♡ TL: Khadija SK
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“Your face doesn’t look good.”
Theodore’s expression, as he climbed into the carriage after the council meeting, was so dour that his secretary, Umberto, couldn’t overlook it.
Theodore handed Umberto the thick stack of papers he’d received at the council.
“Should I review them myself?”
“Get rid of them. They’re a waste of paper, a waste of ink—a waste by every measure.”
Theodore’s scathing critique targeted the High Council of Nobles, mired in fruitless debate.
Those who’d secured their positions through lineage and birth into prestigious families showed no interest in advancing the kingdom or improving its people’s lives.
Even when a constructive topic arose, only two or three engaged, while the rest whispered about the best hunting spots.
The same applied to significant decisions.
Lacking deep thought, they offered no sound solutions or improvements, yet amid this, they zealously rushed to protect their personal interests with eyes swollen from indignation.
Theodore sometimes saw them as hyenas he’d observed on his journey across the African continent.
“What was discussed today to put you in such a state?”
Umberto chuckled lightly, setting the papers aside.
Even if he’d discard them, he couldn’t toss them into the trash bin right in front of others’ eyes.
Theodore propped his elbow on the window frame, welcoming the cool breeze.
The crisp air seemed to ease his frustration.
“They proposed revising the banned books list.”
“Reorganizing the banned books list? They did that just six months ago.”
The banned books list was typically redrafted annually.
Books deemed contrary to public morals, obscene and degenerate, or inciting corruption and social discord were included.
When a book was classified as banned, it wasn’t merely discarded—its publisher and author faced a thorough mental evaluation at the royal palace.
Little was known about this process, but it clearly wouldn’t be pleasant.
Though criteria existed for banned books, most listed works ended up there for offending the king or nobles.
Angering the king was the gravest crime in the kingdom, so one could easily imagine the treatment awaiting them would be harrowing, no details required.
“Who angered His Majesty this time?”
Umberto, knowing the truth, couldn’t even muster a polite smile.
“A foreign author.”
“Then isn’t that an advantage? The author’s safe.”
“But they intend to seize the translator.”
“What? The translator’s just someone paid to translate…”
Umberto’s face twisted in dismay at this incomprehensible decision.
“Absurd, isn’t it? I can’t grasp it either. In fact, suddenly redefining the banned books list makes no sense. So when I debated them point by point…”
“They ignored you, didn’t they?”
“Not ignored—they didn’t listen at all. When I told them to get their hearing checked at the hospital, they suddenly pretended to hear.”
Theodore was young, but a duke.
Yet this year marked his first active participation in the High Council.
Due to these circumstances, a subtle rivalry brewed between the veteran nobles, long dominant in the council, and Theodore, a rising force.
The seasoned nobles, entrenched in the political arena, feigned respect for Theodore’s words while slyly dismissing him like foxes.
Theodore tried—sometimes with anger, sometimes with laughter—to win them over and take control of the council.
Not because he harbored a goal or justice to reform this corrupt nation, but simply because he didn’t want unqualified people meddling.
“Looks like you lost today.”
Theodore’s brow furrowed deeply.
“I have no supporters.”
“Need some comfort? Just say the word, and I’ll be gentle and give you a hug.”
“Keep your face away—it’s repulsive.”
Theodore laughed softly.
Thanks to Umberto, his mood lifted slightly.
His keen interest in the banned books list—common to every nation and set yearly—stemmed from this being his first time involved in its classification, and because a book he’d read was listed.
More precisely, a publishing house he closely followed was targeted.
It occasionally released experimental works by young writers, and the translated books it published biannually suited Theodore’s taste.
A book he’d read abroad and admired—one he’d planned to translate and publish himself—had come from this house.
Theodore knew nothing of its owner but believed they possessed keen insight.
Imagining a future where the kingdom lost that insight left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Should we purge the books from your library too, Your Grace?”
Umberto posed a practical question.
A sudden search of Theodore’s stature was unlikely, but owning banned books wasn’t advantageous.
“The list isn’t finalized yet.”
Thanks to Theodore’s prestige, he’d convinced them to meet twice before finalizing the banned books list, securing a roughly month-long reprieve.
During that time, he intended to meet the publishing house owner and, if possible, the translator, to offer advice.
If he could, he’d urge them to leave the country.
It might seem overstepping, but it was his thanks for their books suiting his taste thus far.
“Do you have a specific plan?”
“Not necessarily. Oh, did you discard the papers I gave you?”
“I thought you might need them, so I kept them.”
Umberto handed back the papers he’d set aside.
Theodore flipped through them quickly, then lingered on one sheet for a long while.
“Find out who wrote this.”
He pulled out the page he’d been staring at and handed it to Umberto.
“A newspaper? Oh, no, it’s not.”
“It’s a magazine sent only to subscribers. I don’t know who wrote it. Mr. Carlson brought it, saying its author is corrupting his daughter.”
“Hmm, the content would certainly upset Mr. Carlson.”
The magazine logically argued phrases like “Women, be ambitious,” and how a life with marriage as its sole aim was miserable.
Its boldness could turn the stomachs of conservative adults—indeed, most nobles.
“Mr. Carlson suggested compiling a list of disruptive writers alongside the banned books. He said those negatively influencing society should be unable to lift their heads.”
“That’s rather harsh. So what do you plan by finding this person first? Don’t tell me you dislike their writing too? Are you offended?”
Among the papers Mr. Carlson provided was content sharply criticizing men as well.
In truth, its razor-sharp sentences made Umberto shudder while reading.
Making mere reading feel like being sliced by a blade was proof of the writer’s exceptional skill.
“People are free in their thoughts. No one should be punished for thinking differently from me. I’m just curious. I wonder how someone who lived a certain life gained such perspective.”
“It piqued your interest, then.”
Theodore lifted a corner of his lips.
His mood brightened slightly at the thought of meeting someone intriguing.
“I’ll find them as soon as possible.”
Umberto closed the sharp writings and tucked them into his bag. Then he spotted a white letter inside. His shoulder twitched.
He’d forgotten something Theodore had emphatically entrusted to him.
Theodore’s grim face after the council was no excuse for his lapse.
“Your Grace.”
Umberto spoke with the demeanor of one with no defense if punished.
Theodore, gazing out the window, turned to him.
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry.”
Umberto’s apologies were never welcome.
Each time he offered one, he’d erred.
Competent as Umberto was, his haste sometimes caused trouble. Theodore raised a puzzled eyebrow.
“What did you do this time?”
“A letter arrived.”
Instead of lengthy explanations, Umberto handed Theodore the white envelope.
Theodore immediately checked the sender. His face froze again.
It was from Viscount Easton.
“When did it arrive?”
“It seems it came shortly after we left the mansion. It arrived directly from the Easton household, bypassing the post, so Easton’s butler deemed it urgent. He said he followed us straightaway when he didn’t find us at the mansion.”
“And then?”
“He was a step too late. I received it after you’d entered the council.”
“Hmm.”
Theodore let out a long sigh, almost a groan, and turned the letter over in his hands.
“An Easton servant brought it himself?”
What was so urgent?
Theodore opened the letter with a frown. Moments later, he banged hard on the window connected to the driver.
“Head to the Easton residence!”
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