"I hope this plan is feasible to you, Lady Sylvia," I said, folding the last of the papers on the low table. "I'm open to any adjustments you might suggest."
Sylvia, still seated with perfect poise, gave a soft nod. "No, my lord. I have no trouble with this. I don't have any adjustments."
That was a relief. If she had pulled out another revision sheet, I might've cried.
"Glad to hear that," I said, leaning back slightly. "Though the responsibility is heavy, I'm certain, if it's you, you'll be fine."
"That's high praise, my lord." She dipped her head slightly, a flicker of a smile on her lips. "I will do my best."
"If you think Lord Orion might be dissatisfied with you for this," I added, resting my arm along the back of the seat, "let's speak to him together after the envoy talks. Better to clear the air."
Sylvia's expression didn't waver, but her fingers brushed the edge of the teacup in thought. "Though my father's trust in his ministers clouds his judgment, he is capable enough to understand our efforts. Hopefully such problems won't arise. Still, I am glad you wish to go to such lengths."
"It's all fine." I shrugged. "Falcon has stakes in this deal too, after all."
She chuckled softly, a pleasant sound that didn't quite match the weight of the political chessboard we'd been moving across all morning. "The time flew by too fast. It's already past lunchtime. I don't make a very good hostess, do I?"
I stood up, stretching my arms above my head. "Well, all those teas and biscuits have kept us heroically unhungry. Honestly, I'm starting to think Clara laced those things with anti-appetite magic."
....I could sense a glare behind me.
Sylvia smiled, rising as well. "Shall we have lunch together, then?"
"Gladly," I replied. Free food and good company? Who in their right mind would say no?
She turned to Clara and inclined her head. "Thank you for assisting us, and I'm sorry for keeping you all this time."
Clara bowed gracefully, her voice cool and smooth as ever. "Glad to be of assistance, my lady."
"You should join us for lunch too," Sylvia offered warmly.
Clara blinked, the smallest crack in her usual composure. "I can't, my lady. It is considered… unethical for a maid to dine with her master."
I blinked. Since when?
Sylvia turned to me. "Is that a problem, Lord Hugo?"
I shrugged with a grin. "Never heard of such a rule in my life."
She smiled, triumphant. "Problem solved, then."
Clara turned to me, her eyes scanning mine as if checking for a trap. I just smiled and tilted my head toward the door.
With a small sigh, Clara turned back to Sylvia. "It is my utmost pleasure to participate."
And just like that, the oddest trio in the castle set off for lunch.
As we strolled down the marbled corridor toward the dining hall, I glanced sideways at Sylvia and said, "By the way, I didn't see Linette even once. Is she on a leave or has she vanished into one of those paintings?"
Sylvia didn't stop walking, but her tone dipped lower, quieter. "She was removed from her attendant position."
"Oh?"
"She brought disgrace upon House Orion by her conduct toward the Falcon Duchy, at least, that was the official reason," she said, her voice cool, composed. "In truth, she's being watched. Closely. But she still believes she hasn't been found out."
"Really?" I raised a brow. "So… you don't have an attendant now?"
"For the time being, no," Sylvia replied. "A few candidates were selected and are currently undergoing training under the head maid's supervision. The mansion staff, however, have been considerate enough that I hardly feel the lack of an attendant."
I hummed thoughtfully. "Well, in a week or so, the rest of the Ashen still hiding in Falcon will know their captain is dead. And once my father returns to the castle, he's bound to order a full-scale sweep. Without a leader to guide them, they'll be like mice trapped in daylight. All skitter, no stealth."
Sylvia's steps slowed for a beat before she spoke again. "Still… the plan was too reckless. Confronting someone on Varkis's level and getting out alive may have been a god's grace, my lord. But that is far too bullish. I sincerely hope you won't be reckless like this again."
Clara, ever the dependable echo of common sense, murmured from behind me, "My lady… you are just talking to a wall."
I gave an exaggerated sigh. "I wouldn't do it a second time even if someone paid me a billion dollars."
Sylvia blinked. "What is… a dollar?"
I paused, smirking. "Oh, just my imaginary currency. I mean to say Quorix."
Sylvia chuckled softly. Clara, to her credit, didn't comment, though I was pretty sure she was judging me quietly.
The conversation lightened after that, full of absurd hypotheticals and offhand banter, until we found ourselves at the dining hall.
Lunch was relaxed, for once. No nobles breathing down my neck. Just good food, pleasant company, and Clara watching me to make sure I didn't accidentally stab myself with a fork.
We had just set down our utensils when a tall man in a stylish outfit approached us with the grace of someone used to standing out in a crowd.
"Lord Hugo," he greeted with a bow. "The plan to travel to Leon's border and meet the Elvian envoy has been finalized. Lord Orion requests your approval. Kindly review the schedule."
He extended a finely bound document toward me.
I glanced up at him and arched a brow. "He didn't need to send you all the way here. A maid could've done that."
"It's no trouble to be of service," he replied with a practiced smile, the type that said, 'Please don't ask me to carry more furniture today.'
I flipped through the schedule. Everything was well-planned. Travel time, escort arrangements, backup security layers. The works.
"Looks good," I said. "Tell Lord Orion I'll be ready to depart by the day after tomorrow."
The man bowed again with a precise gesture and turned to leave.
Behind me, Sylvia murmured almost to herself, "It's finally happening…"
I leaned back in my seat, watching the sunlight filter through the high windows and spill across the table like some divine spotlight.
The envoy talks.
As much as I wanted those negotiations to go well for the sake of the Falcon Duchy's commercial ambitions and believe me, the prospect of building a multi-regional trading network was hot enough to keep me awake at night, this particular trip meant something else to me.
I'd be entering the Elvian Kingdom. As their guest.
Just thinking about it made the little scholar inside me do cartwheels.
Ever since I read the collected research of Sage Isolde, my interest in the elves had gone from mild curiosity to full-on academic obsession.
The way their mana responded to nature made them walking, talking, long-eared artillery cannons. Their forests, rumored to be manifestations of the goddess Sylviora's grace, were practically saturated with magic. The kind of density that would make any human cleric weep tears of joy or envy.
But it wasn't just the mana.
It was the tradition. The belief that nature could be spoken to...not symbolically, not metaphorically, but literally. That trees and streams and even gusts of wind were sentient enough to converse with, and that elves had grown up doing just that.
I wanted to see that.
Not from a book.
Not through the half-baked ramblings of a traveler.
I wanted to walk through those forests. To breathe that mana-drenched air. To see how far my haphazardly imagined novel had been stretched, twisted, and embroidered by the divine author they called god.
Because sometimes… when I look around at these people, this world, and realize how real it all feels, it makes me wonder.
Just how much of it is mine?
And how much of it… was already written?
.
Meanwhile, in the heart of Falcon lands.
Nestled between the cobbled lanes of the old market district, a modest bakery clung to its humble fame with the comforting smell of flour and butter. A bell above the door jingled softly, and the warmth of the oven escaped into the brisk morning air as a man in a finely tailored suit stepped inside, an odd sight among flour-dusted aprons and the scent of rising bread.
The woman behind the counter looked up and immediately smiled. "Welcome back, Mr. Oswin. I haven't seen you in a month. I hope everything's well with your business?"
Oswin dipped his head in greeting, brushing the dust from his sleeves.
"All is well, madam. I've been traveling a bit more lately. With the shift in merchant routes and the influx of foreign caravans thanks to the new partnership between Falcon and House Orion, things have been rather busy."
"Glad to hear business is blooming," she said with a chuckle.
Oswin smiled, adjusting the silver pin on his collar. "Though I must say, it made me miss your wonderful bread. Nothing tastes quite like it."
The madam chuckled. "Order received. The bread will be out in a minute." She turned to the oven and, with practiced care, placed a batch of puffed bread inside, the golden crust already shimmering in the morning light. From a finely kept cupboard, she retrieved a pot of fresh cream and set it on the counter.
Just then, the door chimed again. A kid walked in, his clothes patched at the elbows and his pants torn at the knees. He didn't so much as glance at the suited man, heading straight to the counter.
"Madam, can I have a bun, please?" he asked, dropping a few small coins on the wooden surface.
Oswin raised a brow and glanced at the child. "You seem short on coins, lad. How about I buy you one?"
The boy shook his head. "No need, good sir. I get a discount. It's for the service I provide."
"Service?" Oswin echoed, eyes narrowing. "What sort of service can a child offer?"
The boy stood a bit taller, pride swelling in his voice. "I paste the bakery's pamphlets on the town walls, and when I deliver newspapers in the morning, I slip them in alongside. I advertise this place along with my friends from the eastern slums."
Oswin stared at him, now silent.
From the back, the bakery madam returned and beamed at the boy. "Oh my, came for a bun again?"
"Yes, me and my friends are quite fond of it now," the boy said with a grin that mirrored hers.
She took the coins and placed a bun in front of him. As a small reward, she dabbed the cream generously on top.
"A little thank-you for your help."
"I'll gladly accept it," the boy replied, already munching on the treat with his small hands.
Oswin smiled at the boy's joy before turning to the woman again.
"Have you heard? The son of His Grace Everard was sent to Viscount Orion's estate despite the annulled engagement."
The madam sighed. "Likely just to assure the merchants that there's still goodwill between the two houses."
"Could it be," Oswin murmured, "that the annulment was more about Lord Hugo's... passive nature? Perhaps they traded the marriage for a trade alliance?"
"Could be," she replied with a shrug. "Still, it's a bit disheartening. Heir to Falcon, yet nothing like his father."
Oswin paused, thoughtful. "But rumors say he's changed...become more active. Some say His Grace tasked him with representing Falcon at House Orion himself."
The madam gave a hopeful smile. "I do hope that's true."
Oswin's gaze drifted to the boy, who now munched silently on the half-finished bun.
"I hope the reforms His Grace is planning will end the slums… bring better lives."
Then he chuckled to himslef almost feeling bad, "Though the experts say the reforms are too ambitious considering the falcon's annual revenue."
The boy glanced up, cream on his cheek. "You seem like a businessman."
Oswin chuckled. "I am, yes."
"Then I suggest you invest in dairy products," the boy said plainly, taking another bite.
Oswin raised a brow. "Because of the cream?"
The boy stopped chewing, then smirked as though Oswin had just said something incredibly naïve.
"Not at all, good sir. The cream is fantastic… but do you know what else is?" He turned, cream still clinging to his face. "The changes happening in our land."
Oswin blinked. "What changes?"
The boy licked his fingers, thinking aloud. "A few days ago, while distributing papers, I noticed something odd. Lord Everard left for the capital. On the same day, his son left for House Orion."
"That could be coincidence," Oswin said. "The road to Leon and the capital splits near the valley, they might've simply traveled together for a while."
"True," the boy admitted. "But here's what's strange. I found a pattern in the news. The price of milk dropped by two quorix. But surprisingly, the demand surged. Local merchants started getting less from suppliers. The price rose again, now back to normal, but the demand stayed high."
Oswin's eyes widened, pieces clicking in his mind like tumblers in a lock.
" Are you implying that... the government is overbuying dairy from suppliers?"
Slowly, the boy stood, brushing the crumbs from his lap. Then, with a smile, he walked to the exit.
"What's your name, kid?" Oswin asked.
The boy turned at the doorway, light catching his grin.
"William. You'll find me in the eastern slums. If your investments make profit… please be kind enough to remember the suggestion."
He pushed open the door, and the bell rang one last time as he disappeared into the crowd.
Oswin just stared at the door, frozen.
The madam finally placed his puffed bread with cream on the counter. "Here you go, Mr. Oswin. Fresh from the oven."
Still dazed, Oswin took the plate, eyes lingering on the door.
"William… huh?"