The Search for the Duchess’s Husband Chapter 132

In the empire, performances were sharply divided into two classes. 

 

One was produced by the imperial court and performed for a select audience, and the other was performed by commoners and performed for anyone for a fee.

 

Naturally, the nobility recognized only the former as high art. 

 

The latter was perceived as low-class and inferior, made by money-crazed commoners. 

 

And the idea of a noblewoman making a business out of it didn’t look good.

 

“She’s always been a bit of a maverick, starting with her divorce, but it’s gotten worse and worse. I don’t think she really cares about being a lady anymore.”

 

Of course, it wasn’t all bad press. 

 

Women close to Artia, including the Flower Ladies, actively defended her.

 

“Let’s be honest, there’s nothing to see in the Empire,” she says, “The palace productions are high quality, but they’re always the same, and the commoners’ shows are entertaining, but in many ways inferior.”

 

So those who liked theater had to go abroad to see it. 

 

“I’m looking forward to seeing what a nobleman would do with a large-scale capital investment.”

 

The man snorted.

 

“Hmph, a woman who’s only skill is making tea at home is not going to make anything great, and she’ll only realize how hard it is to make money after she’s spent her life’s savings on it.”

 

The nobles talked about it whenever they met. 

 

It was a controversial topic, and it had a huge impact. 

 

Finally, the words reached the ears of the empress in the imperial palace. 

 

The Empress, reclining on a long couch, raised an eyebrow.

 

“Edenberg again?”

 

She’d been annoyed since she’d announced the divorce. 

 

It didn’t stop there, she got involved in the trial of the Counts of Elysium and became an Ethereal. 

 

And now she’s pretending to be a businessman…

 

The Empress didn’t like anyone who bothered her.

 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to stomp on her once to get her to behave…”

 

“Don’t bother, mother.”

 

The low voice startled her, and he looked up to see Killian had entered the room. 

 

Turning to the Empress, whose eyes grew fiercer at the sight of her son, Killian spoke.

 

“The business that Artia von Edenberg is preparing these days is something I’ve been following with interest, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to mess with it.”

 

The tone was soft, but the content was chilling. 

 

The Empress was offended, but she didn’t say anything about how a son could speak to his mother like that. 

 

She didn’t have the affection to say such a thing. 

 

Apart from that, she was puzzled.

 

“Why do you care about such frivolous business? Come to think of it, you and Edenberg were involved in the divorce.”

 

A strange light came into the Empress’s eyes.

 

“Do you mean to tell me you have any interest in her?”

 

Killian nodded, his face grim.

 

“Yes, I do. She’s a bit of an eyesore now, but the Dukes of Edenberg have been loyal since the first Emperor, and if we can cut out the rot and give her a little nourishment, They’ll be their old self again, and then they’ll be a force for good for the Empire.”

 

He was just like his father, judging others based on whether or not they were useful to the empire and the imperial family. 

 

The Empress covered her mouth as if she were about to gag. 

 

Killian stared down at her wordlessly. 

 

Realizing his intentions, the Empress said with a twisted face.

 

“I won’t touch her. Is that enough?”

 

“Very well.”

 

The Empress glared at Killian with a fearsome gaze, then turned away. 

 

It was hard to look at her son’s face any longer, the face that the world considered beautiful. 

 

The Empress, frowning, asked, “Where is Arsen?”

 

“He is fast asleep.”

 

The Empress fluttered her long lashes and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

 

The night he drank with Artia in Reju, Killian returned to the palace with an urgent report from Nocturne. 

 

The Empress, her eyes filled with tears, slapped him on the cheek as soon as she saw him.

 

“You’ve been waiting for him to die, haven’t you?”

 

Killian’s absence from the palace was a secret known to no one but Nocturne, but even if the Empress had known, it wouldn’t have made any difference.

 

She is incapable of rational thought where Arsen is concerned. 

 

Killian pushed past the Empress, who was glaring at him like she was going to kill him, and opened the door.

 

“Heh, heh, heh…!”

 

Arsen lay on the bed, breathing faintly, as if he were about to die. 

 

There were three doctors at his bedside, but they were of no help, and he was sweating profusely.

 

Killian rushed to Arsen’s side and cradled his bony body in his arms. 

 

It would have been less frightening if his body had been burning hot. But Arsen’s body was as cold as ice. 

 

Killian patted Arsen’s skinny, leathery back and whispered.

 

“It’s me, brother,” Killian said to Arsen, who gasped, unable to respond.

 

“You’ll be alright soon.”

 

Kilian didn’t have the ability to heal others with magic. 

 

He’d tried countless times over the years to do so for Arsen, but he’d never been able to do it. 

 

But when Arsèn had unexplained illnesses, he would hold him and he would slowly get better.

 

This time, however, it took longer than usual. 

 

It took three days before Arsèn’s breathing returned to a steady state, and even then it was intermittent and ragged, and only recently did he fully recover.

 

The Empress stroked his cheek as he slept, his face peaceful.

 

“It’s time to go.”

 

The cold words were directed at Killian, who stood behind her back.

 

He could only see the Empress’s back, but he could see how piteously she looked at Arsen. 

 

Killian stared at her and Arsen, then nodded.

 

“I see.”

 

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a day like this. 

 

Hundreds of times he felt like he was the only abandoned child.

 

Tears had welled up in his eyes with regret. 

 

Now, as a grown man of twenty-three, there were no tears. His heart didn’t ache.

 

He just missed… Artia von Edenberg.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A makeshift office in an outbuilding of the Edenberg mansion. 

 

A plaque on the door read “The Edenberg Company”. 

 

A knock on the door made Artia turn her head, and she let out a sharp squeal. 

 

Lam’s face, which she hadn’t seen in days, was even paler.

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah… I haven’t slept in five days and I look like this, but I’m not going to die… maybe…”

 

“The word “probably” is really bothering me.”

 

“Don’t worry… I’m not going to let the Grim Reaper get to me until I finish my work…”

 

Lam, who looked as if his days were numbered as he spoke these maddening words, held out a thick wad of paper to Artia. 

 

Artia, who read the script on the spot, clasped her hands together.

 

“This is amazing, Lam. Even just reading it, I can see how great it will look on stage.”

 

For a man with a reputation for directing genius, praise was as natural as breathing.

 

He spoke casually, as if he had been told the obvious.

 

“Now that the script is finished, it’s time to hire the people who will make the words on the page come to life.”

 

Lam’s heavily circled eyes shone.

 

“Even if the Imperial theater industry is as shitty as a thousand-year-old turd, it still produces geniuses like me, and the same goes for actors. There’s a lot of gems out there.”

 

With a fledgling but trustworthy production company run by the Duke of Edenberg, a paycheck that could not be matched elsewhere, and a genius director in Lam, no actor could resist. 

 

Actor after actor was cast.

 

The first day Artia saw the actor who would play the lead role in the play, she couldn’t contain her excitement.

 

“Oh my God, Reinhard and Maria jumped out of the book.”

 

She didn’t just say it.

 

The tall, hulking man and the beautiful woman with the droopy eyes that made Artia’s head spin, they looked exactly like the characters in The Northern Grand Duke’s Burning Heart.