Sugar Apple Fairytale - Volume 3 - Chapter Pr

Prologue

If there is any place that can be considered holy ground for candy crafters, it is Silver Westol Castle. It is the castle bestowed upon the Silver Sugar Viscount, the greatest of all Silver Sugar Masters. The manor is an elegant work of architecture, with white walls and towers overlooking a lake and a forest.

It serves as a symbol of the rights and recognition given to the Silver Sugar Viscount by the king of Highland.

Becoming a candy crafter and then achieving that position—for most people, it is one of the loftiest dreams imaginable.

The current Silver Sugar Viscount, Hugh Mercury, is a true success story.

After both his parents died when he was young, Hugh lived on the streets with a group of orphans, stealing to survive. From those unexpected beginnings, he became an apprentice candy crafter, then a professional candy crafter, and then a Silver Sugar Master. He was even adopted into the family who founded the Mercury Workshop, and he took on the Mercury name.

And finally, he was awarded the title of Silver Sugar Viscount.

“If things stay as they are, the disaster from twenty years ago will happen all over again. This is my proposal for how to avoid that,” Hugh announced before slowly standing up.

He roughly smoothed down his messy brown hair and put on his simple jacket. He was a noble, but not by birth. Because of that, he made an effort to project an aura of aristocratic elegance.

But his eyes held a wild sharpness and intensity. He was intimidating enough to maintain order in the room.

He was in one of the chambers in the tower of Silver Westol Castle.

It was a small, snug room where Hugh could have meals with his inner circle. The maestros or their representatives from the three major factions of candy crafters were sitting around the table in the middle of the room.

John Killean, the proxy maestro from the Mercury Workshop.

Elliott Collins, the proxy maestro from the Paige Workshop.

And Marcus Radcliffe, the actual maestro of the Radcliffe Workshop.

Looking at each of them in turn, Hugh smiled broadly.

“Now, I’ve chosen to discuss this with you out of respect for each of the factions. I won’t take no for an answer.”

When Hugh said that, a look of great exasperation appeared on John Killean’s slim, anxious face. As he adjusted the monocle he wore over his left eye, he turned toward Hugh.

“I support you; I do. But, Viscount, I wish you would have consulted with me beforehand. After all, I am your proxy, in name at least.”

Hugh was still the maestro of the Mercury Workshop. But since it was difficult to concurrently serve as both maestro and Silver Sugar Viscount, he had John Killean act in his stead.

“Even if I had consulted with you, I’m sure you wouldn’t have opposed me. You’re in agreement,” Hugh said decisively.

John shrugged.

Elliott Collins chuckled and raised his hand casually. “Ah, as am I. I have no objections. It seems like my faction will be in trouble, too, if we don’t act.”

Glen Paige, the maestro of the Paige Workshop, had been bedridden with illness for many years; Elliott, who was in line to be the next maestro, was filling in for him. Elliott had short red hair that stuck out in all directions. He was a cheerful young man whose drooping eyes gave the impression that he was always smiling.

“I, too, have no objections. However, Silver Sugar Viscount…” The last to speak was Marcus Radcliffe.

Hugh, John, and Elliott were around the same age, in their twenties to early thirties; Marcus, meanwhile, was in his fifties. Perhaps because of that, he had a really strong presence in the room.

“…who will take charge of your plan? It’s certainly not something the Silver Sugar Viscount can do on his own.”

“Of course not. The matter will be entrusted to one of the factions.”

“Well then, we will assume responsibility,” Marcus answered immediately.

John scowled, but Elliott offered a round of applause.

“Splendid, Master Radcliffe! You see, we are unable to take the lead. We simply don’t have the resources to tend to the whole kingdom.”

“You’re not eager to do much, are you?”

Even under John’s withering gaze, Elliott did not drop his cheerful smile.

“I mean, it’s the truth. The two of you are free to quarrel over the privilege.”

John turned back to face Marcus.

“We, too, would like to accept the job, Master Radcliffe.”

“Is that a scheme to monopolize major jobs under the authority of the Silver Sugar Viscount?”

“It has nothing to do with him. It’s fundamental to the position of the Viscount that he treat all factions equally. As a representative of one of the factions, I consider this an important job that will unify all candy crafters, so I must submit my name in the running.”

Hugh smiled wryly at John and Marcus, who were glaring at each other.

“Well then, let’s be fair here. Shall we draw lots?”

Just as the last pink rays of the late summer sunset were being chased away by the approaching darkness, the maestros and proxies of the various factions left Silver Westol Castle.

After returning to his private chambers, Hugh opened the sliding glass door that led to his balcony, stretched out on the sofa, and closed his eyes. The lace curtain that hung over the sliding door brushed the tips of his boots as it swayed in the wind.

“Viscount. The evening wind is chilly, and you may catch a cold. I’ve brought you some tea,” Salim said as he closed the balcony door.

Hearing his voice, Hugh opened his eyes.

“You brought tea? What about Lucy?”

“She said you were in a bad mood, and she didn’t want to come. She told me to bring it up to you instead.”

“Right. Her power is reading people’s moods, isn’t it?”

The worker fairy who tended to Hugh’s everyday needs was a little woman who nagged him like a mother-in-law and was oddly forceful despite her small stature. She had no compunctions about putting Salim and the others to work.

Hugh sat up. He stared at Salim’s hands as the younger man placed one set of tea utensils on the table and dexterously poured a cup of tea. Steam rose from the cup.

“Is the Radcliffe Workshop the source of your displeasure?” Salim suddenly asked. “I imagine the cause lies with them taking over that job?”

“Why do you think that it has put me in a foul mood? I’m the one who suggested that we draw lots. Naturally, I had considered the possibility that the Radcliffe Workshop might be chosen.”

“But you wanted to let the Mercury Workshop handle it, didn’t you? Considering her situation. But you weren’t able to do that. The Silver Sugar Viscount is required to treat all factions with impartiality.”

Salim held out the cup, and Hugh frowned as he took it.

“Her?”

“Anne.”

Hugh paused, the cup hovering before his lips.

“If this job ends up being entrusted to the Radcliffe Workshop, she’ll face great hardship, given that she has some unfortunate relations to that faction,” Salim said. “If things go poorly, she might not even get wind that it’s happening.”

“Sure, I suppose that’s right. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Anne chose to tread a difficult path of her own free will,” Hugh replied, then took a sip of tea.

Salim watched him intently and asked in a detached tone, “Why did you return Challe’s wing to him? You could have torn the wing up and erased him from existence without Anne ever knowing. If you had done that, she would have been left with no option but to rely on you. That probably would have been a better outcome for her as well.”

Hugh placed the cup back on the table and grinned unexpectedly.

“I did consider that. But I got the feeling that it might break something inside Anne. I was afraid of that happening.”

The typically straight-faced Salim appeared surprised for once.

“Hey, hey, what’s this? What’s with that look? Was what I said really so horrifying?” he asked, smiling slightly.

“Yes,” Salim replied. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you use the word afraid.”