Chapter 7 – When Nobles Knock (and Forget Their Wallets)

If someone had told me last week that a duke—yes, an actual duke with a family tree longer than the royal tax records—would show up at my humble detective agency, I’d have laughed in their face and asked them to pay for my coffee first. Yet there he was, Duke Wonderla Hermas, stepping into my office like he owned the place.

And honestly, with the way he carried himself—broad shoulders wrapped in a cloak so white it probably had its own halo—he almost looked like he did own the place.

The man wasn’t alone. Behind him stood a young woman who could probably make a roomful of poets throw down their quills and retire. Kiara Hermas. Nineteen years old, if my memory of the gossip rags was correct, and every bit the “fairest rose in the kingdom” the bards kept singing about. Fair skin that almost glowed in the afternoon light, a tiny mole on her left cheek like some mischievous star, long black hair that gleamed as if it had a personal contract with the sun, and a headband crowned with a red lotus that somehow looked regal and rebellious at the same time.

Some people have that aura that says, Yes, I was born to be admired. Kiara didn’t even try; it just leaked out of her like the scent of a freshly baked pie.

Her mother, I remembered, had passed away five years ago. Tragic story. You’d think the duke might still wear a shadow of that loss, but if he did, it was buried deep beneath layers of polished manners and the faint smell of very expensive cologne.

Kiara, on the other hand, looked nervous. She stepped forward first, voice soft but steady.
“Sir, we really need your help.”

There’s something about a noblewoman asking for my help that makes a man stand a little taller, even if his knees are knocking.

“Of course,” I said, gesturing toward the inner room. “Let’s talk inside.”

Now, when I say “inner room,” don’t picture some dusty broom closet with a desk and a squeaky chair. No, sir. I’d made myself a proper investigation room. Comfortable armchairs, a rug that almost matched, a small bookshelf filled with books I fully intended to read someday, and a coffee table that gave me more pride than my own reflection.

I’d seen plenty of movies where rich people had private rooms for serious discussions. Why should they have all the fun? I had a system to back me up, after all. If they could have secret parlors and cigar lounges, I could at least have a lounge where clients felt they’d come to the right place.

The duke lowered himself into one of the chairs like he was inspecting a throne. Kiara sat gracefully beside him, hands folded in her lap.

“Listen, mister…” he began.

“Erik,” I supplied, leaning back in my chair. “Erik Thermos.”

It always felt good to say my name like that—like James Bond introducing himself before he ordered something shaken, not stirred.

The duke gave a curt nod. “Yes, Erik sir. I hope you can keep this matter a secret.”

“Absolutely,” I replied, trying not to grin. “Discretion is our policy. We have a strict no-blabbering rule. Written in stone. Or… at least in my notebook.”

“I trust you,” the duke said gravely. “Something has happened—twice now—that I cannot ignore.”

I steepled my fingers in what I hoped was a professional detective manner. “I’m listening.”

He took a breath, his jaw tightening. “A few days ago, my daughter was returning from the library in the evening when someone attacked her.”

Kiara’s eyes flickered at the memory, but she held her head high.

“It was fortunate,” the duke continued, “that her bodyguard was present. But it was not even night yet. Broad daylight, and yet someone dared…” His voice trailed off, thick with frustration.

“That’s alarming,” I said, meaning it.

“I immediately reported it to the royal palace,” he went on, “but no one took it seriously. Then—today—the same thing happened again. This time in her own room. Everything was turned upside down, as if the intruder was searching for something. But I swear on my family name: I have nothing to hide.”

He clenched his fists. The man looked like he wanted to strangle the invisible attacker right then and there.

I tilted my head. “It happened in your daughter’s room, you say. Could it be that she… well, that she has something they want?”

Kiara looked genuinely baffled. “I do not know. I have nothing of value that is not already known to me. I have never stolen anything in my life. Why suddenly would we be attacked?”

I drummed my fingers on the armrest. “And the queen? She didn’t help?”

His lips thinned. “The royal knights’ third-rank officer told me the queen is sick. He advised me to speak to the Silver instead.”

Ah. Silver. Lucy’s older brother. I sighed inwardly. That explained a lot—and nothing. If Silver was involved, it meant complications.

So he sent those goons after Kiara? But why? The questions buzzed in my head like drunken bees.

Before I could voice them, a familiar voice sliced through the room.

“Well, if I hadn’t overheard, how would I know someone in my court was being ignored?”

I turned, and there she was—the queen herself.

Queen Lin, in all her casual glory: hair thrown into a messy bun that somehow looked deliberate, a plain dress the color of soft clouds, and in her hands, two neat slices of watermelon. She looked like she’d stepped out of a summer afternoon picnic rather than the royal chambers. Thirty-five years old and yet carrying herself like twenty-five, she had that ageless kind of beauty that made time feel like a joke.

My heart did a small, traitorous skip.

“This is my case,” I said, only half pretending to be annoyed.

“If I hadn’t listened, how else would I know what happens when I’m sick?” she shot back, her smile sharp as a blade hidden in silk.

The duke blinked at her, brow furrowed. “You… you look familiar…”

“Yes,” I said casually, as if we weren’t in the presence of the most powerful woman in the kingdom. “You’re right. She’s the queen.”

The reaction was instantaneous. Father and daughter scrambled to their feet, voices overlapping:

“Hail to Queen Lin!”

The queen took a bite of watermelon as if royal greetings were the most natural background music.

“That’s why,” she said with mock exasperation, “he kept sending me outside all the time—so he could take over the court.”

Right on cue, Lucy emerged from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs of coffee, her expression that special blend of soldierly calm and sisterly mischief.

While they all exchanged greetings, I found myself calculating the cost of the coffee beans she’d just used. At this rate I’d never break even. Not that I’d ever pay her a salary anyway. Some habits die hard.

Kiara suddenly gasped. “You… you are the Royal Number One Knight, Lucy Scott! I did not recognize you before!”

Lucy’s smile was small but proud. “That’s me.”

“And I am here too!” a cheerful voice chirped from the doorway.

Lily Scott waltzed in, holding two tiny insects in her cupped hands like precious jewels.

“You are the gold-rank scientist of Gale City,” the duke said, his eyes widening in recognition. “I heard you went on a long journey to find dragon cubs!”

“Yes,” Lily replied serenely, “but I’ve decided to stay here for now.”

A smaller, softer voice piped up. “Excuse me… give me back my insects, Lily.”

Urara, ever the quiet storm, stepped forward with an almost comical pout.

The duke’s jaw dropped. “You—You are from the Red Brown Clan Village girl?!” His voice cracked in sheer surprise.

“Red Brown?” I repeated, tilting my head. “What’s that?”

“It is… or was,” the duke said, his tone softening, “a very hidden and rare village. Long ago I once went there to supply gold. They had the best magicians and crafters in the world. But that village was wiped out many years ago. People believed the Red Brown Clan no longer existed. And now—” He looked at Urara as if she were a vision from a legend. “Now I am seeing one of them before me. Like a goddess.”

Urara gave the smallest of smiles. “It’s all past. Now I’m just working part time.”

Part time. The girl said it like she was talking about a weekend market job, not the extinction of an entire magical lineage.

Meanwhile, my own thoughts were anything but reverent. These people… these high-ranking, important country-saving people… are all lazily hanging out in my house?

Seriously, what were they doing here? Shouldn’t they be out saving the kingdom from war, famine, or at least a shortage of good bread? Instead, they were eating my watermelon and drinking my coffee.

I fought the urge to shout: Go do your jobs!

Or better yet: Help me earn some money!

They were worth millions, probably billions. And what had they given me so far? Nothing. Not a single shiny coin.

And yet, somehow, they’d made my little office feel like the most important place in the realm.

I sighed, sinking deeper into my chair. Fine. If destiny wanted to turn my detective agency into the unofficial headquarters of the kingdom’s most influential freeloaders, who was I to argue?

But they’d better not touch the last slice of watermelon.