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Chapter 86……………………
“This one, this one. And if I mix this with that, it’ll work just fine…”
“Sis, what are you doing?”
“Hold on. Let me just finish this and I’ll leave.”
“No, but…”
Etisha frowned, speechless. She couldn’t understand how rummaging through someone else’s vanity counted as “helping.”
But before she knew it, Marin had come closer, poking her head in with bright, sparkling eyes.
“Yes, that’s right…! Oh! If you grind it into powder and mix it, then—of course!”
“What about the hair? Will you put it up or leave it down? And the dress—are you planning to wear that one hanging over there?”
Come to think of it, Larienne had often “played dolls” with Etisha.
And in that game, Etisha was always the doll.
Larienne would comb her hair, dress her up, put makeup on her—treating her like her own toy.
“…”
Etisha stared at Larienne and Marin with a strange look in her eyes.
The two of them were now enthusiastically exchanging ideas, passionately debating her makeup style.
A stream of incomprehensible terms and expressions poured out.
“For Tisha, it has to be sheer. Color tones in pastel. And of course the highlight is—”
“The eyes! My lady has such beautiful eyes. Around those lake-blue pupils, just a shimmer of silver dust…”
“Exactly, just a hint—barely there. Perfect.”
Larienne and Marin understood each other astonishingly well.
It was as if they not only studied the same major, but even interpreted it in exactly the same way.
If there were such a field as “Etisha Studies,” Larienne would hold the doctorate, and Marin the master’s degree.
Doctor Larienne, Master Marin.
“Haa…”
Etisha let out a soft sigh.
At that sound, Larienne and Marin suddenly snapped back to themselves.
“Ah, s-sorry, Tisha. I’ll leave right away.”
“F-forgive me, my lady. I got carried away…”
The two instantly pulled apart.
Larienne looked regretful for ignoring Etisha’s earlier request to leave. Marin looked regretful for being charmed by the words of the very stepsister who used to torment Etisha.
Etisha slowly looked back and forth between them, both squirming at her sides, then sighed again.
Immediately, both Larienne and Marin flinched in unison.
They were utterly frozen by nothing more than Etisha’s gaze, her breath.
“…No. For now, the debutante is what matters most.”
“Tisha…”
“My lady…”
“I don’t know much about makeup. So no matter what, you two make sure it’s perfect.”
The grand ballroom of Wintel Castle filled with soft music.
The invited guests began to appear one by one, stepping into the hall.
Since it was custom for lower-ranked nobles to arrive first, the room was mostly filled with barons and viscounts for now.
“Oh my, look over there.”
“Good heavens, that’s Lady Larienne Heinz. How unexpected, for her to be invited to the Duchess of Wintel’s debutante ball.”
“Indeed. Those two sisters were infamous for their poor relationship…”
“No, no, that’s old news now. I heard at the last outing she even rode in to protect the pregnant Duchess of Wintel.”
“Ah yes, that’s right. The duchess is with child. Soon, Wintel will have reason to celebrate.”
“Indeed. If a child is born resembling the ducal couple, the North will see a great light.”
Larienne ignored the conversations drifting around her and swept her eyes across the hall.
She was searching for the noblewomen who had nearly been trampled by the red horse she rode at the outing.
“Tisha said I must apologize, so I must.”
Larienne had never bowed her head to anyone in her life. Never, except to Etisha. And soon, even that would no longer be true.
“And if they don’t accept my apology, then I’ll make sure they do.”
At that moment, she spotted Viscountess Miril standing off in a corner.
Like a hawk spotting prey, Larienne approached her.
“Good evening, madam.”
Viscountess Miril flinched and turned.
Larienne was dressed in a lavish black gown, a feathered fan in hand.
It was a bold, difficult style to wear—but on Larienne, it suited her astonishingly well.
“Ah, yes… Lady Heinz, isn’t it? I…”
“I already know. Viscountess Miril. I’ll be brief—we both have little time.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m sorry for what happened before. My horsemanship was lacking; I failed to control the reins. I thought I had them firmly in hand, but I slipped, and the horse nearly trampled you ladies. It was an accident, not intentional. So, I trust you’ll graciously accept my apology?”
“W-what?”
“Your ‘yes’ means you accept, then. Good. That’s that.”
With a small nod, Larienne turned and left her side, already approaching another lady to repeat the same act.
Viscountess Miril was left standing there, utterly bewildered.
“What just passed me by…?”
Moreover, Larienne’s riding skill was renowned throughout the North—so much so she was praised not just for horsemanship but also for her dancing.
“And she calls that clumsy? A mistake?”
Viscountess Miril tilted her head, but Larienne was already gone—gliding around the hall, scattering charm as if it were her own private domain.
Just then, the trumpets at the entrance sounded.
“Countess Mongmad and her partner, Dusen!”
Now, counts and higher were arriving.
Viscountess Miril lifted her head. Countess Mongmad’s companion, however, was unfamiliar.
“Dusen? Who is that?”
Normally, Count Mongmad himself would be at her side.
Yet this Dusen was someone even Viscountess Miril—within Mongmad’s circle—had never seen before.
“A commoner? But Countess Mongmad would never keep a commoner near her.”
She knew very well how the countess treated commoners—with scorn. She had even mistreated Lady Ditte, the foster daughter of Lady Sirilleze.
Yet this Dusen bore no noble name or title.
“Too old to be a courtesan… and that face… looks like an old rat.”
Viscountess Miril shook her head inwardly, baffled at the countess’s choice.
Not that she could do anything—she was powerless, held in Mongmad’s grasp, and Wintel’s ducal family stood far too high to even gaze upon.
To step between such beasts would only get her back broken.
All she could do was keep her head down, mouth shut, and pray the storm passed.
“Countess Harfdon has arrived!”
“Marquess Hexion has arrived!”
“Former Duchess Sirilleze has arrived!”
One after another, the nobles entered.
All the invited guests were now present. Only the star of the night, Etisha, remained.
But then, a stir broke out in the center of the hall.
“It has been a long time, Lady Sirilleze. How have you been?”
Countess Mongmad pushed through the crowd and boldly greeted Lady Sirilleze.
This was the very woman who had spread rumors that Lady Sirilleze was barren, and slandered Duke Cayenne as illegitimate. Yet here she was, smiling, offering greetings.
The surrounding nobles held their breath, watching intently.
It was a clash of tiger and wolf.
The very air seemed to shift in an instant.
“…Indeed. It has been a long time, Countess Mongmad. For you to attend my daughter-in-law’s debutante—who sent you an invitation, I wonder?”
“Hoho, none other than Duchess Etisha herself. She personally begged me to attend.”
“…”
“Oh, and I must introduce my companion. This is Dusen.”
Countess Mongmad gestured to the man beside her.
“H-hello, most noble Lady Sirilleze Wintel. I-I am Dusen.”
The ratlike man bowed deeply, sweating, his hands outstretched for a handshake.
Disgust welled up at his shifty eyes and clammy demeanor.
Lady Sirilleze tried to turn away without taking his hand. But Countess Mongmad pressed insistently.
“Dusen may be a commoner, but he is a gifted mage. Exceptionally talented. To know him would surely benefit House Wintel.”
“Wintel already has many exceptional talents. Such a man would better serve House Mongmad.”
“Of course I’d prefer that. But Dusen has always admired House Wintel deeply… Haven’t you, Dusen?”
“Y-yes, yes indeed! The snow-eagle of the North, Wintel is forever my light and shadow!”
Once again, Dusen thrust out his hands. Reluctantly, Lady Sirilleze accepted.
And in that instant—
A flash of light slipped into her palm and vanished, gone in a heartbeat. It happened so quickly, inside their clasped hands, that no one else noticed.
“Ah… heh. Heheheh.”
Dusen let out a vile chuckle as he released her hand.
Countess Mongmad caught his eye, and at his confident nod, her lips curled into an unmistakable smile of triumph.
A gloating, oily smile—drunk on certain victory.
“My, my… how tragic. What a pity, Lady Sirilleze.”
She whispered with a mocking grin.
Lady Sirilleze responded only with a cold, frozen expression.
“What are you talking about, Countess Mongmad.”
“No, no… I just feel so terribly sorry. What a shame…”
“You speak nonsense. If you’ve nothing more to say, I’ll be going.”
“Going? Oh, no—you cannot!”
Countess Mongmad suddenly grabbed her arm.
Such brazen rudeness was shocking, even from a woman so seasoned in society’s games.
