Oberon walked on, indifferent to the stares that followed him.
Those who spotted him moving through the halls of Arachrene Ducal Castle rubbed their eyes as though they were seeing things.
Oberon wore a magic-suppression cuff on his wrist, concealed beneath a long-sleeved garment that covered his arms to the knuckles.
“…Where do you think you’re going?”
“Out.”
“…And who, exactly, gave you permission?”
The gatekeeper standing watch at the castle entrance swept a suspicious gaze over Oberon, who had announced his intention to leave.
The ducal household still regarded Oberon as a criminal.
“My master gave me permission.”
“…Your master?”
“Here is my permit.”
Since Oberon’s movements were not yet fully unrestricted, he was required to obtain written authorization before leaving the castle grounds.
When Oberon reached a graceful hand into his coat, the gatekeeper flinched.
But when only a single sheet of paper emerged, the guard cleared his throat awkwardly and inspected the document.
“Never seen one of these before.”
“That’s understandable.”
Oberon nodded, as if he genuinely sympathized.
“Lady Riersha said it herself — this is the first time she’s ever used one of these.”
Oberon smiled pleasantly.
The gatekeeper opened the gate with a sour expression.
The first thing I do after getting out of prison is run an errand…
Clunk.
The gate shut behind him.
Oberon gazed up at the sky for a moment before setting off.
His current destination was the capital, on Riersha’s orders.
“I can’t quite fathom what the young lady is thinking.”
He had never once questioned what his master chose to do — but this particular request was, he had to admit, rather bewildering.
⁂
Sonnet pressed her hands to her head.
Every manuscript she had submitted this time around had been rejected.
“Sonnet. Your writing is too provocative. What makes you think you can satirize the nobility without a single connection to back you up?”
The editor pushed his glasses down his nose and looked up at her, clicking his tongue multiple times.
“You’re aware of which noble house sponsors this publishing company, aren’t you?”
He tossed the thick envelope of her manuscript into the trash without so much as glancing at it.
“Nobody in this industry will touch you anymore, Sonnet.”
And just like that, she was thrown out.
Of all the corrupt officials she could have written about, the villain in her latest manuscript had been Marquess Liliate — and the house that sponsored the largest publishing company in the empire happened to be none other than…
The Liliate Marquessate.
“Ugggh. I’m starving.”
Sonnet rubbed her stomach as it let out a long, pitiful growl.
She hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday.
At this rate, I’ll be evicted.
Her landlord had already warned her — no rent this month, and she was out on the street.
Not a single coin to her name, and now she was on the verge of ending up on the pavement.
When the warm, buttery scent of freshly baked bread drifted from a nearby stall, Sonnet’s nose twitched and she followed the smell like a woman under a spell.
She almost walked directly into a man so tall he had at least two heads on her.
“Goodness!”
Sonnet stumbled backward, catching herself unsteadily.
“Oh my. Are you all right?”
A flat, expressionless voice wound its way into her ears.
She looked up. A sharp jawline came into view.
She tilted her gaze higher — a sleek, short cut of hair so pale she nearly mistook it for silver at first glance, and a pair of keen, cutting eyes.
What on earth — I’ve never seen anyone with an aura like this before.
She had encountered nobles a handful of times over the years, but never anyone who radiated quite this particular air.
Incredible.
Sonnet’s mouth fell open. He was the precise image of nobility she had always conjured in her head.
The man took one step closer.
“Might you be Miss Sonnet?”
“Pa — pardon? What?”
“I was told you are the playwright who wrote The Throne of Lybunessia some years ago. Is that correct?”
Sonnet’s expression twisted the moment the words left his mouth.
That title was the one thing she most desperately wanted to erase from her entire life.
The Throne of Lybunessia.
A play that had once set the social circles of the Declair Empire abuzz.
It had been staged as a story set in a fictional world — but in truth, it was a thinly veiled satire of the four dukes of the Declair Empire.
Kiane, who turned patients away with a shake of the head if they could not pay.
William, celebrated for his impartiality, who accepted bribes in secret.
Marin, who paraded beautiful works of art while evading taxes behind the curtain.
And Arachrene — hailed as a war hero, yet one who valued lives no more than ants, seizing power by turning others’ deaths to his own advantage.
The play had been so famous at its height that there was hardly a noble in the empire who hadn’t heard of it.
And…
It became the first and last hit of Sonnet’s career.
She was blacklisted from the industry and buried under a cascade of lawsuits.
The brief moment she had spent perched atop a fortune vanished overnight like a mirage.
And it wasn’t merely the money that disappeared.
Her entire life felt as though it had been hurled into the gutter.
The nobles’ retaliation had been thorough and merciless.
I must have been out of my mind!
Sonnet had spent years aching with regret over those choices.
She had barely begun to forget the horror of that time.
And now this man — was he, too, approaching her as some form of revenge?
“Who are you?”
Her voice came out sharp.
The man’s gaze had dropped to the envelope in Sonnet’s hands.
No — he was taking in all of it. The manuscript envelope. The hands stained with ink. He was quietly, methodically cataloguing every detail of the person standing before him.
“My master wishes to meet with you, Miss Sonnet.”
“Y-your master?”
“Yes. If I were to return without you, it would cause her great distress.”
The man added, with quiet emphasis:
“Very great distress.”
Sonnet flinched.
Whoever this person was, anyone who kept a man like him in service had to be at minimum a high-ranking noble — a marquis at the very least.
She couldn’t think of a single thing she had ever done to earn the favor of someone like that.
“Wh-why would they want to see me?”
“I’m told my master was deeply moved by your picture books.”
“…Picture books?”
No one knew Sonnet wrote picture books.
She had been publishing them under a pen name, scraping together just enough to survive.
If that pen name were ever exposed, her last remaining source of income would disappear along with it.
“And this master of yours…who are they?”
“You will find out when you come with me.”
“…If you won’t even tell me their family name, what reason do I have to trust you?”
Your face?
Well, admittedly, it was a trustworthy face.
Sonnet reined herself in and kept her suspicion on full display.
A faint click of the tongue reached her ears.
Then the man reached into his coat and withdrew something.
Clink.
A purse, gleaming and full — enough gold inside to cover at least two months of living expenses.
“A deposit.”
“…”
“If you find favor with my master, you will be offered a sum considerably larger than this. I can promise you that.”
Gulp.
Sonnet stared, blank and unblinking, at the dazzling purse of gold, unable to tear her eyes away.
⁂
Riersha emerged from the Tower of Truth when her lessons were finished.
I wonder how Oberon is getting on.
At this moment, Oberon was away from the castle running an errand on Riersha’s behalf.
He had gone to fetch the author of the picture book Riersha had loved most in her life.
The Golden Age.
The story went like this.
The Kingdom of Rotun was enjoying its most peaceful and prosperous golden age.
Crown Prince Edward Rotun knew nothing of hardship — his life was one of lavish luxury within the royal palace.
But beyond the castle walls, the world rang with desperate cries.
A prince who had never known the world outside met his end at the hands of his own retainers, brought low by his own indulgence.
And from the slums rose the crown prince’s half-brother, lifted up to be crowned king in his place.
That brother would go on to become a wise and beloved ruler, guiding the Kingdom of Rotun through the ages.
A picture book with content this dangerous, published in the Declair Empire — an empire that held bloodline above all else!
This is the person who can write the story I need!
Not just competently, but brilliantly. Compellingly.
In a way that every person in the empire would take notice of — until even the nobles could not afford to ignore it.
“Oh? Lady Riersha?”
“Rosinante!”
Riersha’s face lit up when she caught sight of the familiar figure.
It had been quite a long time.
Rosinante had been so busy lately that he was rarely seen around the castle.
He was impeccably dressed, as always, and appeared to have just returned from yet another outing.
“Are you here to see the young lord?”
“Yes! Where’s Daddy?”
“He should be resting in his study. Today is his day off.”
Pernoa had a day off?
Riersha hesitated, glancing sideways toward the study where Pernoa would be.
Was something the matter?
Rosinante read the look on her face and smiled gently.
“If you’re worried about disturbing him, you needn’t be. Go right in.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll have someone send in some refreshments.”
Riersha gave a small nod and stepped inside the study.
