it. And when. Addie sat down on the edge of the bed. Closer this time.

Close enough that only the width of one turned body remained between them.

She lowered her head. Did not look at the princess’s face. She simply sat there. Like a low wall with no intention of moving. Quietly shielding one side of her. “Being afraid is right,” she murmured softly. “So softly that the words nearly dissolved into the room.

“No one has their heart pulled tight and feels no fear.” She paused. “But, Your Highness…” Her voice remained low. “Dignity is not something other people keep for you.” “It belongs here.”

“To you.” “Whatever happened that night, it came from your own heart.” “You chose it.” “Following your own heart has never been something shameful.” Only then did she slowly raise her head.

Turn her face slightly.

Look at the letter in the princess’s hands. Her gaze was gentle. Like someone who had no intention of deciding for that letter, but was willing to speak on its behalf. “It was already on its way before dawn,” she said. Her tone was calm. Like stating something she had quietly observed for a long time.

“That man brought it while it was still dark.”

She lowered her head again. Looked back at her own knees. “I understand being afraid to open it,” she said at last. “But the letter is only sitting there.”

“It won’t bite you.” “The worst answer it could hold is the one you already believe you know.” “But if you never open it…” She paused. “Your Highness, you have already made yourself suffer for three days.” After that, Addie said nothing more.

She simply remained sitting beside her on the bed.

No urging. No movement.

She let the silence take shape around them. A silence large enough for someone to finish crying.

Then decide what to do next. The sunlight outside shifted slightly.

The beam entering the room moved with it. Until it fell directly across the center of the letter.

Every crease from her hands became clearly visible. And beneath the wax seal, the four words pressed inside waited just as clearly. All she had to do was open it.

Anna quietly cried for a while. Then her hands moved. Still trembling. But moving. Slowly. She was opening the letter. Breaking the wax seal. Yes. The worst that could happen was only what had happened three days ago.

She had already been rejected.

What else was there left to fear so much? Once the seal was broken, Anna stopped. For several seconds.

Those few seconds looked almost as though she had changed her mind.

But she had not. She was only preparing herself. She unfolded the paper along its creases. Slowly. As though retracing every fold Jeffery had made, only in reverse. Tonight, I’ll be here.

The words entered her eyes the moment the paper opened. What did that mean?

He was always at Number Three, Ceylan Street. Every night. Why would he need to tell her specifically? Anna stared for a while. Addie watched her face the entire time. From the instant the seal came away. Through those few seconds of hesitation.

Through the slow movement of her fingers unfolding the paper.

All the way to the moment the letter lay open. Addie did not read the words. She watched the princess’s eyes. Those eyes settled on the paper. Stayed there for several seconds. Then stopped.

Stopped at the place where the thought became: What does this mean? Her brows drew together faintly. It was the expression of someone reading something too short. So short that she could not immediately understand how much weight it carried.

Addie spoke softly. “How many words?” She asked very quietly. Not because she wanted to pry.

It was the kind of question meant only to nudge the princess’s thoughts forward. Like opening a door a crack for someone who had stood too long in a dark room.

Addie already had a rough idea of what the letter contained. A letter sent before dawn.

A plain wax seal. Something that made a man wait three days, then pick up a pen before the sky was even light. A man like that would not write much.

The more tightly someone held himself in, the shorter his words became. Short enough to read in a glance. Then turn over in the mind for a very long time. She waited for the princess to answer.

Waited for that stunned expression to slowly begin peeling apart the weight of those few words.

Layer by layer. He had never sent a letter saying:

I’ll be here. He had never said: Come. She had always gone to him. Every time. She had been the one to seek him out. He had simply been there. Always there. Never asking. Never saying it. This was the first time.

He had said it. He had written it down. Sent it out in the dark. Not as an answer.

Not as a response.

But as the first thing he had sent after breaking the silence himself. Tonight, I’ll be here. Not: I’m always here. Not: I’m here every night. He had deliberately told her: Tonight, I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting for you.

Addie did not say any of that aloud. She only sat there. Watching the princess’s face. Watching the faint crease between her brows. Waiting for it to slowly ease. After reading it, Anna folded the letter again.

Along the original lines. Then she stared into nothing for a while. “He said he’ll be there tonight.” The words suddenly left her mouth. She did not look at Addie. It sounded more like something she was saying to herself.

But what did that mean?

What was she supposed to do? What else did he want from her?

The thought suddenly climbed into Anna’s mind. Carrying irritation. The irritation of not understanding what the other person wanted. Of wondering whether he was playing with her. “What exactly does he want?” She said it through clenched teeth. As though suppressing the anger of the past three days.

And also suppressing the feelings that those four words were already pulling back to the surface.

The second part was far more embarrassing.

Addie heard the words: “What exactly does he want?” She did not answer immediately. She heard the gritted teeth. Heard the irritation being held down. And beneath it, she heard another sound. Much softer than the anger. So soft that the princess herself probably would not admit it existed.

But Addie heard it. She sat quietly for two seconds. Then spoke. Her voice was even. As though discussing the matter from the outside. “He didn’t write much,” she said. “Only four words.” She paused. “Someone who truly wanted to play with you would not write only four words.” Her tone stayed level. Like a ruler without sharp edges. Precise. But never cutting.

“If he wanted to charm you or make you uncertain, he could have written a great deal.” “He could have said any number of beautiful things.” “But he wrote four words.” “Four words that explain nothing.” “Clarify nothing.” “They only tell you that he’ll be there.” Her gaze lowered slightly. “A person like that…” She continued.

“Isn’t playing with you.” “He simply doesn’t know how to say it.” “So he only said the thing underneath everything else.” She stopped there.

Did not continue. Then stood. Walked to the window. Adjusted the curtain so the light would not fall too directly into the room. Softened the atmosphere. It was a movement she made every morning. Natural. Ordinary.

As though it meant nothing at all. “As for tonight…” She spoke with her back still turned to the princess.

Her voice so light it seemed the wind had carried half of it away. “Your Highness can decide for yourself.” Then she turned. Returned to the small chair. Sat. Picked up the bowl of porridge again. Offered it to the princess for a second time.

Closer now. Close enough that even if the princess refused it, she would still have to look at it.

“Drink the porridge first,” Addie said. Her gaze was calm.

“Whether you go or not is a decision for today.” “Drinking the porridge is something for now.” Then she simply held the bowl there. Waiting. Not urging. But not withdrawing it either.

Like someone who had temporarily folded away every enormous question and chosen first to protect the warm bowl directly in front of her.

Anna looked at the porridge Addie was holding out.

Then accepted it. She did not understand why. Perhaps she simply did not want to admit it. Those four words had given her some appetite back.

So she slowly drank the first mouthful.

There was still time before evening. She could think about it slowly. For now, the most important thing was to finish the porridge. Addie watched her take the bowl. Watched her lower her head.

Watched her drink the first mouthful. She said nothing. Only kept the image quietly inside her mind.

For three days, every time she brought porridge in, the princess had drunk it with empty eyes.

As though completing a task. Without warmth. Today’s first mouthful was different. Addie gently moved her gaze away. Back to her own knees. Something shifted faintly at the corner of her mouth. So faintly that even if the princess looked up at that exact moment, she might not have been sure what she had seen.

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At Number Three, Ceylan Street, Jeffery knew none of this. He sat by the window. He did not know the letter had already been received. Did not know it had been crumpled. Did not know someone had cried because of it before finally opening it. Did not know how those four words had landed in her eyes.

Or what they had relit once they entered her. He only knew that the letter had been sent. The rest was something he could neither wait his way through nor control.

So he took that waiting and folded it back into the shape seven years of wandering had taught him. Set it inside his chest. Pressed it down.

Let it sink. Down beneath the fire that had already been burning there for more than twenty days.

Let it remain with that fire. No hurry. No urging. Simply there. He stood. Pushed the window open a crack. Let the morning air enter. Let the wind pass through everything that had been circling in his mind since dawn.

Then he removed his coat and hung it properly. Returned to the table. Spread the map out again. Picked up his pen. And traced the southern mountain road from the beginning once more. He wanted to check every detail they might need after tonight. The repaired gap in the stone wall— had it dried completely? He would measure it again.

The chestnut horse he had watched longest at the horse market— was it still there today? He would check. And that road. Turn right at the fork. Forty paces. Then it disappeared behind the bend. Before nightfall, he wanted to walk over every stone in it himself. Know it beneath his feet.

So that when he stood beneath the light at Number Three, Ceylan Street waiting for her tonight, the thing settled inside his chest would be solid.

Not empty. His head remained lowered. The tip of the pen moved over the map.

The crease between his brows had returned. But it was different now. Not the crease from three days ago.

Not the kind that came from being caught at a gap in the problem with no answer.

This was the expression of someone who had spent a long time solving something.

Who had finally received the last condition.

And was now checking the final lines of his work.

Tonight.

He let the word sit lightly in his mind. So lightly that it almost felt as though placing it down too heavily might break it.

Then he lowered his eyes again.

Returned to the map. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

After finishing the porridge, Anna lay back down. Her lessons had been cancelled again today.

So she could finally sleep for a while. But what had his letter meant? Was he saying he would come tonight? Or that she should go to him? She did not know. And part of her, out of spite, did not want to know. At least she would wait until the Hour of the Rooster.

If he did not appear by then, she would decide whether to go see him herself. Or whether to never see him again.

She thought about it. And thought. Until at last she fell asleep. The first time in three days she truly slept. When Addie carried the tray away, the princess’s eyes were already closed.

She paused at the door and looked back once. Her breathing had slowed.

It was different from the shallow, broken sleep of the past three days.

This time, she had truly sunk into it. The sleep of someone whose body had finally agreed to loosen after setting down something that had been left hanging for too long. Addie gently closed the door. Stood in the corridor. Looked down at the tray in her hands. The porridge bowl was empty. Something moved faintly at the corner of her mouth again. Then she turned toward the kitchen. Her footsteps very light.

Like someone unwilling to let any sound disturb the morning. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ Jeffery went out twice that day. In the morning, he went to the eastern wall of the city. Walked to the section where the lime mortar had been repaired. Stopped. Rolled one sleeve of his coat up slightly. Turned sideways and passed beside the gap. Pressed his palm to the wall and measured it again.

The new lime had hardened completely. The gap had narrowed by nearly two finger-widths since the last time he measured it.

He stored the number in his mind. Lowered his sleeve. Turned. Left. That afternoon, he went to the horse market. The chestnut horse was still there. He stood in front of the stall for a quarter of an hour.

Did not ask the price. Only watched. The structure of its legs. Its eyes. The way it moved when the seller made it walk. Steady. Not restless. The kind of temperament suited for mountain roads. At last, he fixed a number in his mind.

Nodded once. And left.

By evening, he was back on Ceylan Street. He ate his first proper meal of the day beside Mrs. Ge’s stove. Then went upstairs. Tidied the room. Nothing dramatic. He only moved the sword somewhere easier to reach. Rolled the map and weighted it down in the corner.

Placed the letter opener back against his chest.

Then sat beside the window. The sky was slowly darkening. Pale gold. Deep orange. Dark blue. As the color changed, the outline of the castle became clearer. Heavier. Like a quiet weight sinking into twilight. Jeffery watched it. Did not move. He did not know whether she had received the letter. Did not know what expression she had made when she read it.

Did not know whether she would come tonight. He knew none of it. And none of it could be calculated. So he did not calculate it.

He had always been that way.

He only knew that he had said: Tonight, I’ll be here.

So he was here. He fastened the collar of his coat. Placed both hands flat on his knees. Palms down. The lamp was not yet lit. He sat in the room as darkness slowly blurred the edges of his figure.

The last light outside the window rested across his face.

Across the eyes looking toward the castle. The fire inside those eyes burned deeper in the fading evening than ever before. Steadier. Clearer. He waited. More quietly than he had during those three days. And with more certainty. Because three days ago, he had not known whether he should send the letter.

Now it had already been sent.

Already delivered. It was the last step that belonged to him. The remaining step did not.

So he sat beside the darkening window.

Let the night over Ceylan Street slowly gather the room into itself.

Let the old blacksmith’s final hammer strike fade in the distance.

Let the sound of Mrs. Ge lighting lamps downstairs drift upward through the floorboards. Let the city move from evening into night.

Slowly. Quietly. He was here. Once Anna fell asleep, she slept deeply.

Perhaps the stone in her heart had finally dropped after receiving the letter. And she dreamed.

She dreamed of an unremarkable little wooden house. Dreamed of Jeffery standing beside the bed, drawing open the curtains.

Gently calling her awake.

And when the Anna in the dream woke— the real Anna woke too.

Outside, the sky had already gone dark.

The Hour of the Rooster had passed. She sat up. Remembered that she had apparently given herself some kind of condition.

If she did not see him by the Hour of the Rooster, then she would either go find him herself or refuse to see him again and let everything end there.

Now she was hesitating.

But also waiting for another possibility. Perhaps he would sneak into the palace. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ The Hour of the Rooster had passed. Jeffery knew.

He did not look at anything to confirm the time. He simply felt it. The sounds of the city had changed. The market voices were gone. There were fewer carts.

The old blacksmith had stopped working long ago.

Only one or two people crossed the street from time to time. The dull daytime thud of footsteps on stone had changed into the clearer, echoing sound that belonged only to night. He sat by the window. The lamp was lit now.

A small pool of yellow light pressed his shadow against the wall. Still. Motionless.

He was not counting the hours. But he knew. Just as he had known during those three days that no letter had come from her. Tonight he knew clearly that the Hour of the Rooster had passed. That the darkness had deepened. That the stairway at Number Three, Ceylan Street was still quiet.

His right hand rested on his knee.

Knuckles downward against the fabric of his trousers.

Still. The letter opener rested against his chest. He could feel its weight. For the past few days, that weight had become a kind of confirmation.

Confirmation that something was real.

That the thing he had walked seven years searching for was not merely a dream. Now he was confirming something else too. That he was still here. That he had said he would be here tonight. So he was.

Whether she came or not. Another hour passing would not change that fact. But his ears were listening. That was something he could not stop doing.

A habit worn into him by seven years of sleeping in unfamiliar places and waking alert.

His entire body could appear completely still. But his hearing remained open. Separating every faint sound. That was a cat on the street.

That was Mrs. Ge turning over downstairs. That was the night watchman somewhere far in that direction. That was the wind knocking a loose board in some alley.

No knock.

No familiar footstep. No smell of lime dust.

No figure he always caught in the edge of his vision whenever he raised his head toward the stairs. Jeffery moved his gaze away from the window. Lowered his head. Watched the lamp flame tremble almost imperceptibly in the still air. Then steady itself again.

He thought of the dream.

The one that had returned every time he closed his eyes throughout those seven years.

There had been no clear face. Only a silhouette. Only some feeling he could never explain. Like someone standing by a window somewhere, waiting for him to return. Waiting for a long time. Quietly. Never complaining. Back then, he had not known whose silhouette it was.

Now he did.

He pressed that knowledge once inside his chest.

Down beneath the fire still burning there. Then lifted his head again. Returned his gaze to the night beyond the window.

The castle stood black and heavy against the darkness. A few points of light shining through it like stars he could count.

He waited.

Not because he was certain she would come. Because he had said he would be here. So he was.

To him, the logic was as clean as a theorem that required no explanation.

No conditions. No deadline. Simply: here. Only his thumb moved. Pressed lightly once against the place where the letter opener rested beneath his clothes. Once. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ The Hour of the Rooster had passed. Jeffery knew. He did not look at anything to confirm the time. He simply felt it. The sounds of the city had changed.

The market voices were gone. There were fewer carts. The old blacksmith had long since stopped working.

Only one or two people crossed the street now and then.

The dull daytime sound of footsteps on stone had become something clearer at night. Sharper. Echoing. He sat beside the window. The lamp was already lit. A faint yellow glow pressed his shadow against the wall. Still. Unmoving.

He had not counted the hours. But he knew. Just as he had known for those three days that no letter had come from her. Tonight he knew clearly that the Hour of the Rooster was past. That the darkness had deepened another layer. That the staircase at Number Three, Ceylan Street remained silent. His right hand rested on his knee. Knuckles down against his trousers.

Motionless.

The letter opener rested against his chest. He could feel its weight. For the past several months, that weight had served as a kind of confirmation. That something was real.

That the thing he had spent seven years pursuing was not merely a dream.

He was confirming something now too. That he was still here. That he had said: Tonight, I’ll be here. And so he was. Whether she came or not. Another passing hour would change nothing. But his ears listened. That was a habit he could not abandon. Seven years of sleeping in strange places, waking alert, had carved it into him. His entire body looked still. But his hearing remained open. Separating every tiny sound.

A cat in the street.

Mrs. Ge turning over. A distant night watchman. Wind rattling a board somewhere in an alley. No knock. No familiar footsteps. No scent of lime dust.

No figure he always caught first in the corner of his eye whenever he looked toward the stairs. Jeffery looked away from the window. Lowered his head.

Watched the lamp flame quiver faintly in the unmoving air. Then steady itself. He remembered the dream. Not exactly a dream he had chosen. The dream that had returned every time he closed his eyes during those seven years. There had never been a clear face. Only a silhouette. Only a presence he could not explain. Like someone standing beside a window, waiting for him to come home.

Waiting a very long time. Quietly.

Never complaining.

Back then, he had not known who that silhouette belonged to. Now he knew. He pressed that knowledge down once inside his chest. Beneath the burning fire. Then raised his head again. Looked back into the night outside the window. The castle was black. Heavy. Lit here and there by a few points of light.

Like stars he could count.

He waited. Not because he was certain she would come. Because he had said he would be here. So he was. To him, the logic was as clean as a theorem requiring no explanation. No conditions. No deadline.

Simply: here. Only his thumb moved. Pressed lightly once against the place where the letter opener rested at his chest.

Only once.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ Anna remained still for a while.

And by the time she realized what she was doing, her body had already begun to move. She rose. Changed clothes. Took out the plain, unremarkable outfit she always wore whenever she slipped secretly out of the palace. She put it on.

Of course she still wanted to see him.

But this time—

she wanted to ask him properly. To make him tell her exactly what he wanted.