How on earth had it come to this?
Not only had she ridden in the most lavishly appointed carriage she had ever seen in her entire life, but now…
“Where is this?”
“The Arachrene ducal estate.”
Sonnet stared up at the Arachrene ducal castle with a thoroughly blank expression.
As Oberon approached the enormous front gates, the gatekeeper bowed his head.
“Welcome back, sir.”
BOOM.
With a deep, resonant groan, the firmly sealed gates swung open.
Good heavens.
Sonnet felt the breath leave her lungs.
The person who had been searching for her was none other than Arachrene — one of the great noble houses of the Declair Empire.
⁂
…Come to think of it, I never got sued by the Arachrene family.
Was this the moment her karmic debt had finally come due?
And years after she’d published the work, of all times?
Rigid with anxiety, Sonnet couldn’t gather a single coherent thought.
The man moved steadily deeper into the main estate, advancing through one corridor after another. The further they went, the finer the clothing worn by each person they passed — which told her that one careless mistake here could cost her her head.
“Before you meet my master, allow me to go over a few points of protocol.”
Having introduced himself as Oberon before their departure from the capital, the man walked ahead as he spoke.
“First. You are to conduct yourself with every shred of courtesy and composure you possess in my master’s presence.”
That went without saying.
Unless she wished to disappear without a trace, she would naturally do so.
“Second. You must answer everything my master asks truthfully. Do not even attempt to lie.”
“…Understood.”
“Third. You are not to treat my master like a child simply because they are young. They are, after all, an Arachrene.”
The moment the instructions concluded, Oberon’s steps came to a halt before a particular building.
The surrounding structures were already extraordinarily grand, but the one Oberon intended to enter surpassed them all. Its outer walls were encrusted with an array of enchanted gemstones designed to maintain perfect comfort through every season, and the garden was lined with rare flowers that few ever had the privilege of seeing in person.
Having done extensive research for her various works over the years, Sonnet could only shake her head in disbelief.
If I described something like this in a novel, even real-life nobility would say it was too extravagant to be believable.
It was that overwhelming.
When they stepped inside, Sonnet’s jaw dropped a second time.
“Is that — is that a Mermaid’s Tear?”
“Yes. It was a gift to my master from Duke Marcella.”
Sonnet’s mouth went bone dry.
The master Oberon served was clearly someone extraordinary, even among the members of the Arachrene family. To be on gift-giving terms with Duke Marcella personally…
Not knowing where to look, Sonnet dropped her gaze to the gleaming marble floor beneath her feet.
“This is the place.”
Oberon came to a stop before a door on the second floor. He raised one hand and knocked with careful deliberation.
“Miss Riersha, it is Oberon. I am coming in.”
He turned the handle and stepped into the room.
And the person waiting inside was…
“Welcome back, Oberon.”
A very small, very adorable child, sitting quite primly in her chair.
⁂
“Your name is Sonnet?”
“Yes, my lady. — Oh! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“I’m Riersha Arachrene. Pleased to meet you.”
Riersha watched Sonnet, whose hands were trembling so badly she could barely hold herself together. The woman had attempted to pick up her teacup, only for the tea to spill generously down over her shaking fingers.
Observing Sonnet’s flustered panic, Riersha exhaled silently.
This is really the person who wrote The Golden Age?
Pale as parchment, her brown hair pulled back in a tight knot, Sonnet looked, no matter how one tried to see it otherwise…
Extraordinarily fragile in both body and spirit.
And easily frightened, at that.
So where had she found the nerve to write a children’s book like that?
Riersha had heard that The Golden Age was pulled from shelves not long after it went on sale.
Probably because of outside pressure. The nobles wouldn’t have let something like that keep circulating.
“Did you weally write The Golden Age?”
Riersha studied her with narrowed, skeptical eyes.
From behind her, Oberon leaned in and murmured quietly near her ear.
“She is also the author of The Throne of Lybunessia.”
“What’s that?”
“A work that satirized all four of the Empire’s grand ducal houses and resulted in a cascade of lawsuits.”
“Oh! Weally?”
In that case, she must have been in rather dire financial straits.
Riersha looked at Sonnet steadily.
Appearances aside, it seemed that once she picked up a pen, she was an entirely different creature — bold, unguarded, fearless.
Riersha found herself growing increasingly fond of her.
Yes. The work she intended to do required exactly this kind of person.
Someone forthright. Honest. Capable of writing things that courted controversy.
“I’ve been looking for a wighter.”
“…A writer, my lady?”
“Mm-hm. More precisely, a wighter who can tell the stories I want told.”
Riersha drew a long sip through her straw. Something sweet flooded her mouth.
“…Are you saying you want a ghostwriter?”
“Mm-hm.”
“…Oh.”
In an instant, Sonnet’s expression turned to stone.
It happened from time to time. Nobles seeking ghostwriters to pen their memoirs. Dressing up stories packed with half-truths and outright lies, packaging it all into a presentable volume for polite society.
Sonnet shook her head with quiet resolve.
“I apologize, Lady Riersha. I do not take ghostwriting work.”
“Why not?”
“Because… it doesn’t align with my convictions.”
“Hmm.”
Riersha tilted her head.
She hadn’t expected Sonnet to refuse without a single moment’s hesitation.
“But you haven’t published anyfing since that children’s book. You’re not getting work, are you?”
The Golden Age had left such a strong impression that she had once asked for everything written by the same author to be tracked down and brought to her.
But The Golden Age had been all there was.
As expected, Sonnet flinched at the direct hit.
“…You are correct, Lady Riersha. Publishers have little interest in authors like me.”
She needed noble patronage to survive, and yet here she was — an author who made a habit of antagonizing nobles.
Sonnet was almost certainly blacklisted by every publisher in existence.
After The Throne of Lybunessia had made her name known, she hadn’t even been able to publish under it for the children’s book. No one yet knew that she had written The Golden Age — and she intended to keep it that way.
I’ll probably regret turning this down today.
Sonnet bit down on her lower lip until it ached.
Riersha had been watching her in silence. She spoke at last, with perfect indifference.
“Think about it once more.”
“I’m sorry. My answer remains the same.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Riersha muttered something about what a shame it was.
“If you worked with our family, you could write whatever you wanted.”
“…Pardon?”
“We even have the Kadimo Theater Company on standby.”
Sonnet drew a sharp breath.
The Kadimo Theater Company was every writer’s dream. The mere idea of seeing one’s own work brought to life on a stage was already the stuff of fantasy — and the Kadimo Theater Company was the finest in the Empire.
Watching Sonnet’s eyes light with unmistakable interest, Riersha gave a small, unhurried shrug.
“What I’m asking you to write is ultimately that sort of thing anyway.”
“…And what sort of thing would that be, precisely?”
“The Imperial court. Secrets. Exposed.”
Riersha dropped her voice as if sharing something deeply clandestine.
Each word, lisped softly at the edges, landed squarely in Sonnet’s ears.
Not one of them was the kind of word a person could simply let pass.
“But I have no intention of forcing anyone who doesn’t want to.”
Riersha sighed, an exaggerated sound of disappointment, and climbed down from her chair as if preparing to leave.
“Oberon, please see our guest home safely.”
“Yes, of course.”
That was when it happened.
Sonnet shot to her feet and bent herself in a sharp ninety-degree bow.
Riersha, already halfway to the door, turned her head.
Oberon watched the graceless display with a faint, disapproving crease between his brows.
“L-Lady Riersha!”
“Yes?”
“Please — please give me one chance.”
“You said you didn’t want to a moment ago.”
“Yes — I still don’t want to ghostwrite. But…”
Sonnet’s eyes sharpened to a keen, clear edge.
“If what you just said is true, my lady — then I want to try.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes!”
Clink.
In the stillness of the room, the coin purse tucked against Sonnet’s side shifted and rang out.
Of all the moments for that to happen.
Sonnet grimaced and bowed her head even lower.
“Five days.”
“…Pardon?”
“I have notes already prepared. Write something based on them and bring it to me within five days. Then I’ll give it proper consideration.”
Riersha glanced toward Oberon, who crossed to the desk, opened a drawer, and returned with a small sheaf of papers.
Sonnet took them and began to read — and her eyes went wide.
With the Arachrene family behind her… this kind of content could actually be staged with the Kadimo Theater Company?
Her voice came out trembling.
“…Yes, my lady. Five days is more than enough.”
