Episode 38 – Chapter 5. Flower Farm (8)
Akron’s sharp gaze turned to Rovent.
The old man’s clouded eyes trembled with unease, even if only for a moment.
“I’ve kept the Elders’ Council alive only because I owed you a debt,” Akron said firmly.
He made his stance clear this time.
The only reason he had endured the endless complaints of the withered old men until now… was Rovent.
But even patience had limits.
If they kept provoking him, Akron would not remain still. His chilling tone carried that warning.
“I’m already married, and I have a wife. Stop treating me like some breeding stallion. Don’t expect me to endure this forever.”
That was the end of his tolerance. He refused to listen to any more nonsense.
Leaving the frozen, pale-faced elders behind, Akron strode out of the council chamber.
Those with power wished for their own children to be cursed, believing it would make them special.
Even ordinary people pushed them toward it, praising the curse as if it were a blessing.
But whether a child truly desired that strength—enough to sacrifice something precious for it—only the child themself could ever know.
Some time later, a tea party was held at Veiharz Castle.
It was small in scale, and the guest list had been carefully chosen by Butler Sheldon and Countess Andria Torhisa.
The ages of the guests varied widely, but they all shared one thing in common: every one of them was talented and distinguished in their field.
Andria had recommended that Yuriel meet more diverse people, while still choosing only those known for their good character, so that Yuriel would feel no burden in making acquaintances for the first time in the West.
“Welcome, everyone.”
Yuriel greeted the ladies warmly.
Today’s guests consisted of three married ladies and two young noblewomen.
They clasped Yuriel’s hands in greeting and offered respect to the new Grand Duchess.
“It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace. Thank you for inviting us.”
“I’m delighted to meet you, too,” Yuriel replied.
One of the older ladies, her white hair neatly tied back, smiled gracefully.
She was Countess Eshdegar of Levje, widely admired as an etiquette tutor for debutantes—though her original profession had been that of a renowned historian.
“It is such an honor to finally meet you, Your Grace,” she said.
“The honor is mine,” Yuriel answered with a gentle smile.
She continued greeting each guest one by one, learning their faces.
Among them were a historian, a genius in commerce, a promising swordswoman personally trained by Andria, and a young lady famed as the West’s “eyes and ears,” who missed no rumor in high society.
They were all people that anyone would wish to form connections with.
The maids served tea and cookies, everything perfectly prepared. Yet what captured everyone’s attention most was the scenery around them.
“This garden is breathtaking…! It feels like heaven itself.”
“I’ve never seen so many flowers in one place in the West. This is more precious than jewels.”
Lady Shine, the swordswoman, and Lady Olga, the commerce genius, could not stop praising the garden.
The others, too, were mesmerized, their eyes glued to the sea of blossoms.
Though some nobles had managed to create small flower farms outside the western lands, most flowers withered quickly.
Flowers were as expensive as gold, so even nobles usually displayed only a vase or a small flowerbed.
In Western society, the richness and diversity of flowers in one’s garden had become a symbol of wealth and power.
And here, before them, lay a garden like a vast ocean of blooms—rarer than diamonds to western eyes.
“Thank you for saying so,” Yuriel replied warmly. She could tell their praise was sincere, not tinged with jealousy.
Andria had prepared her well by recommending people who did not flatter idly.
Andria’s advice had been clear:
“I can recommend people, but turning them into your allies will depend solely on you, Your Grace.”
Yuriel had agreed with her.
One could force loyalty through power, but such ties never lasted. Only genuine bonds could endure.
“But I believe you’ll do wonderfully, Your Grace,” Andria had added kindly.
That encouragement had strengthened Yuriel’s heart.
Although Andria herself could not attend—since an issue had arisen in the Black Lands under her family’s jurisdiction—Yuriel felt no fear or unease in hosting alone.
“Please enjoy yourselves,” Yuriel said.
The ladies exchanged curious glances. They were fascinated by the new Grand Duchess.
Stories about the central-born wife whom the Grand Duke had brought over himself were spreading endlessly through the West.
And Akron, rather than denying the rumors, had openly shown his affection for Yuriel.
“The Grand Duke even bought Lady Chevian’s flower farm and gifted it to the Grand Duchess,” one lady whispered.
That farm had been Chevian’s pride, one of only three neutral flower farms outside the West.
Yet overnight, she had transferred its ownership to Akron, who then placed it under Yuriel’s name.
From that day on, no one saw Lady Chevian in society again.
“Apparently, she hasn’t left her house since,” Lady Bionce, the society’s “eyes and ears,” added.
But the Grand Duke’s extravagance hadn’t stopped there.
A gold and diamond mine, the West’s largest golden grain fields—all had been placed under Yuriel’s name.
Even the famously prideful designer Eshe, known for refusing commissions from nobles she disliked, had been brought to create dresses solely for the Grand Duchess.
“Your dress suits you beautifully,” Lady Bionce said, admiring Yuriel’s gown.
It was a design where fabric was layered elegantly below the chest, creating a soft, graceful silhouette without tightening the waist. Despite its looseness, it looked refined and dignified.
“Thank you. The designer brought by the butler made it for me. I like it very much,” Yuriel said with a gentle smile.
The ladies all smiled politely, but inwardly thought the same:
“Butler? Everyone knows it was the Grand Duke’s doing.”
Still, as they spent more time with her, it was clear Yuriel was kind and gentle, not arrogant or cold.
She put people at ease and carried on conversations smoothly, never letting silences turn awkward.
Whether Akron had fallen hopelessly in love with her or Yuriel had somehow charmed him into devotion, one thing was clear: their bond was real.
“Please enjoy the tea, there are many blends to try,” Yuriel offered, meeting their eyes with warmth.
Countess Eshdegar and Lady Olga, in particular, were charmed by her presence.
Quiet yet not timid, Yuriel had a graceful balance that made people comfortable.
The five women talked and laughed over tea, cookies, and flowers.
“Shall we take a walk through the garden? You’ll be able to see the lake, too,” Yuriel suggested.
“That sounds wonderful,” they agreed eagerly.
They strolled along the winding path.
The view grew even more magnificent than from the terrace, and soon they arrived at a great lake.
Sunlight shimmered over its surface, dazzling by day in a way completely different from its quiet charm under the moonlight.
“It has been so long since I last saw the Veiharz lake,” one lady said with nostalgia.
“You could even go boating here,” another remarked.
While most admired the scenery, Countess Eshdegar, the historian, looked at the lake with particular interest.
This lake had many legends tied to it—and she believed history and legend were often separated only by a thin line.
