Chapter 73: The Grand Duchess of Keyston
The Grand Duchess of Keyston was the youngest sister of the current Emperor—a queen of the social world, long before her marriage, during her days as an imperial princess.
Even after marrying and moving to the Grand Duchy, her influence remained unshaken.
Part of that was because the Emperor, fond of his sister, often summoned her back to the capital. But the larger reason lay in the Grand Duchess herself: unable to adjust to her life in the Grand Duchy or to her strained marriage, she kept returning home.
Her husband, the Grand Duke of Keyston, had once captivated the hearts of many women with his striking good looks and charisma.
The problem was—he certainly lived up to those looks.
Even after marriage, he continued to pursue affairs, leaving the Grand Duchess neglected and lonely. His infidelities ate away at her, leaving her hollow and bitter with longing for her family and her home.
Although the Imperial House intervened repeatedly to pressure the Grand Duke—ensuring no illegitimate children ever surfaced—they could not fully quell his wandering ways.
Eventually, after their only son came of age, the couple began living separately. The Grand Duchess no longer resided in the Grand Duchy, but in the capital.
A lover of the arts, she established her own cultural circle within high society, amassing a considerable following.
Her influence over the Empire’s artistic and cultural scene was unmatched. Countless people longed to win her favor.
“To build rapport with the Grand Duchess, it’s best to take an interest in the arts,” Iris explained.
Aracila, listening closely, wore a grave expression.
She had visited her childhood home while their parents were away, using the time to talk privately with her sister.
“I’m not really into art, though. What am I supposed to do?”
“You can start now. Don’t worry, Ari—I’ve prepared everything for you.”
At Iris’s double clap, a maid stepped out.
Moments later, she returned with several more maids in tow, arms full of books. At a glance, there were dozens.
“I bought books that’ll help you develop a foundation in the arts. Take them and study.”
“…You expect me to read all of these?”
Aracila, who rarely read anything outside of magical texts, looked aghast. Iris beamed.
“Yep. And for the record, you need to finish them all by next week.”
“Why next week?”
“Because next week, Her Grace is holding a private exhibition. I went through hell to get you an invitation.”
The Grand Duchess occasionally hosted private art exhibitions featuring her own paintings. Naturally, many vied to attend, and acquiring an invitation was like reaching for the stars.
Having fought through fierce competition to get one, Iris handed it to Aracila with a solemn look.
“I could only get one ticket, so I can’t go with you, Ari. You’ll have to win her favor on your own. Which means you need to prepare thoroughly.”
“Ah…”
Aracila, who had secretly hoped her sister would be by her side, drooped a little. Her eyes drifted toward the towering stack of books with a pained expression.
“Sis… What if I just challenged Lady White to a formal duel instead?”
“No. Absolutely not. That wouldn’t be proper, nor fair.”
As a candidate for the next Tower Master, dueling a noblewoman outside the magical community would be unthinkable.
Resigned, Aracila packed up the books and returned home, looking burdened. The sheer amount of material she had to read made her vision blur.
‘No, I can do this. I have to.’
Determined, Aracila threw herself into the arts with obsessive fervor. From that day forward, she stayed up night after night, immersing herself in every art book she could find.
She memorized the history of art as it developed alongside the Empire’s past, drilled into her head the names and features of artworks she had only vaguely heard of.
It was the most intensely she’d studied since graduating from the Academy.
Even back then, Aracila had forced herself to endure non-magical subjects, cramming right before exams and rushing through them with sheer willpower.
To feel that same pressure now, even after becoming an adult and establishing her own career, was…
‘I hate this. I seriously hate it.’
But just like before, hating it didn’t change the fact that it had to be done. She even brought the books to the Tower and pored over them relentlessly.
Then, the day before the exhibition—
“My lady, which of these two is Mendel’s Tormented Man sculpture?”
“The one on the right, with the left hand placed on the collarbone and chest, is Proud’s Thinking Man. The one on the left, with the hand between the chest and ribcage, is Mendel’s sculpture.”
Aracila, eyes hollow and glasses slipping down her nose, pushed them back up and answered.
Audrey’s eyes widened in astonishment, and she praised her enthusiastically.
“You got it right, my lady! That’s amazing! Now, what’s the name and artist of this painting?”
“The Women of the Rose Garden at Callané. This piece, for example, was painted by the noble-born artist Callané, who fell into an unhealthy, one-sided infatuation with a disturbingly young maid. He would lurk and secretly spy on her from the shadows as she walked with other maids in the garden. This painting captures exactly that.”
Aracila recited the answer with smooth precision, as if someone were whispering it into her ear.
And she didn’t stop there. She answered every one of Audrey’s quiz questions with unerring accuracy. Then, taking off her glasses and massaging her tired eyes, she muttered under her breath:
“…Done.”
She had completed her preparation—perfectly.
In just a short time, she had cultivated an impressive grasp of the arts, and she basked for a moment in the euphoria of it.
I’ve still got it. My last-minute cramming skills haven’t dulled one bit since the Academy.
The next day, Aracila stepped out more elegantly dressed than ever before.
She wore a cream-colored high-neck dress that came up to her throat, and a wide-brimmed hat shaded her face. Her hair was tied neatly at the nape in a modest twist.
With lace gloves properly in place and a handbag in hand, she made her way to the art gallery where the Grand Duchess of Keyston’s private exhibition was being held.
Inside, noblewomen of all ages had gathered. Some were young ladies like Aracila herself, others were girls in their early teens, likely brought along by their mothers.
There were also famed sculptors who were considered living legends, up-and-coming painters gaining recognition, and even retired artists who still wielded influence.
Once, Aracila wouldn’t have recognized any of them. But now, after spending the past several days obsessively absorbing every morsel of art knowledge, she identified them without difficulty.
No wonder my sister could only get one ticket.
Looking around at the small crowd—no more than thirty attendees—Aracila could tell this was a carefully curated guest list. Even among those who considered themselves cultured, only the most selective had been invited.
Has the Grand Duchess not arrived yet?
People were scattered about, chatting in small groups. Judging by the relaxed mood, it seemed the Grand Duchess had not yet made her appearance. Aracila stood quietly and waited.
She drew quite a few glances.
It was unusual for someone like her—who had shown so little interest in society—to suddenly appear at the Grand Duchess’s private exhibition.
“Should we go over and speak to her?”
Some looked at her with curiosity.
“What on earth is the Duchess of Vandemir doing here?”
Others watched her warily, as if trying to gauge her motives.
But no one dared to approach her directly. There was something in Aracila’s quiet demeanor—something slightly forbidding—that made people hesitate.
Her face, which to others might have appeared intensely serious, didn’t exactly invite conversation.
Then, after a considerable wait, the star of the day finally arrived.
The Grand Duchess of Keyston.
With sharply defined features and a regal posture, she exuded charisma. Her radiant blonde hair and green eyes reminded Aracila of Lucas.
“I thank you all for coming to my private exhibition. I’m a bit embarrassed, but these are pieces I poured my heart into. I hope you’ll view them with generosity.”
Her voice was low and commanding, the noble tone of someone born and bred in the royal family. Applause and cheers erupted from the audience.
“Now then, I’ll guide you through my works one by one. Those who’d like to hear the stories behind them, please follow me.”
Everyone surged toward the Grand Duchess, each guest eager to claim a spot near the front to catch her attention.
“Please, don’t push!”
“My lady! You shouldn’t shove people with your shoulder!”
Watching the scuffle unfold like a miniature brawl, Aracila stood back and quietly found a spot toward the rear.
Sure, catching the Grand Duchess’s eye was important—but jostling and scrambling like that certainly wasn’t going to make a good impression.
Once the clamor settled down, the Grand Duchess began leading the tour, introducing her paintings as she went.
“This painting was done during a trip to the southern coast. I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the beach at dawn. The scenery was so beautiful I felt compelled to capture it on canvas.”
“My word! It’s like I’m standing at the beach right now—it’s so vivid!”
“How could anyone match these colors so exquisitely? I simply can’t look away.”
With each comment from the Grand Duchess, flurries of flattery flew in from every direction.
Those well-versed in the arts compared her work to famed painters and schools of thought. Those who weren’t grasped at grandiose language to praise her brushwork and genius.
***
Aracila calmly followed the crowd, quietly observing the Grand Duchess’s paintings while listening attentively to her commentary.
‘Her reasons for painting are all rather… peculiar.’
Because she couldn’t sleep. Because she was struck by a passing emotion. Because it felt like now or never. The Grand Duchess gave such reasons for her works, and they all left behind a strangely somber impression.
Then, the Grand Duchess came to a stop in front of one particular painting.
It was an image of a woman with bright blue skin, smiling radiantly as glittering jewels cascaded from her eyes.
“I’d like to hear what this painting looks like to all of you,” the Grand Duchess said.
No sooner had she spoken than a flood of eager interpretations erupted in competition.
“She feels mysterious, like a mermaid. I think it perfectly reflects Your Grace’s distinctive, sensual style.”
“That radiant smile—it’s so full of joy. Honestly, her smile shines more than those jewels.”
“You must have painted this during a happy time. It’s as though you’re saying that a person’s smile is more beautiful than any gemstone.”
Amid the rush of glowing, mostly similar reviews, the Grand Duchess offered only a faint, unreadable smile.
“May I share my thoughts as well?”
A clear voice rose from within the group as a pale hand stretched upward.
The Grand Duchess turned her head to look—at Aracila.
In truth, she had already noticed her from the beginning. With her striking beauty, Aracila stood out even among a crowd of nobles.
But more than that, unlike those who buzzed and fawned, desperate to say something, Aracila had stood alone, wholly absorbed in the art with a look of deep concentration.
It didn’t feel like the timid silence of someone unsure of their place. Rather, it was the poised stillness of someone who had deliberately chosen not to engage in the competition. She had waited—calmly, strategically.
The Grand Duchess, eyes now tinged with curiosity, gave a nod.
Permission granted, Aracila began to speak with composure.
In truth, she had received one key piece of advice from Iris before attending today’s exhibition:
“The Grand Duchess values sincerity. She dislikes flattery. Don’t say anything fake in front of her—at least, not obviously so. But remember, you still need to be clever about it, alright?”
Following her sister’s guidance, Aracila spoke candidly about what she had felt when viewing the painting.
“To me… it looks like someone who really wants to cry but is forcing herself to smile for the sake of appearances. It seems terribly sad.”
The atmosphere shifted.
Her words, so blunt and honest, stunned the surrounding guests.
Some among them had also sensed a certain melancholy in the painting—but since the artist was the Grand Duchess herself, they had opted instead for safer, more flattering remarks.
But Aracila had plainly called the piece sad, describing it as a smile concealing tears.
“How could the Duchess of Vandemir say such a thing? To speak like that of Her Grace’s work…”
“She just made Her Grace sound like a depressed woman. Maybe she’s still too young to know what’s appropriate.”
“Clicking tongues won’t fix poor judgment. What if the Grand Duchess is offended now?”
Contrary to their whispered concerns, however, the Grand Duchess did not look displeased.
If anything, the quiet smile she had worn before now deepened into something warmer, clearer.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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