At the same time, he raised his index finger to his lips. His eyes lowered slightly, flicked toward the door, then returned to me. That small gesture was enough for me to realize there was someone outside.

Who else could it be but the house steward—or the knights stationed to make sure I didn’t escape.

In any case, instead of answering aloud, I nodded.

[If the answer is yes, take one spoonful of the barley porridge.
If the answer is no, stir the porridge with the spoon.
And if it’s difficult to answer, spread butter on the bread and eat it.]

Just looking at what he’d written made it feel as though I were receiving some secret directive. I stared blankly for a moment, then nodded again.

No sooner had I done so than he set the tray down on the table.

I sat in front of it and picked up the spoon.

In response, his hand began moving swiftly.

[Do you truly wish to leave this estate?]

The instant I saw the words in his notebook, I didn’t need to think.

I scooped up a spoonful of barley porridge and ate it.

The unexpectedly nutty flavor made my eyes widen on their own.

It wasn’t the time to be fussing over taste, but there was none of that stale flavor old barley usually had. It was genuinely pleasant. Since when had barley porridge been this smooth and good? It was nothing like the stuff I’d always forced down just to keep from dying.

[Then, may I ask you a few questions?]

Was there really anything he needed to ask? I was the one with countless questions.

[They are very simple. And they are things the Duke of Balthazar is curious about as well.]

To show my agreement, I scooped up another spoonful of barley porridge and put it in my mouth. It was delicious again. Barley alone couldn’t produce this flavor. Had nuts been added? If so, who had made it?

There was no one in this estate who would prepare food like this for me.

I chewed slowly, savoring the taste.

[Very well. Please answer honestly from here on.]

Perhaps it was the solemn look on his face as he held up the notebook, but I found myself tensing for no reason. I wondered if the Duchy of Balthazar might demand something excessive in return for helping me. Having help was better than having none—but if the price was too high, I intended to refuse immediately.

Yet what he asked made me think, Does the duke really want to know things like this?

[Do you like it when someone smiles with their eyes?]
[Do you like gentleness?]
[Between fish and meat, which do you prefer?]
[Do you like strength?]

[Do you like hands that have held a sword for a long time?]

Come to think of it, every question he’d asked ended the same way—“Do you like…?”
Seeing the solemn look on his face, I’d thought they might be terribly important matters, but every last one of them was trivial.

There wasn’t an ounce of substance to them.

Judging by the fact that all the food set before me was gone, had he deliberately meant to make me eat?
No. Surely not.

I let out a small laugh and set the spoon down. And then, my eyes happened to meet those of the servant from the Duchy of Balthazar.

The moment our gazes crossed, he gently curved his eyes into a smile. Perhaps because of that soft eye-smile—so ill-matched with his large frame—a big dog came to mind.

[I will always remain by my master’s side. Please feel free to treat me as you wish. If you find it difficult to trust me, I will prove myself.]

For a moment, I was left blank, staring at what he’d written. Why would he go to such lengths for someone like me, someone who could barely be of any use no matter how devotedly she was served?

[I seem to have neglected to tell you something important while asking about your preferences.]

So those meaningless questions earlier had all been to figure out my tastes.

Wait—then why did he need to know my preferences in the first place?

As I stared at the page, puzzled, the servant began writing again, his hand moving with purpose.

[As of last night, more than half of the servants working at this estate have left. The remaining ones will be gone by the end of today, and the vacancies will be filled by our people.]

The servant showed me what he had just written, his expression grave.
So that was why there had been so few people carrying luggage this morning.

[All the gifts the duchy sent to the estate today belong to you. It seems two bugs managed to carry some off, but the truly valuable items have been brought in discreetly.]

How thorough.

[For the time being, meals will be prepared as thin porridge. You haven’t been eating properly for a long time, so consuming rich food all at once could upset your stomach.]

On top of everything else, he was considerate?

[Even if it is difficult, please wait just a little longer. I promise you will be repaid.]

With those words, the servant slipped the notebook back into his pocket. Then he began transferring the empty dishes, one by one, onto the tray.

Strands of white hair that had escaped between the bandages caught the light and shimmered faintly.

Resting my chin in my hand, I studied him slowly. I couldn’t help wondering what kind of place the duchy was, to turn a swordsman into that and send him out as a servant. No matter how old the tradition, injuring a perfectly fine person to the point they had to be wrapped in bandages felt deeply strange.

Then, all of a sudden, I found myself curious about his name. I almost parted my lips to ask—then stopped.

On second thought, whatever his name might be didn’t matter to me at all.

We’re bound to part ways anyway.

[Please rest well.]

After giving me a polite bow, the servant left the room. I collapsed onto the bed as I was, staring at the door.

For some reason, my heart felt itchy—restless.

Was it because, after living through so many lives, this was the first time someone had been so proactive about helping me? Or was it the thrill of possibly gaining my freedom at last?

I didn’t know which it was. But one thing was certain.

For the first time in a long while, I was truly happy.

***

Half a month passed.

“Is what you revealed in your latest book true?”

“Madam Simon! Please answer us!”

“Since when have you been confined? Was it because of your assets?”

From early morning, reporters from various newspapers surrounded the estate, hurling questions.

“Is the downfall of your natal family, House Agatha, also connected to this?”

“Madam Simon! Please come out and speak candidly!”

“Madam! Please come outside!”

They fired off question after question as if I were already standing before them. Behind them, several people were holding cameras.

“Please! Wait outside!”

“We’ll inform the master, so please wait!”

The servants of the estate were in a frenzy, trying to hold back the reporters who had arrived out of nowhere.

Hmm.

So the pages I’d slipped into the manuscript had finally been revealed to the public.

Watching from the attic window, I barely managed to suppress the laughter threatening to spill out.

There had been two inserts woven into the manuscript.

One was the cipher—a plea for help.

And the other was this:

Only today do I dare gather the courage to confess this.
Every book published under my name was written by my beloved wife, Mia.
Without her, I would never have witnessed the miracle of books bearing my name.
All I ever did was tell her to write. I took no part in creation whatsoever.
And yet she devoted her entire life as a writer to me.
It was a beautiful sacrifice.
Now, I ask all of you to support Mia, so that she may finally step out of the shadows.
— Louis Regie Simon

Everyone who read it reacted the same way—with fury.

Because the handwriting matched the script that had long circulated as Louis’s own, there was no choice but to believe it.

A handful of men snarled at me, spitting venom about the humiliation of having admired writing done by a woman—but they were a minority.

The crowd was far more interested in the fact that a so-called genius writer had been acting all along, hiding behind a shadow writer.

With the thing I did best—writing—I had placed Louis squarely on the butcher’s block before the masses.

“Don’t let all the reporters in—bring Oliver here at once!”

The house steward immediately dispatched a servant to contact the newspaper that printed the most papers in the empire. Soon after, a correction was issued, claiming it had been nothing more than a lighthearted joke added to spice up the new release, that the allegations were baseless.

As expected of a seasoned lackey.

But once a fire has already caught, no one cares about a correction. People only see what they want to see. They revisit Louis’s long-suspicious behavior, dig through his past, and hunt for anything they can tear apart and chew on.

That was the terror of mob mentality.

In any case, this incident caused even the most high-ranking patrons to withdraw all support from Louis. And they did so through curt letters—an insult in itself.

It seemed they had no desire to be entangled in an affair drawing this much public attention.

Or perhaps… they were simply disappointed.