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Join the Server“How on earth did you know I was arriving?”
“I spotted your carriage approaching from the window. And I recognized the rhythm of your footsteps on the stairs.”
“My footsteps?”
“Mr. Grayan always rushes up the steps in a sudden burst, pauses briefly to catch his breath, and then rushes up the rest. It has a very distinct rhythm to it.”
‘I’ve been completely read.’
Simon felt a deep blush flush across his face. The mortifying realization that his clumsy, hesitant movements—born entirely from an eager, desperate longing to see Clint as quickly as possible—had been so easily decoded left him profoundly embarrassed.
Navigating to his accustomed spot on the plush velvet settee, Simon accepted a glass of fresh water offered by Clint, his eyes lazily surveying the interior of the agency. While the room retained its austere, stripped-down aesthetic, the grand mahogany bookcase he had previously arranged to have delivered provided a deeply comforting anchor of familiarity.
‘What interior addition should I arrange next? Perhaps a rich woven rug? Or heavy silk drapes?’
He internally resolved that whatever he selected next would be exceptionally heavy and outrageously expensive. Setting down his glass, Clint slid into the armchair positioned directly across from him, resting the miniature drum on the side table. As the detective reached up to remove the brightly colored party hat, he let out a soft, low grunt of discomfort. The thin elastic cord securing the hat had become intricately tangled within his dark curls.
“It appears I am thoroughly ensnared here. Would you mind lending a hand, Mr. Grayan?”
Clint leaned his head forward with a helpless, slightly embarrassed expression.
‘Thank you from the absolute bottom of my heart, tiny party hat!’ Simon offered a silent, overwhelming prayer of gratitude to the universe before carefully extending his hands toward Clint’s hair.
Clint sat entirely still, placing his dark tresses completely at the mercy of Simon’s touch. A sharp, thrilling jolt of pure emotion resonated deep within Simon’s chest. The detective’s hair radiated a subtle, exceptionally pleasant fragrance of cedarwood and sweet tobacco. The dark strands winding around his fingertips felt impossibly soft, igniting an intense, desperate desire to continue touching them indefinitely.
Using every available sense—the delicate tactile feedback, the intoxicating scent, the breathtaking proximity—Simon thoroughly savored every fleeting microsecond of untangling the stubborn knot.
“There. It is completely freed.”
A fleeting, exquisitely beautiful moment…
Simon felt a profound wave of satisfaction wash over him. Watching Clint give his head a light, casual shake reminded Simon of a massive, fluffy hound drying itself off after a bath, a sight that warmed his heart to its absolute core. ‘I desperately want to bury both hands in those messy black curls and thoroughly mess them up!’ He made a firm mental note to log this specific desire within his private journal the moment he returned home. While an outsider discovering such scribbles would inevitably subject him to a mortifying, lethal level of embarrassment, what did it matter? For some mysterious reason, committing a desire to those pages felt like a sacred step toward making it a reality.
“By the way, it is remarkably quiet around here today,” Simon noted, gazing toward the street. “Have you really had no visitors?”
Given that the major regional newspapers had prominently featured Clint’s name alongside the address of his detective agency, Simon had anticipated a chaotic frenzy surrounding the property. Yet both the ground-floor commercial shops and the agency office remained strikingly serene.
“A relentless swarm of journalists attempted to breach the premises earlier, but I systematically turned them all away. It was far too exhausting to deal with.”
“Why would you do that? Surely an surge in public fame works to your advantage.”
“Fame is an entirely useless commodity. I have absolutely zero desire to become busy.”
It was a quintessentially idle response. Clint was undeniably indulging in the lifestyle of a lazy slacker who merely utilized the title of ‘detective’ as a convenient cover. Yet, witnessing his untroubled, thoroughly relaxed composure brought a gentle smile to Simon’s face.
“What about official client requests? Has the volume of incoming cases not expanded?”
“A few minor inquiries came through the mail, but I was waiting for Mr. Grayan’s return.”
“Waiting for me?”
“I am currently devoid of a capable detective assistant. What manner of official investigation could I possibly execute alone?”
Clint offered a soft, lingering smile. Ah, this man is intentionally fluttering my heart again. Forcing his rapidly pounding heart to maintain a veneer of composure, Simon offered a playful, grumbling counter.
“Are you quite sure you weren’t simply looking for a convenient excuse to idle away the afternoon?”
“Ah, my true motives have been thoroughly exposed,” Clint chuckled lightly, his clear laughter echoing through the room.
“That reminds me—I brought a truly astonishing piece of news. Look at this.”
Simon retrieved the formal, wax-sealed document and handed it across the table. The exact millisecond Clint’s eyes anchored onto the official seal stamped across the envelope, his features hardened into a brief, icy paralysis before he seamlessly smoothed his expression back into a relaxed smile, lightly waving the parchment through the air. The transition was so instantaneous, so flawlessly executed, that Simon completely missed the fleeting shadow that had crossed the detective’s face.
“What is the nature of this document?”
“It is a formal correspondence issued directly by the Lord Regent! He wishes to formally commend our tactical contributions regarding the apprehension of Peter Matterson, and has officially invited us to the castle for a private audience!”
“Hmm. Is that so?”
Clint offered a remarkably lukewarm reaction, looking entirely detached, as if the matter concerned a complete stranger. He had appeared exponentially more enthusiastic while tapping on his toy drum.
“Are you not even remotely surprised? Our achievements have been recognized by the highest authority in the realm!”
“It is certainly curious that the Lord Regent would personally issue a summons.”
Despite his words, Clint’s expression remained distinctly unenthusiastic.
“Kindly convey my regards and enjoy the audience on my behalf, Mr. Grayan,” Clint added, giving a casual shrug of his shoulders.
While Dalton had been thrown into a state of manic, unhinged excitement from the exact moment the letter arrived, Clint displayed absolute, chilling indifference. The stark contrast between the two men was almost comedic.
Simon blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. “Are you implying you have no intention of attending?”
“Indeed.”
“Is that truly wise? It is a direct summons from the Lord Regent himself…”
“His Excellency’s curiosity is undoubtedly directed toward a distinguished noble like yourself. He will hardly spare a thought for an insignificant detective like me.”
“If you say so…”
If Clint was this firmly set against going, no amount of persuasion would alter his mind. While Simon harbored a deep, earnest desire to navigate the grand castle alongside him, forcing the matter upon someone who explicitly declined would be a breach of etiquette. Simon gave a quiet, resigned nod.
Given that he had covertly slipped out of the estate while avoiding his uncle’s watchful gaze, he couldn’t afford a prolonged stay. Accompanied by Clint down the narrow staircase, Simon boarded his carriage and returned to the mansion.
A few days passed, bringing the scheduled date of the royal audience at the Lord’s castle. Dressed in immaculate, tailored aristocratic attire that far surpassed his daily wardrobe, Simon stepped into the private carriage. Dalton aggressively forced his way inside alongside him. Despite never having received a formal invitation, the older man had obstinately insisted on tagging along.
Before long, the carriage ground to a halt before the sweeping iron gates of the Lord’s fortress.
The structure was breathtakingly grand, built in an older architectural style characterized by sweeping, elegant curves. The weathered patina of the stone exterior clearly testified to the centuries of history anchored within its foundations. Standing within the grand marble lobby was an elderly, impeccably dressed seneschal waiting to receive them. With crisp, perfectly measured movements, the senior retainer guided Simon and Dalton into a lavish reception parlor, where refreshments were served while they waited.
“Listen to me carefully, Simon. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Dalton whispered, his eyes blazing with unbridled political ambition. He gestured aggressively as if Simon were merely an afterthought accompanying an audience arranged exclusively for himself—despite the reality being precisely the opposite. He fired off a non-stop barrage of tactical advice, a frantic display clearly designed to soothe his own rising nerves.
‘I desperately want to go home…’
Simon offered quiet, polite nods while keeping his true thoughts entirely detached. Thanks to Dalton’s suffocating presence, any lingering sense of excitement regarding the castle visit had long since evaporated.
After a brief wait, the elderly seneschal returned to the parlor.
“His Excellency, Lord Eutes, is prepared to receive you. Kindly follow me to the private study.”
The moment the words left the retainer’s mouth, Dalton bolted upright from his seat. He frantically adjusted his lapels and let out a loud cough to clear his throat. Simon rose reluctantly alongside him.
“Lead the way,” Dalton declared, looking ready to march straight into the office.
However, the seneschal offered a polite, graceful smile, smoothly stepping into Dalton’s path.
“My deepest apologies, sir, but His Excellency has requested an audience exclusively with Master Simon Grayan.”
“What did you say?! I am his uncle!” Dalton snapped, his face flushing as he fought to suppress a surge of outrage.
“I understand, sir. Kindly remain in this parlor and enjoy the refreshments.”
“Listen here—!”
“It is the explicit command of Lord Eutes.”
Dalton’s mouth snapped shut instantly. To defy a direct decree issued by the Lord Regent within his own castle was an act of absolute political suicide. Having traveled all this way to curry favor, committing a breach of royal protocol was unthinkable.
“Master Simon Grayan. Kindly follow me to the study.”
Noticing the tense atmosphere, Simon cast a cautious glance toward his uncle.
“Go… go ahead, Simon,” Dalton grated out through tightly clenched teeth, his face flushed a violent, deep crimson. Being treated as an irrelevant appendage by a mere retainer—in front of his own nephew—filled him with a toxic mixture of intense humiliation and fury. Had they been at the estate, he would have unleashed a violent tirade, but within the walls of the Lord’s fortress, he had no choice but to swallow his rage.
Left with no alternative, Simon followed the seneschal alone. As he walked down a grand, sunlit corridor, his heart began to hammer erratically against his ribs. Now that Dalton’s overwhelming noise had vanished, the sudden realization of where he was—and precisely who he was about to meet entirely on his own—finally crashed over him with immense weight.
‘What on earth am I supposed to do? Oh god, oh god, oh god.’
They arrived at a set of heavy, carved oak doors. The seneschal delivered a measured knock, announcing Simon’s arrival, and a deep, authoritative voice called out from within, granting entry. Was that Lord Eutes himself? Simon’s entire body locked into a state of rigid tension.
The retainer smoothly pulled the door open. Simon stepped across the threshold with stiff, unnatural movements, looking as though he had suddenly forgotten the basic mechanics of walking. In hindsight, he almost wished he had aggressively insisted on bringing Dalton along; at least his uncle would have handled the talking!
Seated behind a grand mahogany desk at the far end of the luxurious study was a solitary man: Girion Eutes, the Lord Regent of the territory. He possessed striking, almost silver-blonde hair paired with a pale complexion, and piercing blue eyes that carried a quiet, melancholic depth—a remarkably handsome man with sharp, aristocratic features. Though he appeared to be roughly a decade older than Simon, his position as the interim ruler lent him an aura of gravitas and experience far exceeding his physical years.
As Simon prepared to offer a formal bow, Girion raised a single, elegant hand, indicating for him to pause. The Lord Regent remained deeply absorbed in reviewing a stack of official documents, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the center of the room.
‘Was I not supposed to step inside yet? Should I offer a formal greeting anyway?’
A wave of nervous anxiety washed over him. After a brief, agonizing pause, Girion finally raised his head. Setting his quill aside, he stood up and approached Simon with a warm, welcoming smile. The sharp, icy impression he had projected moments ago completely melted away, replaced by an astonishingly approachable charm.
“Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I am Girion Eutes.”
The informal address flowed entirely naturally from his lips. Simon quickly bowed his head, reaching out to accept the extended hand.
“I am Simon Grayan. It is a profound honor to meet Your Excellency.”
The rehearsed, flattering dialogue Dalton had forced him to memorize slipped effortlessly from his lips. Yet, Girion did not immediately release his hand; instead, he held it securely, gazing intently down at Simon’s face. Sensing the prolonged silence, Simon cautiously looked up.
As their eyes met, Girion offered a soft, lingering smile—an expression that carried an inexplicably heavy, deeply meaningful weight.
“You are far too tense, young man. There is truly no need for such formality in my presence.”
Girion gently kneaded Simon’s hand within his grip. Because both men were wearing fine leather gloves, Simon felt only the firm, deliberate pressure of the Lord Regent’s fingers squeezing his own. Simon could manage nothing more than a stiff, thoroughly awkward smile in response.
The excitement doesn't stop here! If you enjoyed this, you’ll adore Moon and Back. Start reading now!
Read : Moon and Back
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