Hello, Readers! I am celebrating my birthday with extra chapter updates, so please enjoy this special chapter release of 4 bonus chapters! 🥳

(Lurelia’s Birthday Bonus – Update 2/4 🎉)

♡ To all readers who purchased these chapters before my Birthday: I can’t express this enough – Thank you for your support. (*ˊᗜˋ*)/ᵗᑋᵃᐢᵏ ᵞᵒᵘ*

It had already been two weeks since we arrived at Greenvalley.
We climbed onto the wagon with Brussel, who was heading out of the forest to sell the threads spun by Mamaru and the fairies over the past month.
A place called “Roche”—too modest to be called a city, but still one of the largest rural villages around.

After eating as soon as we arrived, we waited for Brussel to finish selling the threads and wandered around the market. Along the way, we stopped by a bookstore for a moment.

“Miss, children’s books are over here.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Just a moment.”

I tucked books like The History of the Cranberry Dynasty and Practical Financial Living under my arm and ran over to Ann. Rory and Sprout were squatting on the floor, looking through picture books.

“Is there a book you want?”
“I want this one! Buy me this one!”

At my question, Sprout eagerly thrust a picture book toward me. I glanced at the cover of the book he handed me.

“Ten Reasons Why the Thumb Princess Fell for the Fairy Prince…?”
“Yeah, yeah!”

“What’s Rory looking at?”

“This one? It’s called The Fox Prefers Strawberries Over Sour Grapes It Can’t Eat. Do foxes really like strawberries more? Mel likes strawberry cake.”
“That’s just me, though…”

Besides, “sour grapes” probably doesn’t literally mean the grapes are sour…

“Ah, I see.”
Rory nodded thoughtfully and put the book down.

What’s with the weird titles of these children’s books?

This old bookstore, with its creaky wooden floorboards, had all sorts of books.
There were academic tomes, clichéd knightly romance novels, steamy 19+ romance novels for women, and tattered children’s picture books.
Being an antique secondhand bookstore, it had the atmosphere of a curiosity shop.

“Miss, why don’t you pick out a book too?”
Ann led me to the shelves.

I ran my finger along the spines of the books, reading the titles.
How long had it been since I last read a children’s book?

As I walked along the shelves, I pulled out a picture book that was tucked away in a corner.
“The Stable Boy’s Tale”

The plain title caught my eye for some reason.

The cover depicted a boy with light brown, curly hair. His hair was so unruly it covered his eyes, revealing only the lower half of his face.

When I opened the cover, elegant cursive writing greeted me.
“Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived a nameless stable boy.”

I gently traced the letters with my finger.
Unlike the other printed books, this one seemed to be handwritten.

“The stable boy who worked at the castle was called ‘Hey,’ ‘You,’ ‘Oi,’ or ‘That kid.’”

A nameless… stable boy…

“Little miss, that book isn’t for sale. There’s only one copy in the world.”

Startled by the unfamiliar voice, I turned around.

The bookstore’s elderly owner was looking down at me.

“Why is there only one copy?”
“Because I made it myself.”

He held out his hand, seemingly asking for the book back.
But without realizing it, I hugged the book to my chest and stepped back.

I wanted this book.

“But you already know the whole story, don’t you? Can’t you sell it to me?”
“Actually, I don’t know how it ends. It’s an unfinished book.”
“When it’s finished… will you sell it then?”
“No, I won’t finish it.”
“Why not?”
“Well…”

The bookstore owner scratched his forehead awkwardly.
“As I said, I don’t know the ending. I can’t finish it.”

How can the author not know the ending?
Can’t he just make one up?

Perhaps reading my doubtful expression, the bookstore owner coughed and avoided my gaze.
I looked down at the cover.

The stable boy’s expression was so ambiguous that it was impossible to tell if he was smiling, crying, or simply expressionless.
I felt an urge to brush aside his obstructive bangs to see his eyes.

“Do you want it that badly?”
The bookstore owner, after some hesitation, asked.

I nodded repeatedly, looking up at him with the most earnest eyes I could muster.

The bookstore owner smiled kindly and made an unexpected suggestion.
“Then why don’t you finish the story yourself?”
“Me?”
“Yes. If you promise to complete the story and show me the ending before I die, I’ll give the book to you.”
“I promise…”

I agreed without thinking.
Clutching the thin picture book tightly, I left the bookstore.

But as I climbed into the wagon, I realized something: I had never written a story before, whether short or long, let alone a fairy tale.

***

“Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived a nameless stable boy.”

Rory read aloud from the picture book in his calm, steady voice.
In truth, I could read and write fluently, and Rory knew that, but he seemed to enjoy reading to me, so I let him.

His pleasant, melodious voice had a way of drawing listeners in.

“The stable boy who worked at the castle was called ‘Hey,’ ‘You,’ ‘Oi,’ or ‘That kid.’ The stable boy had a large scar on his face, and his shaggy brown hair always covered his eyes. No matter how cleanly he washed his tattered clothes, they always smelled of horse dung.”

So he was hiding his scar with his hair…

“He lived alone in a small room attached to the stable, and no one ever tried to approach him. Only the gooseherd boy, his friend, would speak to him. But the stable boy had a great secret.”

A secret?

Curious, I propped myself up slightly to peek at the illustration. Rory chuckled softly.

“One dark night, when everyone was asleep, someone knocked on the stable boy’s door. It was the kingdom’s one and only princess.”

“The princess?”

Rory nodded at my question.

“The stable boy quickly opened the door. His secret was this beautiful princess who visited him every night.”

A princess visiting the stable boy in the dead of night?
What on earth for?

“The princess entered his room and sat carelessly on the bed, speaking sorrowfully.”

Looking at the illustration of the beautiful princess knocking on the door, I blinked.

“‘In this grand castle, there’s nothing that truly belongs to me.’
The stable boy asked, ‘Princess, why do you think that?’

The princess replied.

“Because everything belongs to Father. The dresses, the jewels, the servants, the maids and knights who serve me—all of it belongs to Father. Even I belong to him.”

The princess bit her lip and silently shed tears. The stable boy’s heart ached terribly at the sight of her sorrow. He knelt at her feet, kissed the tops of her shoes, and looked up at her as he spoke.

Rory cleared his throat once and then whispered as he looked at me.
“I am yours.”

“…….”
“I am yours.”
What an undeniably romantic and strangely poignant line.

I fidgeted with my ear, tickled by Rory’s soft-spoken voice. When I grabbed his arm to urge him on, he resumed reading.

“The princess collapsed into the stable boy’s arms, leaning on his shoulder as she embraced him.”
“‘You are my star.’

At her words, the stable boy felt his chest burn with warmth. The princess, though intelligent and exceptional, was a pitiable soul whose wings had been clipped simply because she was born a woman.

The stable boy was the only one who recognized the princess’s wisdom and efforts, purely by chance. From then on, the princess visited the stable boy to share her troubles, and he listened to her.

Gradually, they grew closer. The princess gave the nameless stable boy a name that meant ‘star.’”

Star.
A shining, glittering star.

It was a name that seemed far too grand for the stable boy.
This part of the story made it clear how much the princess cherished him and what he meant to her.