The third prince of the empire, Idris.

Now, as Lady Es, she seemed lighthearted, like someone who had just put down a heavy load.

Despite her noble bloodline, she looked as innocent as a country girl.

“Honestly, I should have done this sooner! It’s so much easier leaving everything to Enoch. Haha. Now that I can come and go from the palace as I please, I’ll visit often, alright?”

“Ah, yes….”

“It hurts when you make it so obvious you don’t want me around…”

“No, it’s just a bit… surprising…”

“Tsk. Liar. Anyway, it’s fine. I’m busy sorting out my family affairs. I probably won’t be able to come often. I might not even be able to come at all since I’m spending so much time teaching Enoch all sorts of stuff. There are ceremonies and all sorts of procedures to deal with.”

“Aha.”

“Aren’t you a bit too happy about this?”

“…That’s a misunderstanding.”

Lady Es shot me a smile that seemed to say she’d let me off the hook just this once.

I had no choice but to look away. It felt a little… like a frog facing a snake.

I felt like I was about to be eaten alive by her charisma.

“Seriously, how can you be like this? No ambition for honor or wealth, and you never show up in society?”

“Yes… It’s just that my personality doesn’t suit the loud crowds.”

“Why do you live?”

“Pardon?”

“Ah, was that too blunt? Ahem, I mean, what joy do you find in living? You’re a famous writer stirring up the empire, yet you hide your real name and face. You earn big bucks from royalties and sponsorships, but it doesn’t look like you spend it. Living like that must be boring.”

Lady Es’s question would probably be considered a typical one in this world…

But for me, there weren’t many who sought thrills and enjoyment like I did.

After all, the only reason I wrung out my memories to spread literature from my past life in this world was purely for the sake of wanting to enjoy fun novels.

So, I had only one answer.

“I live for the joy of reading books. Good books, terrible books, interesting books, complex books… each has its own joy, and savoring the differences is a pleasure itself.”

“People are really peculiar.”

“Your Highness… Since you love reading, isn’t that why you’re supporting me?”

“Well, it’s less about loving books and more like I had no other options!”

Lady Es giggled, but beneath that laughter, there was a chilling shade.

The sunlight pouring in through the window dimmed a bit as clouds passed.

“When I was young, my mother often read me fairy tales. You know, the kind where knights save princesses from towers and fight dragons.”

“Yes.”

“I was really envious of that princess.”

Lady Es’s eyelids drooped slightly.

A sense of sadness filled the air. The serpent-like ferocity had vanished, leaving only a delicate girl before me.

I suddenly realized how small she was. Sitting on the sofa without her back touching it made her seem even smaller.

“In fairy tales, it always goes like this: The king cries to save the princess, knights try time and time again to rescue her, and the people pray in sorrow for the princess’s deliverance. Everyone knows the princess is trapped in the tower. Everyone wants her to be freed and saved.”

“…”

“I was jealous of that fairy tale princess… because no one ever tried to save me.”

Lady Es’s presence gradually faded away.

She seemed so ephemeral that a mere gust of wind might whisk her away. I tried to say something, but in the end, I could only stay silent and listen to her voice.

“I’m not talking about palace life. My tower… my prison, was this body of mine. This pure and flawless body, blessed by Heaven’s decree… I’ve been trapped since the moment an angel breathed life into me in the womb…”

“…”

“This little prison is different from fairy tales… no one thought I was trapped. No one even tried to know. To think of this sanctuary created by Heaven as a prison was the most sacrilegious thing imaginable. If praying for me is a blasphemy against Heaven, then who could ever pray for me? No one. Honestly, no one.”

“…”

“But, um, that’s not really what I meant to talk about… The mood has gone all sour! Anyway, I’m genuinely grateful to you, author. Really, haha.”

“…”

“…Are you crying? Because of me?”

“No, I just suddenly thought of the last scene from ‘The Little Prince.’”

Indeed, Lady Es’s words about her body being a prison reminded me of the ending of ‘The Little Prince.’

The part where the Little Prince sheds his physical form and returns to his own star.

“Don’t follow me. It will make you sad. I’ll appear as if I’m dead, but I’m not really dying.”

“My star is too far away for this body to reach. My body is too heavy to fly to the star.”

“I have a responsibility to my rose…”

Truly, what’s important is invisible to the eye.

The Little Prince, bitten by a viper, sheds his old, shell-like body.

“When you look at the night sky, I will be living on one of those stars. I’ll be smiling. Then, you’ll be able to see all the stars smiling.”

“You’ll have a bunch of little stars that can smile!”

The traveler can never forget The Little Prince.

That was the ending of the story of The Little Prince—having a star that smiles in the night sky.

“If thinking of that ending makes you cry, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Yes.”

“It feels strange and joyful to have someone cry for me for the first time.”

“That’s a misunderstanding.”

Really, it was a misunderstanding.

* * *

After Lady Es left.

I felt drained and leaned back on the sofa, thankful I always carried a handkerchief.

As I rested, Dorling Kindersley, the President, entered the reception room.

“President.”

“Yes! Author!”

“Could you show me the fan letters for ‘The Little Prince’?”

“Oh! Yes, of course!”

The publishing house’s secret vault was overflowing with fan letters addressed to Homer, the author.

Among them, the largest number was undoubtedly from ‘The Little Prince.’

[I cried all day after reading ‘The Little Prince.’ I bought it to read to my kid, but I think I was more touched than they were. Thank you for writing such a story.]

[Thanks to you, Homer, the kids at our orphanage are really happy these days. They get to eat lots of delicious bread. Thank you so much!]

I spent quite a while reading the fan letters from readers of ‘The Little Prince.’

I quietly thought over each letter as I read.

“Author?”

“Ah, yes. President. Have I been here too long?”

“Not at all! You can stay as long as you like! Hehe. Looks like you really got moved by those fan letters.”

“Yes, uh…”

But that wasn’t the real reason I was looking at the fan letters.

In truth, I was just a plagiarist who translated my past life’s works into this world’s language.

Rather, I was pondering my next publication.

Publishing a work in a state where people’s awareness isn’t mature might lead to irreversible problems.

“President.”

“Yes! Author!”

So, I read the fan letters carefully…

“Let’s get ready for the next work’s publication.”

After reading the fan letters, I concluded it was time to publish.

“Yes! I’ll get everything perfectly prepared for you to publish anytime!”

* * *

Grey, the beastman, forsaken by the heavens, believed in human religion.

Lady Es, who was misunderstood by everyone, could only repeat her blasphemous prayers in solitude.

Religious conscience and personal devotion.

There was a story that came to mind as I conversed with them.

“Sion, would you like to read this?”

“Oh, are you pulling out that work?”

I took out a manuscript from the bedside table, sealed in a paper envelope with beeswax just in case Sion hadn’t seen it.

This was a novel I had written when publishing ‘Don Quixote.’

Though Sion knew about this manuscript’s existence, I had told him not to read it until now.

“Ah. It seems it’s time to publish this novel. I’d like to hear your opinion first.”

“I’m honored to be able to give my opinion to you, sir…!”

Sion accepted the manuscript with almost a reverent demeanor.

He carefully opened the beeswax-sealed envelope and took out the manuscript bundle.

“It’s not very long, is it?”

Sion gauged the thickness of the bundle and finally opened the first page.

And he began reading the manuscript quietly.

“…”

Sion’s eyes moved busily as they followed the text.

Sion, being a fast reader, could finish the manuscript in about an hour.

Finally, as the last page turned,

When Sion lifted his head…

“Huuh…”

Sion clutched his chest, making a pained expression as if his soul had been sucked out.

“This is too… painful, isn’t it? I understand why you didn’t want me to read this novel…”

Romanticism is the soul of literature. And there are novels that must be published for it to emerge.

However, it was also a novel I had delayed publishing due to its influence.

I took the manuscript bundle back from Sion. On the very first page, the title of the novel was written in beautiful calligraphy.

[The Sorrows of Young Werther]

The Sorrows of Young Werther. That was the title of the novel I was preparing to publish.