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🕯️ ⋮ The Edge of Royal Promises

synopsis. your county has fallen into whirlwind of tensions after the war, many are counting their luck in overtaking the missing crown prince'w place. as the eldest daughter of the royal family there is an immense weight on your shoulder to bring in more stability to your country – the only problem? there is this charming prince from the end of the continent that turns out to be both the solution and an unpredictable variable that might cause it all to come falling down.

paring(s). yoon jeonghan x f!reader

genre(s). non-idol au, royalty au, romance, angst, drama

warning(s). non-major characters death, period according misogyny, (breif) mentions of war, aftermath of war, tone is heavily regency period-like (which means historical icky things that are not cool (but nothing too drastic)), religious symbols but not too much, they are in a church at some point but nothing happens

wc. 5.6k

a/n. I had this in drafts for a while... I will make a masterlist later, but this is a part one of bigger passion project so bare with me (lot of non-jeonghan related yapping)

The soft breeze infused with the final burst of summer’s heat brushes against your cheek, rustling against the fallen strands of your hair. Caressing your skin in a futile attempt to warm you up. You don’t have any intention of closing the window to chase away the night's chill, and with it, the peaceful sight in front of you.

The view of an angelic beauty that is looking far out in the distance of the night, shining under the cascading flames of burning candles. One of his knees stood relaxed below his elbow, one leg spread onto the window’s seat while the other was dangling by the sill. Despite his posture being the most brazen–there was silent grace in his expression, almost serene despite the chaos that is lying in the wake of both the past and the future.

Perhaps instead of writing letters you should be writing poems to make this moment last forever but you will settle with eching it in your memory. Afraid to leave a material trace of this night, of a moment that isn’t drawn from desperation nor fear but stillness of being alive right now.

You tear your focus back on the drying ink, lifting your pen and dabbing it back into endless darkness. Words come to your mind harder than usually do, but like a string of coherence wraps around your hand you manage to finish the letter. One of many you have sent but as the wax drips onto the paper envelope you wonder if this time the words even transfer a grain of your feelings.

The seal is pressed, finality present only in your movements.

You chose to ignore the way he is staring at you, and in some twisted way you are glad even if the contents decorating the paper makes little sense at all–he would never know what they are.

It will always be yours, and perhaps if the person receiving it ever decides to open it will be theirs too.

You hear the slow tap of his feet as he approaches you, brushing the flyaway strands behind your ear, fingertips hovering above the skin below your ear for a short breath, before retreating.

‘He will read it, I assure you that it will be taken care of.’

An assuring promise or an attempt of pacification? Perhaps if it was months ago you would call it an empty promise filled with intentions of keeping you mellow and pliable but now you can only hope it’s an affirmation of fate yet to follow.

The walls of the castle were always cold, they might be draped with rich purple curtains that go from floor to ceiling, decorated by the finest of paintings, golden ornaments and precious china, but they will always be cold. Even the floor you walk on, despite your heels being silenced by carpet you are sure traveled a long way just to be stepped on by the royal family and those close enough to dare think of themself important enough to join them at the dining hall, was in some eerily senseless way cold enough that it sends shivers down your spine.

The sound of heavy door opening is far from pleasant, it carries some kind of importance that for you fizzled out long ago. You step into the room, not bothering to look at around the grandiose display of wealth that it was decorated with instead your gaze lands on the long rectangular table, the dark cherry wood peaking under the pure white tablecloth with decorative golden embroidery that you trace when the conversations become too dull for your brain to handle. But despite the compelling sense in your deep consciousness telling you to just leave you brave yourself into a curtsy, albeit as an attempt to prolong not having to look at their faces just yet.

‘Bright is the rising of the sun when the whole family is here, may peace and prosperity ever walk beside you, a fair morning to you, father, mother.’

The greeting you present might me soulless in essence and perhaps you share no the same sentiments you speak of, but you smile, offering it like a sweet peace offering for your tardiness.

Your father nods, ushering for you to sit down, and you feel dread fill in your stomach when he positions you right of him. Your gaze lays on your mother’s face, studying her almost passive face, the gems don’t brighten up her complexion as they usually do, they appear like ornaments on a porcelain doll with how pale her face is. The Queen meets your eyes for a long moment as you sit down, offering an empty smile, you know it holds some warmth, like ash after fire then went out, but not enough to ease your shivering.

‘Ah my sweet child, may the day find you in grace, aren’t you adored just lovely today’

An attempt was made for some sense of normalcy and you can appreciate it even for a short minute, ‘Thank you mother, the season of new blooms is upon us, brighter colors would make it come more swiftly? Or perhaps I read too many poems of springtide that I just cannot but immerse myself in it’

‘Bright? Poems?’ The King’s voice was nothing but void of affection, as he recites the words shaped like questions you dare not answer. ‘You must not find favor of acts such of those in time like these’

‘Times like these? Pray tell Your Majesty, what meaning those words hold, for the clock is ticking in the same way it was the day before.’ You know that asking in such a direct way seems rude, especially to a man of importance, and you can feel the worried glances and even feel the clutch of your youngest sister's little fingers on your dress.

‘Play not a fool when great matters are at hand, the Heir is at front lines and we have lost any semblance of knowledge of his return, a circumstance unbecoming of one tasked with weight of the crown.’

‘A misfortune befalls us’ Your mother says, hiding her face into a handkerchief, and you can grip the small hand on your lap, least of comfort you can offer to the innocent ones yet the most you can right now.

‘A misfortune born of negligence and folly.’ Yet the King doesn’t let down, words spiteful, said in a rushed movement of clinking the wine glass as he took and drank from it. Staring down on the now empty silver cut, like the answer to his troubles was written on the bottom, but he is just falling deeper instead.

‘Folly or not, such somber discourse is unfit to be led over morning meal your Majesty, might I inquire about your thoughts of moving with this proceeding?’

‘What wisdom do you carry princess? What declares you brave to utter such inquiries.’ He chuckles, throaty and lifeless, you hold in a gag from sheer discomfort the sound brings you.

‘What ill design lies behind such a bitter fate of my reign, my only son is lost, fallen to a sword of fiend.’

It was undoubtedly true his reign wasn’t one of peace but it was one of connections, trades and more than just smart deals, he was more of a merchant than a king, it was unfortunate too that he wasn’t the smartest of the merchants. You thank your brother a lot in the same way you pity him, at least he has a good head on his shoulder the one that keeps him out ill deals but he also has a good heart that forces him into most of complicated ones, then again you are sure both of these cases are affected equally by both the head and the heart.

‘The Crown Prince can still be breathing under the same sky, may it be a rainy day for him but all is not lost,’ you answer, and your father’s eyes finally meet yours instead of just plainly staring into the silver of nothingness. His gaze was sharp and calculating yet you don’t turn your head away, even when you hear her weep, not when you hear your middle sister's steps as she runs towards your mother to comfort her, it’s only then when you realize she is weeping, yet you don’t flatter not even when your youngest sister climbs in your lap.

Your words were supposed to offer comfort, you told them many times to ladies whose finances were on the battlefield, to older women who come to your mother’s salons, saddened for their missing sons. But you knew, even if it was true it didn't make the situation any easier, dead or not, he wasn’t here. And it seems the King already gave up on waiting for him, casting him aside as an afterthought, like a nuisance of an idea he had once.

‘Your mind is keen as a freshly sharpened knife that takes the last breath of the traitors, possessing a wit that matches wisdom beyond your years, your words flow like clearest rivers, easy to follow simply by precision of your touch on others with your verbal abilities alone. Must your understanding be so unshaken even in the hardest time, ’ he says deep in thought, and it’s almost like you can see the cogs turning in his head. He too doesn't spare a glance at your family members, but you know it is for a different reason than yours.

‘If only you were born as a son…’ , a pregnant pause followed by a dark chuckle, ‘Ah…you are right, not all is lost.’

‘Lord of worth would be more than suitable, should the providence, no even better of a deal, raise you to the throne, it would be brilliant, testament to your worth both in cradle in court! Our line shall persevere.’

‘Your majesty, do not jest she is only but near of her age! Bud yet not bloomed…’

Your mother's voice was nothing but unheard, the king just stands up from his chair and spears her a single glance.

‘An offer to become a wife to a lord that shall bear the weight of crown on his temples is the greatest gift a father could offer, do not weep woman, but prepare, in once the first flowers start to bloom she will too, she will come of age, early or not I shall not care. We must make sure we have a male heir no matter what, if by marriage so it be.’

You refuse to flinch under the pressure, you just hug your younger sister whose cheeks are wet and hands shaky, you doubt she understands the argument at all and in some way you wish she never does. You do not beg, do not cry, nor do you defend your mother, silent and pilent. You accept your fate and mutter a prayer for your older brother, for your sisters, for a miracle.

‘And don’t forget it is because of your incompetence we are here, you birthed a fool of a man, a weak insufficient prince who put shame on our name! And three daughters! The Lord must have mercy on the poor people of our kingdom so he gave one mind of a man, I hope He has enough pity to save us and find her a suitable husband.’

Your father hisses under his breath, spitting poison to shatter any kind of refusal from your mother.

‘We will postpone announcing his death until the engagement is done, and buy time to rally a decent support. Do not argue where it is not your place, woman.’

The door close behind him with a hard thrum, you know it isn’t from him, his hands never laid to open doors heavy as such.

Much like he never carried the actual weight of this kingdom.

The days, awaiting the season of awaking nature were long yet there was a sense of urgency among the people residing in the palace. Your gowns weren’t flowy anymore, the puffiness that lessened the hurt of playing around on grass was gone as the level of cleavage was suddenly an important thing to be accounted for to the tailors.

Suddenly gems you admired in your mother’s collection weren’t just for playing pretend with your sisters but to be worn, bit by bit you were being accepted as an adult and not a gifted child, and it was far from what you expected.

You were aware of it, the woman’s responsibilities, the duties of a noble lady and the tales told in whispers at ladies events, you sneaked in pretense of wanting to be part of them, but truly you simply had hunger to learn everything, and the more you knew the more the shape of the twisted world unruled before you.

Yet somehow it seemed bizarre in some placid, silent sense, nobody pushed nor pulled.

You walked the border carefully, asked the right questions so they never seemed too much but just enough for a curious princess, a bride to be to some man that wasn’t even decided before yet his hypothetical opinions, needs and preferences became the center of your world.

Your father doesn’t call you anymore, leaving it to your mother to shape you from a girl into a maiden, sometimes he would send in an advisor, some old priest who in your humble opinion was nothing but a fraud. He would tell you stories of men taking over their wives' thrones, about keeping the bloodline pure with your blood only. He spoke about power structure, and your small place in it, how even if you were some small speck of dust you must do your part. He came once every couple of days, yet you gave up on tracing the pattern so you could prepare for mind numbing lesions.

You never gave up on looking out of window every night, cold late winter air hitting your still chubby cheeks as you prayed, for your brother's return, for him to come in and celebrate your seventeenth spring, take you in his arms and assure you he got it all, that you can keep yourself buried between books and count petals in garden.

He didn’t come, even when you sneaked in his old study and read over his notes, now you could memorise all of them, tracing over his doodles, he didn’t come to scoop you in his lap and playfully scold you. He didn’t come even when you run out barefoot at the knights ground when some of the soldiers returned, his face nowhere to be seen, you were left to be assuaged by your maid, you added in another prayer that night, for him to still have a sparkle in his eyes no matter where he was.

The grass started to come out again, you can’t go barefoot over it anymore but you could watch your sisters run around and use the leftover snow to make small figures that melted under March’s sun, you soak it in, the domesticity of it, yet you usher them near the palace, you know it is less fun but you keep your eyes from glancing towards the entrance too much. Cloth too fancy for servants is the first thing you noticed, those people started appearing too far from the main building to be there for council, too close, too personal of glances sent your way. You stopped going there, pouring the melted snow over the flame of your curiosity before you could get burned. You just waited, patience was a virtue your mother preached about, and it was her who gave you the answers.

‘You…’ She stared off as you fixed your sister's hair, placing the fallen pins back into her hair. ‘Did you speak with any strangers as of late? On your walks that is…someone from outside, perchance?’

‘No mother, Suhyeon was demanding we go to church’s yard of late, she likes running around the field while I pray.’ You answer, wait a second before asking, as if to make conversation longer, natural even. ‘Why? Should I have done that? Have I missed greeting someone?’

‘No…no.’ She answers and you can feel her gaze on you, she is thinking it over, whatever to tell you, you know she will, she just needs to justify it first in her mind.

‘Just…new faces came, a foreign adversaries… Some of them are rather the lookers, thought you would be curious, haven’t you always had a knack for learning foreign languages, your teacher had been praising you.’

‘I am princess, they ought to praise out of courtesy.’ You let go of Suhyeon and she runs off, you know the moment she is out of the sight she will be pulling the ornaments you placed in her hair out, only to come back when she is scolded by the court ladies.

‘That is…don’t get witty with me,’ you give her your full attention, moving from the vanity table towards her. She stiffens visibly when you sit besides her on the sofa, the weight of your body falling into the blue cushions and creating a dent as you lean into her, she straightens up her posture when your face is close enough that you can see the wrinkle lines of her face, the deep set of her undereyes, and the rosy rouge she placed on her cheeks mere minutes ago clashes with lifeless complexion she been carrying since last winter.

‘You surely comprehend what I am saying, prepare for tomorrow and brush up your greetings. We will go to church, offer a prayer and…and introduce you to them.’ The words she mumbles out sound unsure but before you can ask her questions she stands up with hurriedness that makes it clear she is not debating this over with you.

She runs off in the same Suhyeon did, rushed and with a feeling of guilt for thing she is yet to do, you chose to ignore it and go to find your brother’s notes instead of yours, peaking for secrets in translations like you could summon him back if you read the foreign letters right, pronouncing the words like chants, you will pray tomorrow to be forgiven for your weak attempt of sacrilege.

You don’t feel guilty of it, not even as the church bells ring and nobles flock over to your mother to greet her. You step into the church’s courtyard, dragging your long dress with you, and you kind of wish that your sisters were a bit older so you could feel less alone among the heavy scent of mature perfumes that hit your face. Sunday is the only day the palace church is open to nobles without any permission needed, you never go to morning service on Sunday, only the night one, where there are only unmarried old ladies and widows praying in silence.

You wish for that silence as the many greetings are sent your way, all spoken in language of your own, yet you return them without any practice needed, smiling and hoping your eyes don’t give out the dread of memorising the names and connecting them to titles you already learned.

It is only after the service when you hear the foreign tongue twist a curse under their breath. In the candle-lit room where the prayers of the dead and alive alike are muttered, as you finish placing a candle for your brother on the top stand your ears pick it up, an airy lilt of the voice that despite the softness carries a undoubtedly a masculine tone.

You turn your head towards it, and you are met with a figure of a tall man. You tilt your head too, upwards to meet his dark eyes, trying to recognize the face but failing to do so, settling on hoping you haven’t met him before and withholding your greeting just yet as if to prolong the silence between the two of you.

He seems startled that you were there, it seems the service is still outgoing, but makes no move to leave the room or push further in it, standing still like a statue. Your eyes trace over his features carefully, the slight raise of his eyebrows, the longish black hair that is tucked away behind his ears catches your attention first then his lips, rosy from cold as they move.

‘Warm regards princess Suhyeon…’ He mumbles, voice sounding a bit awkward but the pronunciation is clear in a way you can see it is well-practiced, both the way he speaks your mother tongue and covers the awkwardness with a charming smile.

‘Suhyeon? I will be sure to send her regards in your way…Only if you give some to me too,’ you speak before you can process it, lips moving as you return the smile albeit with a bit of spark behind it. Something in you made you want to see his lips move into the shape of your name, so to hide your interest you fall down into a curtsy, that makes him move automatically into a deep bow.

‘Excuse me?’ He chuckles awkwardly, rising from the bow. ‘Princess Siyoon then? My apologies they sound quite the similar to me.’

‘Wrong again, third time the charm, as they say.’ You chuckle, but are fast to cover your mouth with your hand. And when he makes a grinning expression of realization dawning on his face your cheeks flush from the way his eyes light up and bows forward just slightly as in some soft apology without saying the words directly to you.

‘Ah…the crown princess then, I've been told you are more of a timid nature, and a bit older.’ He explains, addressing you by the title that makes you frown, is that how you are presented to outsiders, you wonder for a second.

‘Older?’ You ask, choosing to focus on the other part that is worth nitpicking, but your question is overlapped by familiar voices you recognize as your mother’s ladies in waiting. So you courtesy so lightly that is barely considered a courtesy, and you rush towards the entrance before they can see you converse with a man by yourself.

‘Ah sorry, let’s greet each other properly the next time, I hope to learn of your name too.’

You hear a second curse from him when you leave the room, also in his own language, now you are able to giggle freely, your mother was right, the curiosity in you would naturally be awakened if something or rather someone is out of your routine.

Your mother also holds in her curses but unlike the stranger you wish you had the name of, her expression is a different story. Sour like unripe grapes, you keep silent about the meeting, perhaps looking too forward for the satisfaction of learning about him on your own, there was always something in answering your own questions that is sweet, more sweet than the bitter tea you force down your throat as you try to pacify her.

After the church you are forced into a tea room, listening to your mother complain to other important women in the kingdom, you sit like a motionless doll on your mother’s side. Picking up an empty teacup third time in a row just so you could avoid commenting on new gossip.

‘You carry yourself with such composure, young princess. If I were a couple decades younger I would be fuming to be debuting in the same season as you are.’ The voice of a Marchondess rings in your ears as you focus back on the conversation on hand.

‘You are kind enough to say so, ma’am. Though, I am afraid I pale compared to stories that are mentioned next to your name, I can only but work towards such grace’

She laughs, the kind of laugh that makes your skin crawl from the facade that it presents. Other ladies add in compliments of their own and you can feel your mother beaming from pride, her mood bettering as she takes over the conversation. You fill in the uncomfortable gaps when you can, yet never speak long enough for those vultures of old nobles to sink their imaginative fangs into your neck, or to say, find too much about you.

‘Your conversations are as pleasant as you are my dear, must I comment, lucky is the drawing room that will have you as a guest and utmost lucky will be the household blessed with such charm, should they know of dullness with such a daughter.’ She continues on, the sweet words of praise spilling out of her red lips.

‘It is such a shame your older brother won’t be here to see it…well I truly hope he makes it in time for a wedding!’ The Duchess adds in, the older woman gleaming with what appears happiness yet the heaviness of your gaze makes you think the opposite.

‘Till the wedding? Please do not lament such things, my brother will be back before you know it. Last time, pardon my memory, but I think he wrote to father that he is recovering quite well, he even promised to be back before the winter solace.’

‘Winter solace? That is quite far.’

‘I am sure there is no need for me nor him to rush. After all I haven’t even had a proper event in society, courting takes time, doesn't it? And his grace, the crown prince said he would want to return fully healthy and celebrate the end of war, without leaving any regrets behind.’

The bitter smile overtakes her face, as she hides it with her gadgy fan. ‘His highness said so? Well it seems we will have many grand celebrations coming up?’

‘Indeed, I hope you attend most of it, for it would be a joy to speak with you again ma’am.’

Your corset is let loose when you meet him for the second time, three and half days later—not like you counted. You were chasing Siyoon, your youngest sister down the hallway into the room filled with what she says has a comfiest couch, her bubbly laugh filling in the space up to the painted ceiling of the gallery. The man is also there, wearing the same surprised expression when his admiration of the paintings that grace the walls is interrupted by a giggling ball with frills.

You clutch the ends of your dress tighter and catch your breath by the doorway, and just like before speak too fast, this time speaking his language, greedy part in you wanting to converse with him without anyone knowing what it was about, despite knowing your sister didn’t care enough to listen to your conversations.

‘Suhyeon appreciated the greetings as much as she does to the ornaments in her hair, tossed too fast. Apologies for that, I had no name to attach to it.’

‘Is that so..’ He says, and you are glad you spoke to him in his mother tongue, his voice is somehow deeper, it glides smoothly and there is no hesitation when the syllables form the words.

‘Is that her?’ He asks, tilting his head to the young princess who is fluffing out the small pillows on the couch before burning herself in them, disappearing in pale blue comfort.

‘No, that’s Siyoon. She still hasn’t learned her manners… Hope you don’t mind.’

‘Your pronunciation is amazing, have you travelled abroad before?’

‘No, I haven’t left the county, the daughters in the royal family can’t leave the palace until marriage.’

‘Oh…well, you must have had an amazing teacher, might I have know of his name?’

‘Too many to name but my elder brother taught me mostly. I hope you know of his name, he is the only male offspring in our family, so you have no one to confuse him with.’

In return of your articulated stab he shook his head, the fallen strands of his tied up hair falling before his eyes, he moved them away with a brush of his fingers.

‘You aren’t making this easy.’

‘Making what easy, your highness?’

‘You know of me? How?’

‘I don’t, I made a guess and was right, you hold yourself with importance only a royal offrisping would have. But it wouldn’t be hard to ask around either, I am sure you leave long lasting impressions on others the same way you did to me’

‘I left an impression?’ He tilts his head, the edges of his lips lifting up just slightly, as if to let you know he found satisfaction in your comment.

‘You called me old, it still stings.’

‘I haven’t…meant it in that way. Many praise you for your wisdom and wit so I assumed you would be at least past twenty winters, and well you…it is your springtime of…pardon my thoughts got better of me’

‘I see, how many winters have you lived then?’

‘One past twenty, this one shall be my twentieth one. I was born in autumn.’

‘Is that so?’

‘That is so.’

‘Your highness, how come you don’t have a servant with you?’

‘I may ask you the same’

‘This is the only place I've ever been in, remember? I know my way around and every servant can be considered as mine…you on the other hand. I find it strange you come to a gallery on the East, I am sure any servant would inform you the one on the West is the one that holds the most astounding of pieces.’

‘Perhaps I am here on a different quest?’

‘Is that so? Do share, I might be of help to fulfilling that quest.’

‘Must I? Please, it would be a shameful request on my part if I did…’

‘Oh my, if it raises such shame I must alarm the guards, you are in the presence of two young ladies…suddenly I worry what Siyoon will hear.’ You fake a gasp, as if to make a point.

‘Ah…no, don’t—’, he pauses, collecting his words, part of him believing you will come true at your previous threat of alerting the guards, ‘Dear Lord… I came to find you princess.’

‘Me? That’s awfully questionable your highness, even foreign royals are still guests on palace grounds. What might you inquire as to meet me without a formal preceding?’

‘To apologise?’ His words are followed by yet another tilt of his head, voice drawing the last syllable like it would prolong the sentence from finishing. You want to offer the doubt that he is simply of an awkward personality but your observations say otherwise, and part of you doesn't want to give him an easy way out.

‘You sound unsure?’

‘I am, I am also afraid that I have offended you by not offering proper greeting to you, and now I do realize you understood me cursing in the Lord’s house.’

‘You are a strange one…you say one but still haven’t even greeted me property for a second time, piling on offences are we?’

‘You too haven’t offered a greeting.’ He retorts back, at last catching on your teasing.

‘I don’t know who you are, without an introduction I only have guesses from the history books, and you are very much alive so those won’t help.’ You pause, measuring him, and that's enough to make his nerves burn — you make out a glisten of sweat above his temple which brings you joy. ‘Is it you who are here without permission, The Emerald Palace is home to unmarried ladies? Seems concerning in my eyes.’

‘I am Jeonghan, Yoon Jeonghan of a small kingdom on the East of the continent. It is a greatest honor to make your acquaintances your highness. I assure you I have no ill will towards any lady residing here, but carry guilt in my heart for not being worthy of my title when we spoke the last time, I wasn’t thinking clearly then.’

‘Jeonghan…’ You murmur under your breath, the name rolling off your tongue and you curtsy. ‘Bright is the day as your greeting, no cloudiness in your intentions is seen and appreciated. I hope that your visit will bear fruit because I don’t find offense in your greeting, and the lack of it. It is forgiven under the practice of speaking with me, even the old attribute you attached to me’

‘Once again, your wit precedes your age, I see that with my own eyes. Pardon me for my hasty words, you are as beautiful as the March sunbeam reflecting on the clear waters and the first blooms that caress the sight among the white snow—’

His compliments are cut off by a demanding voice of the young princess.

‘Sister, you are too loud.’ Siyoon hisses, seemingly finding her way out of pillows, her small head becoming a circle as she puffs out her chubby cheeks, you know you two aren’t loud but it seems she didn’t like the lack of attention on her. ’I have gotten bored, carry me.’

‘I will make haste, I am concerned they must have noticed me missing, have a fair day, princess…’ He mouths your name like it’s a secret, you feel the impact of your sister clinging on the bottom of your dress but your gaze doesn’t drift from his retreating back.

Your curiosity grows, it’s clear he is here in the country because your father’s words of your prospective hand in marriage but you are left to question everything else. His quick on feet answers and charming smile, the eyes that seem like deep depths filled with secrets you want to know, you always wanted to know, the small peak into something and you wanted to know every edge and corner of it.

And now, he became more interesting then any book your studied.

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