History at the Library

Wait, is this what they call a love triangle?

I’m curious!

As soon as she realized the opponent was not the Emperor, Vivian’s movements immediately froze. Who were they, and what sort of relationship were they in? Her imagination flew about through her head.

This time, she was not interested in their sexual intercourse as material for her novel, but interested in their relationships and circumstances. Curiosity was always the bane of her existence.

“H, H, Hah! I, I love you! I love you. Hah, ah!”

Unlike when she was with the Emperor, the woman had said the word love out of her mouth. Not only that, but it also seemed her reactions and responses were far more active than last time.

She desperately panted for air. It was hard to determine whether the man’s technique had risen to the level of a God, or if it was due to love that any exposure to his touch became stimulation.

“I do not believe in the love of a prostitute.”

“Haa.”

“How can I believe love confessed by a vulgar body that lets smiles fly in every direction?”

They were severely harsh words and since they were whispered softly and sweetly as one did to their lover, it sounded that much crueler. From their conversation, which would have naturally made most frown deeply, Vivian nimbly caught onto a scent.

The scent of money.

This will definitely be a hit in the market…….

Currently, in the Empire, the ideal lover was the man who was different in the day and in the night. The man who brought about this trend was Duke Bron, and it was said that any woman, who had slept with him, would find it impossible to swim out from his charms.

If the Emperor was arrogant without a difference between day and night, that man could be said to be the sweetest gentleman by day and rough without hesitation by night.

No, that’s what she wished were true.

If I was to take those people as a motive and write a new novel that would be how I write it.

The Emperor and that man. Neither seemed ordinary but held their own respective charms. And the more the merrier. If both were to appear, wouldn’t her erotic novels fulfill the readers’ expected sexual fantasies and even overflow?

In other words, flowers in both hands….. No, beasts in either hand.

Her fingers itched. Vivian desperately thought about her precious notebook, pen, and ink in her inner pocket. However, her distance with the couple was far too close for her to allow her raspy pen to dance across the pages without being caught.

She pouted in disappointment and decided to record their figures within her eyes in disappointment.

I would be glad to at least know who these people are.

She was deathly curious. Who could possibly be the man who proudly rivaled the Emperor’s great presence? And who could the femme fatale who confessed her love to another even after having shared her intimacy with the Emperor?

Though the balance continuously tottered dangerously between her life and death as a result of her curiosity, the answer had long been decided deep inside her.

Since the opponent isn’t even the Emperor, how could I possibly die when I’m merely doing the work of a librarian?

There was no reason to punish her if she argued that she merely saw them coincidentally while passing by. Anyhow, those two must know that there was a librarian working at this time. They knew this and still acted in such a manner so it was on them.

It was a torture no different from forcing her to see the sparrow and pass the mill. Vivian stopped rebelling against the irresistible force of curiosity and peeked through the gaps between the bookcases. As she did, she saw the couple tangled in the darkness.

The woman’s dress was thrown about after having been, quite frankly, ripped apart, and while her features weren’t clear, it was clearly a mess. Tears continuously rolled down from her closed eyes like pearls.

“Ha, so you made such a face underneath His Majesty while moaning??”

“Ha, ah. Ahhhh!”

The tear-filled moans disturbed her ears. It was a sound that had sunken and was soaked completely into the mire of deep pleasure. The kind of pleasure that made one nearly unconscious and helpless to passionate sensations.

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