The herb keeper paced back and forth, muttering curses under his breath.
"Stupid little noble brat… Who does she think she is, talking like that? My herbs don't smell!"
He slammed his hand against the wooden counter of his shop, then paused, his scowl deepening.
"…But what if she did notice something?"
His anger wavered, replaced by a creeping unease.
That "niece" of the Margrave had seen through too much—her tone hadn't been just arrogant; it had been warning.
The more he thought about it, the more the suspicion grew.
She hadn't been impressed, she'd been inspecting. And that smile… it hadn't belonged to some pampered little noble.
"No way a real noble brat would come here, dressed like that."|
He muttered.
He paced again, faster now.
"She's a plant. An investigator, maybe. Or worse… an agent from the capital."
The thought made his stomach churn.
If his operation was being watched, he couldn't afford to stay any longer.
