Lord of The Mysterious Realms-Chapter 67: Stories and Prizes
Jenkins shook his head and changed the subject. "But certain people don't seem at all pleased by my presence."
"Really?"
Miss Hersha started, a look of bewildered surprise on her face. "Are they jealous of your talent?" she guessed in a hushed tone. "I heard your book has been flying off the shelves in the city lately. It's almost impossible to find a copy."
"Oh, is it?"
Jenkins chuckled bashfully, his mind drifting to how much money he might make. At the same time, he found the noble lady before him, who feigned the demeanor of a timid young girl, rather amusing.
How could anyone who had become an Enchanter and witnessed so many bizarre abilities and rituals possibly maintain such a personality?
As he spoke, he discreetly activated his Eye of Reality, trying to get a look at her and see if she possessed any supernatural items.
He had barely blinked, activating the ability with a simple mental suggestion, when Miss Hersha let out a soft cry, clutching her chest as she stumbled back a few steps.
"What's wrong?"
He hastily deactivated the ability.
"I don't know."
The young woman glanced around nervously as servants, having heard her cry, began to approach from a distance. "I felt like something was watching me just now," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "It was a horrible feeling... Mr. Williams, would you mind escorting me back to the drawing-room? With all the rumors of hauntings lately, I'm a little frightened..."
A faint blush colored her cheeks, and he couldn't tell if it was from genuine shyness or a masterful performance.
Jenkins, ever the gentleman, agreed to her request. He knew, however, that the girl must have incredibly sharp instincts. He had activated his ability right in front of her and had been careless enough to get caught. He would have to be more careful in the future.
Luckily for him, she had not realized the culprit was standing right before her.
Around eight o'clock, Jenkins found himself standing by a window, discussing his fairy tales with a few young ladies whose names he could not recall. Each time he reached the part where the little mermaid dissolves into sea foam, the noblewomen would let out soft gasps of wonder.
"I'm not very fond of that story."
Miss Mikhail and Miss Hersha, wine glasses in hand, approached. Though the young women Jenkins had been speaking with kept smiling, their demeanor suddenly grew more reserved.
"Why? Because it's a tragedy?"
Jenkins inquired.
He, too, held a delicate wine glass, though it was purely for show. He had not touched a drop of the red wine inside.
"But life isn't always a comedy," he mused. "After so many stories with happy endings, I felt I had to write something different."
"You think so?"
Miss Mikhail winked at him. "I also took it as a warning to young girls: don't be so quick to trust a man's love."
Jenkins nearly choked, his breath catching in his throat.
He gave a light chuckle. "Everyone has their own interpretation. That's perfectly normal."
"Mr. Williams, have you considered writing a book about the love between a prince and a princess?"
Seeing an opening in the conversation between Jenkins and Briny Mikhail, one of the young women who had been talking with him earlier asked excitedly.
"That, um, I'm still considering it."
He did not dare commit, well aware of his own limitations. Coming up with stories was easy enough, but his prose still left something to be desired.
The host of the reading salon, the duke's third son, cleared his throat to draw everyone's attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen, first, I'd like to thank you all for attending this gathering. I am deeply honored by your presence."
Jenkins could not quite recall the man's name. Wellington? Welington? Weggins?
"Since this is a reading salon, we ought to do something fitting. As it happens, many talented young authors are among us tonight. Why don't we decide on a theme and take turns telling a short story, right here and now?"
Naturally, no one objected. The whole thing had likely been arranged beforehand, and everyone had come prepared.
"Alright then, since everyone agrees, let's begin!"
"Wait!"
A young man in silk stockings and a powdered face spoke up. "Since so many of us are taking part, shouldn't there be a prize?"
This was the height of fashion at the time, a highly influential style among the youth. In contrast, Jenkins's more traditional gentlemanly attire would have been seen by some as rather dated.
"A symptom of a sick era."
Jenkins thought to himself, pegging the man as a plant for the duke's son.
"An excellent point!"
Mr. Wellington—or Weggins—exclaimed dramatically. He then produced a beautiful gemstone earring from his pocket and held it aloft. He had, indeed, come prepared.
"Then allow me to provide the prize," he declared. "This earring will be a gift for tonight's finest storyteller."
A few soft gasps rippled through the crowd. This time, Jenkins suspected the reactions were genuine. The earring was adorned with an exceptionally rare, solid orange gemstone.
"I should probably just lay low. Best not to draw attention."
He thought to himself, lowering his head with a nonchalant air. But then a flicker of suspicion caught him. He blinked and saw a faint yellow glow emanating from the gemstone.
"Well, since I came here with Miss Mikhail and Miss Hersha, I can't very well disgrace them. That wouldn't be very gentlemanly."
Jenkins told himself, lifting his head with a confident smile.
To create a more suitable atmosphere, they had the servants draw the curtains, extinguish the candles in the overhead chandelier and the gas lamps on the walls, and light a fire in the hearth.
A plush wool rug was spread before the hearth, and sofas and rocking chairs were arranged in a semicircle upon it. The ladies and gentlemen promptly took their seats.
Miss Mikhail and Miss Hersha sat next to Jenkins.
"Mr. Williams, are you confident you'll win?"
The timid Miss Hersha whispered.
Jenkins gave a slight nod, adjusting his bow tie with his right hand. "Don't you worry," he said. "Leave it to me!"
"Then, I, Daniel Wellington, will decide the theme."
A charming smile played on the young duke's face as his eyes swept over the expectant crowd, finally coming to rest on Jenkins.
"Summer may be drawing to a close, but on a tranquil evening like this, telling ghost stories by the fire has a certain elegance to it. Therefore, let our theme be... horror!"
A slight smile touched the corners of Jenkins's lips.
He could feel the eyes of those around him turn his way. After all, he was a writer of fairy tales. This theme, by any measure, was clearly aimed at him.
But what of it?
Miss Mikhail looked as if she was about to object to the theme, but Jenkins discreetly tugged at her sleeve. He gave her a smile, silently signaling that there was no need to worry.
.
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Chapter 67: Stories and Prizes
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