Chapter 3 · Kiss Me, Emperor

The courtiers all echoed, "We understand, Your Highness. We totally understand."

I quickly made a note of Victor's panicked face. That'll make a great internal monologue for him.

Just then, Theodore's gaze shifted toward me. His voice was chillingly cold. "Leo, is that novel yours?"

I shuddered.

How had he figured it out? I had been so careful.

No way.

My knees went weak. I was about to fall to the ground and beg for mercy when Nicolas Alden' booming voice cut through the tension. "It's not him."

My heart skipped a beat.

Well, well, didn't expect to have a backup in court.

Nicolas, of all people? I didn't even know him that well. Just a casual acquaintance. For him to stand up for me, though, was surprisingly moving.

But then, the next thing he said almost made me choke. "Leo? That bookworm? There's no way he could write such a gripping, tear-jerking love story. Don't insult our idol, Rich."

I... I didn't know how to feel.

Victor shot a glance at Nicolas. "Could it be you who wrote it, General Alden?"

Nicolas raised an eyebrow. "I would have, but the Aurelius Dynasty's throne needs me to be on duty. When would I have time to write such things?"

The room went quiet again. The atmosphere was tense, awkward even.

I glanced at Theodore. His expression had gone from enraged to something even more terrifying, dark and foreboding.

I had heard rumors about Theodore and Nicolas not getting along, but neither of them could touch the other.

After what felt like an eternity, Victor spoke again. "So, General, you're saying all this just to clear your name?"

"If you can't prove he didn't write it, then it's a direct insult to the Emperor... and to me. What should the punishment be?"

I felt my legs give way, nearly collapsing to the floor.

The empire was pretty open-minded, and steamy novels were everywhere.

It filled with scandalous tales everywhere you turned. Street vendors had books like The Emperor and the Maid's Forbidden Secrets, The Emperor and the Wet Nurse's Confessions, and even Theodore and the Nun's Passionate Affair…

Why was the emperor always the male lead?

Because he was handsome, of course. And he had zero women around him.

These types of wish-fulfillment stories sold like hotcakes.

But why, when I wrote one, was it suddenly considered disrespectful?

I shot a resentful glance at Victor.

It was definitely his fault. All of it. If only he wasn't a man.

Nicolas let out a mocking chuckle. "Are you trying to accuse me of a crime I didn't commit?

"Not likely."

With that, he pulled out a stack of manuscript papers from his sleeve.

Wait... was that the novel I had just finished writing last night? How did it end up in Nicolas's hands?

He waved the papers triumphantly in the air. "This," he said, "is the original manuscript from my idol, which I bought at a hundred times the price."

I stood there, speechless.

Whenever I finished a manuscript, I always handed it over to the book merchant.

The merchant would then arrange for copies to be made and sold.

The handwritten copies were sold for just a penny each, and yet Nicolas had bought the original at a hundred times that price?

Well, if he got the money, let him splurge.

People in the hall started whispering among themselves.

"Man, this handwriting is awful. Looks like chicken scratches."

"Seriously, the story is amazing, but the handwriting? Terrible."

"Honestly, even a three-year-old could do better than this."

Wow. Thanks for that.

Nicolas grinned. "All we need to do is have everyone write a sample here. We can compare the handwriting and identify my idol."

My heart clenched, and I almost missed a beat.

Theodore nodded solemnly.

Oh, great. Thanks, Nicolas, for putting your idol in this mess.

With a simple wave of Theodore's hand, ink, pens, and paper were brought forward. The court had turned into a massive calligraphy contest.

The whole court suddenly turned into a massive calligraphy show-and-tell.

Every courtier's handwriting was fancier than the last. Honestly, they all looked like pro calligraphers.

Soon, everyone had taken their turn, and not a single one had handwriting that looked like messy chicken scratch.

Now, I was the only one who hadn't written yet.

All eyes were on me.

Theodore's eyes were deep and gave nothing away; I couldn't read a single emotion on his face.

Victor's expression was downright murderous, like he was just waiting for me to pick up the brush so he could tear me apart.

Nicolas's expression was complicated. It seemed like he was thinking, 'It couldn't possibly be him, could it? My idol couldn't have such terrible handwriting.'

I took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and wrote one sentence: [I am not Rich.]

Sure, my handwriting wasn't perfect. But it was legible. It wasn't "chicken scratch."

People started whispering all over again.

Chapter 3

The courtiers all echoed, "We understand, Your Highness. We totally understand."

I quickly made a note of Victor's panicked face. That'll make a great internal monologue for him.

Just then, Theodore's gaze shifted toward me. His voice was chillingly cold. "Leo, is that novel yours?"

I shuddered.

How had he figured it out? I had been so careful.

No way.

My knees went weak. I was about to fall to the ground and beg for mercy when Nicolas Alden' booming voice cut through the tension. "It's not him."

My heart skipped a beat.

Well, well, didn't expect to have a backup in court.

Nicolas, of all people? I didn't even know him that well. Just a casual acquaintance. For him to stand up for me, though, was surprisingly moving.

But then, the next thing he said almost made me choke. "Leo? That bookworm? There's no way he could write such a gripping, tear-jerking love story. Don't insult our idol, Rich."

I... I didn't know how to feel.

Victor shot a glance at Nicolas. "Could it be you who wrote it, General Alden?"

Nicolas raised an eyebrow. "I would have, but the Aurelius Dynasty's throne needs me to be on duty. When would I have time to write such things?"

The room went quiet again. The atmosphere was tense, awkward even.

I glanced at Theodore. His expression had gone from enraged to something even more terrifying, dark and foreboding.

I had heard rumors about Theodore and Nicolas not getting along, but neither of them could touch the other.

After what felt like an eternity, Victor spoke again. "So, General, you're saying all this just to clear your name?"

"If you can't prove he didn't write it, then it's a direct insult to the Emperor... and to me. What should the punishment be?"

I felt my legs give way, nearly collapsing to the floor.

The empire was pretty open-minded, and steamy novels were everywhere.

Why was the emperor always the male lead?

Because he was handsome, of course. And he had zero women around him.

These types of wish-fulfillment stories sold like hotcakes.

But why, when I wrote one, was it suddenly considered disrespectful?

I shot a resentful glance at Victor.

It was definitely his fault. All of it. If only he wasn't a man.

Nicolas let out a mocking chuckle. "Are you trying to accuse me of a crime I didn't commit?

"Not likely."

With that, he pulled out a stack of manuscript papers from his sleeve.

Wait... was that the novel I had just finished writing last night? How did it end up in Nicolas's hands?

He waved the papers triumphantly in the air. "This," he said, "is the original manuscript from my idol, which I bought at a hundred times the price."

I stood there, speechless.

Whenever I finished a manuscript, I always handed it over to the book merchant.

The merchant would then arrange for copies to be made and sold.

The handwritten copies were sold for just a penny each, and yet Nicolas had bought the original at a hundred times that price?

Well, if he got the money, let him splurge.

People in the hall started whispering among themselves.

"Man, this handwriting is awful. Looks like chicken scratches."

"Seriously, the story is amazing, but the handwriting? Terrible."

"Honestly, even a three-year-old could do better than this."

Wow. Thanks for that.

Nicolas grinned. "All we need to do is have everyone write a sample here. We can compare the handwriting and identify my idol."

My heart clenched, and I almost missed a beat.

Theodore nodded solemnly.

Oh, great. Thanks, Nicolas, for putting your idol in this mess.

With a simple wave of Theodore's hand, ink, pens, and paper were brought forward. The court had turned into a massive calligraphy contest.

The whole court suddenly turned into a massive calligraphy show-and-tell.

Every courtier's handwriting was fancier than the last. Honestly, they all looked like pro calligraphers.

Soon, everyone had taken their turn, and not a single one had handwriting that looked like messy chicken scratch.

Now, I was the only one who hadn't written yet.

All eyes were on me.

Theodore's eyes were deep and gave nothing away; I couldn't read a single emotion on his face.

Victor's expression was downright murderous, like he was just waiting for me to pick up the brush so he could tear me apart.

Nicolas's expression was complicated. It seemed like he was thinking, 'It couldn't possibly be him, could it? My idol couldn't have such terrible handwriting.'

I took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and wrote one sentence: [I am not Rich.]

Sure, my handwriting wasn't perfect. But it was legible. It wasn't "chicken scratch."

People started whispering all over again.