The Chief of Police of Ness was certainly not a man one could call incorruptible. But it would also be difficult to label him outright as corrupt. He was a multifaceted figure—someone who never leaned fully to either side. Standing squarely at the center of the circle, he pursued only his own gain.

Because of that, he was an excellent source of information for Clifton. With the right kind of transaction, one could extract maximum value. Stopping in front of the chief’s office door, Clifton narrowed his eyes.

“It’s probably nothing more than idle gossip. Haha!”

That might have been what he said, but there was no way the chief had brought up Odelphi for no reason at all. He wasn’t the type to give away even a single word lightly. Clifton’s gaze drifted to the black automobile parked beyond the window.

It was a brand-new model from Drevan.

That was the real profit the chief had taken from him. The fragrant black tea had been nothing more than a bonus. Which meant only one thing—information about Odelphi was worth the price of a car.

If this went well… he might even be able to send Rhaion farther away than Bergen. Say, for instance—the West Sea.

Clifton’s eyes gleamed. He truly despised Rhaion. Even now, Rhaion was poking at Drevan whenever he got the chance, throwing around taxes and regulations. Just thinking about it made Clifton grit his teeth again.

As stray thoughts stretched out along the shadow of the summer sun, a leaf fluttered down and smacked him in the face, snapping him back to reality.

Get a grip. This isn’t the time for this.

He hurried on. The sharp sound of Clifton’s heels echoed briskly down the corridor, his steps unusually light for the afternoon. Anyone could tell—he was in a good mood.

***

Despite the doctor’s insistence that rest was necessary, Sarah slipped out of the manor in secret. The sun was just beginning to peek out from behind the clouds. She had to return before her young lady woke up, and that urgency pressed heavily on her heart.

It was far too early to visit a publishing house, but she didn’t care. Walking quickly wasn’t enough—Sarah clutched her head and broke into a run. Her forehead was the part that had been injured, yet for some reason her entire head throbbed.

Even so, she was smiling.

A headache was nothing to worry about. Everything on her face was smiling—her eyes, her lips, even her nose.

It almost felt like a waste for no one else to see how she kept grinning to herself. Beneath the shade of the trees, Sarah’s face was flushed red. And the reason for her good mood was simple.

Her young lady was safe.

That alone made her overwhelmingly happy. There was something she dearly wanted to give her, so even as dirt dustied the hem of her skirt, she kept smiling.

Even when she was showered in pale dust kicked up by a passing wagon, Sarah couldn’t stop grinning.

Her destination was the publishing house Peach Books.

Among the buildings lining Second Street’s bookstore alley, it was the largest—and the prettiest. White walls, a red roof, like Christmas dropped right into the middle of summer.

Peach Books was one of Ness’s major publishing houses, famous for academic works and literary novels. For aspiring writers, it was the place everyone dreamed of at least once.

It was also the publishing house Maude talked about endlessly.

“I’m serious! There’s no way they’d reject you. Peach Books will recognize your novel instantly. Want to bet?”

Maude’s words, like a magic spell, seemed to ride the breeze. And so Sarah smiled again.

She settled herself on the white steps outside. Summer flowers lined the staircase, their fragrance spilling into the morning air.

It would still be quite a while before Peach Books opened, but Sarah didn’t find the wait boring at all.

The doors finally opened about two hours later.

Sarah, who had dozed off, startled awake at the sound of movement. At the same moment, a staff member climbing the steps while staring down at a rattan basket filled with peaches and oranges also jumped in surprise—and dropped the basket.

Oranges flew up into the blue sky. Peaches tumbled straight into her arms.

For a brief moment, it felt like a scene straight out of a novel.

After scrambling to retrieve the fruit rolling down the steps, the two finally made their way inside the publishing house. The staff member stared blankly at the dirt-covered peaches.

It was Charlotte.

Sarah’s friend—the one she always entrusted Maude to at the café Mel—and the author of the popular novel A Lady Seeking Marriage, Charlotte Donovan.

Sarah had only learned that Charlotte worked at Peach Books when she signed her own publishing contract. She’d felt a bit hurt at first for being kept in the dark, but Charlotte had seemed to have her reasons, so Sarah had let it go.

As Sarah stared at her, Charlotte finally noticed the bandage on her forehead. Her face drained of color.

“What on earth happened to you?! Oh my goodness! Are you okay?!”

Grabbing Sarah’s face with both hands, Charlotte turned her this way and that, checking for other injuries.

“Of course! I’m fine now. I was on my way home and, um… a pickpocket! He suddenly attacked me.”

The lie was painfully clumsy, but she couldn’t tell the truth. It involved her young lady. And honestly, Beckley and his lackeys weren’t much different from pickpockets anyway.

It wasn’t entirely wrong.

Charlotte scowled and launched into a string of curses, then started asking if Sarah had seen the attacker’s face, whether she’d reported it, and so on. Sarah broke into a cold sweat under the barrage of questions.

Only when her palms were completely soaked did she finally manage to change the subject.

Just as she was about to speak, Sarah froze at the sight of an old book. Its deep blue cover was clearly made from high-quality paper, but time had worn away all the edges. She asked Charlotte, who was organizing books nearby,

“Charlotte, is this yours?”

“Oh! That? I borrowed it. From the master of that café—you know, the one without a sign.”

It wasn’t far from Maude’s café, a place Sarah knew well too. Curiosity flickered in her eyes.

“Really? Is it a novel?”

“Yeah. It’s about a boy who can’t forget anything. It’s incredibly well written.”

It was such a strange premise. A boy who couldn’t forget. Sarah tilted her head as she glanced at the cover.

“So… he remembers everything?”

“Pretty much. Every day. His entire life.”

“Wow…”

It sounded exhausting just hearing about it, and she shook her head.

“And to think—they say they have no intention of publishing it. Such a waste.”

“Why? I think it’d be really popular.”

Charlotte let out a short sigh, and Sarah, now just as regretful, glanced again at the book.

“They said they won’t publish it because the author’s a regular customer.”

“Ah… a regular.”

That made sense. And somehow, it made it even more disappointing. Sarah found herself repeating the words regular customer under her breath.

“I barely managed to borrow it, you know.”

Charlotte said she’d begged for an entire week. That only made Sarah more curious about the story. She decided she’d visit that café someday—with her young lady.

As Charlotte returned to tidying the desk, she poked Sarah in the waist.

Sarah yelped in surprise.

“So—what brings you here today, anyway?”

Charlotte asked, narrowing her eyes as if she’d only just remembered. Sarah realized the same thing at that moment. Letting out a short groan, she straightened and spoke solemnly.

“I’m changing my manuscript!”

“Your manuscript?! Why?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in shock. She looked like she wanted to protest—what if the boss objected?—but Sarah didn’t care. She was beaming.

“I found a story I really, really want to write. I swear! I can do it well.”

“What kind of story?”

Charlotte’s dry voice reached Sarah, who was already clenching her fists with determination. Charlotte knew there was no point in stopping her and gave up quickly.

“It’s a secret!”

Waving and promising to tell her later, Sarah stepped out of the publishing house. Charlotte watched her go with a faint smile.

A peaceful slice of morning.

Her new novel would begin with the story of a young lady who slipped into the Grand Duke’s castle.

Just like this.

It was a summer night perfect for excitement. Between the towering trees, the eyes gazing at the Grand Duke sparkled with life.