Chapter 7
For several days in a row, no troublemakers appeared at the teahouse.
I had hired someone to manage the shop while I remained on the second-floor pavilion, playing the zither or flute, never
descending to the ground level.
The storm of vicious gossip that had once raged outside had gradually begun to fade.
Yet, whenever I lifted my gaze absentmindedly, I would inevitably spot the man who had come to my aid that day.
He lingered at the street corners, among the market stalls, or upon the stone steps of the bridge-always clad in black, his
hat pulled low over his brow. His attire was nearly identical to that of Commander Alaric Thorne’s guards.
Late one night, as I closed the teahouse, the man turned to leave, but I called out to him.
“How much is Commander Alaric Thorne paying you to watch me? I’ll double it.”
His eyes, which had been darting restlessly, now filled with genuine confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
Good acting. Quite convincing.
But I had no patience for games. I tossed him a pouch of coins and turned to shut the door.
“What’s this for?” he demanded, his voice sharp with indignation.
“You think I’ve been following you just for money? Do you think of me, the famous Henry Van Persie, as some common
swindler?”
His temper was quick and unguarded-a stark contrast to the cold, calculating subordinates Alaric would employ.
At last, I studied him properly.
If he wasn’t one of Alaric’s men, then why had he been shadowing me?
Noticing my frown, Henry Van Persie scratched his head sheepishly.
“I’ve been watching you for days,” he admitted. “You’re kind, talented, and-forgive my boldness-exceptionally beautiful.
With skills like yours, this teahouse is bound to thrive.”
He flashed a grin, brimming with youthful confidence. “Hire me, and I’ll handle any troublemakers who dare show their
faces. I’m a fierce fighter, you know!”
So, he was simply seeking employment.
He couldn’t have been more than a few years past boyhood, with striking features and an earnest charm.
If he were to work here, the ladies from those noble families who once gossiped behind my back might instead become frequent patrons, drawn by his presence.
Chapter 7
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A faint smile curved my lips as I gave a nod of approval. Overjoyed, he threw his arms around me in an impulsive embrace.
“Thank you, my fair lady! You are an angel!”
I dismissed it as the exuberance of youth and thought little of it.
But in the shadows, unseen, a pair of eyes watched-then vanished silently into the night.
