Chapter 126 – The Unknown Singer
‘Why does this atmosphere feel so heavy?’
If someone isn’t acquainted with a superior, they can’t casually approach and greet them without an introduction.
That must have been why everyone was only sneaking glances at me from the corners of their eyes.
Honestly, it would’ve been better if someone had just greeted me—these curious stares were far more awkward!
At least, unlike last time, no one was giving me openly hostile looks. That was something to be thankful for, I guess.
When I turned my head, the Marchioness beside me—wearing a new lavender gown—was clearly enjoying all the attention.
‘I wish I had her shameless confidence.’
I was still moving stiffly and awkwardly when a lady nearby tried to make eye contact with me.
It was the baroness I had met during the last tea party.
“Baroness Wintit?”
The noblewoman’s face lit up, and she stepped forward.
“Your Grace, it’s an honor to see you again.”
At once, everyone around her also bent their knees in greeting.
I was glad to see someone familiar and stopped to greet her lightly.
“It’s been a while. Did you come to see the opera?”
She seemed overjoyed to have been addressed directly. With a proud smile, she turned to her friends.
“Yes! Thanks to Your Grace, we’ve been able to enjoy such a rare evening at the opera.”
“My doing? Hardly.”
“I heard from Lord Alcent. He said you personally helped make tonight’s performance possible.”
“Oh, that’s because I—!”
The Marchioness behind me started to speak excitedly but fell silent when our eyes met.
We had agreed before coming here that she would accompany me quietly and not talk to strangers.
“It’s only showing for one day, which is a shame,” I said.
As the conversation went on, people began gathering closer, each adding their own words.
“Apparently, many couldn’t even get tickets today. We were lucky!”
“Alcent said there will be more performances in the future. I can’t wait.”
“My knees aren’t good, so I can’t travel to Rondoris anymore. I’m so happy to see an opera again after years!”
Amusingly, no one spoke directly to me—they all spoke loudly behind the baroness, like actors pretending to talk to themselves.
“Blenheim has come back to life thanks to Her Grace!”
“I go to see the fountain show by the lake every evening now!”
It was such a strange, funny scene—a collective monologue of flattery. Yet my heart felt warm.
It was obvious everyone wanted to say kind things to me.
‘I guess all that effort was worth it.’
When the crowd grew too large, Norton leaned toward me and whispered,
“Your Grace, perhaps it’s time to move to your seat…”
“Oh dear, I’ve kept Her Grace standing for too long,” said the Baroness, placing a hand on her chest in embarrassment.
“It’s fine. I enjoyed talking with you.”
I looked around at their bright, expectant faces.
“Then, everyone, enjoy the show.”
“Please enjoy it too, Your Grace!”
Amid cheerful goodbyes, I left the crowd.
As I walked beside Alcent, an excited murmur rose behind me.
“Heavens, the rumors were true!”
“See? I told you she smiled at me!”
“How can she be so lovely?”
‘Please! Say that after I’m far away.’
I cooled my burning neck between a proud-smiling Raphael and a pouting Marchioness.
“Wow!”
As soon as the curtain opened and I stepped into the royal box on the second floor, I gasped in awe.
From the balcony-style seats, I could see not only the stage but also the audience below.
The entire theater buzzed with the lively chatter of excited guests.
‘The only performances I’ve seen before were backstage at events. And now I’m in a royal box!’
Just then, an attendant entered and placed champagne and small hors d’oeuvres on the table.
“Do we have to wait long for it to start?” I asked Cecilia eagerly.
“They haven’t even done the pre-show yet,” she said.
“Pre-show?”
“I saw on the poster… something-Nel? Probably a new singer.”
I wanted to ask what a pre-show meant, but judging by the context, it was some kind of short opening act before the main performance.
At that moment, a young man stepped onto the stage.
He had curly hair tied loosely behind one shoulder and wore a slightly rustic green suit—simple and old-fashioned.
No one seemed interested; the audience continued chatting even as he appeared.
Without any introduction, the music began, and he started to sing.
“Through the white snow blossoms…”
‘Oh, he’s good!’
Maybe because it had been months since I’d heard live music, the warm, deep tone of his voice sounded wonderful.
‘He’s got such a clear, steady voice.’
Even though most people weren’t paying attention, the singer sang with passion.
Before I knew it, I was completely absorbed in the performance.
When the short song ended, another one began—a slower, sadder melody this time.
He stretched out a hand in sorrowful expression, and without realizing it, I found myself clasping my hands together, following his movement.
‘He acts really well too.’
In the blink of an eye, both songs were over, and the singer bowed.
A few people applauded lazily, but I clapped hard from the second floor, wanting to encourage him.
“Did you like his singing that much?” Cecilia asked curiously at my enthusiasm.
“That singer was amazing, wasn’t he?”
“Well, yes, he was good,” she admitted.
“Coachviel would faint if he saw someone sing like that,” I joked.
The Marchioness sitting beside me snorted as if unimpressed.
“Coachviel is famous. He’s on a whole different level.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, amused.
She raised her chin proudly.
“Coachviel doesn’t just sing. He moves people’s souls.”
“I’ve heard the same rumors!” said Cecilia, clapping her hands excitedly.
‘Well, if the pre-show singer was this good, the main act must be incredible,’ I thought, my heart racing with excitement.
Soon, the lights dimmed, the grand stage lit up, and the opera began.
Drumrolls echoed—
And then, the long-awaited performance started.
‘This is terrible!’
Not even thirty minutes in, I was stifling yawns behind my hand.
The story was about a playboy who changes after meeting his true love—romantic, dramatic… but dull.
The production itself wasn’t bad.
It was just…
‘I should’ve known—why was I suddenly craving spicy tomato stew?’
The male lead, Coachviel, was way too greasy.
The slick curls, the flashy sideburns… and those tight pants!
‘Why are his pants so tight?!’
His exaggerated vibrato made goosebumps crawl all over my skin.
‘And what’s with that constant winking?’
He was supposed to be a fatal, seductive man… but to me, it just looked like the stage was falling apart.
‘Wasn’t he supposed to touch people’s souls?’
I glanced sideways at the Marchioness, expecting her to agree—but she was utterly enchanted.
‘Maybe it’s just me,’ I sighed.
Without my usual snow wine to clear my head, I took big gulps of champagne instead.
When the first act ended, Alcent brought the troupe director, Samuel, to our room.
Since I’d declined their performance offers several times before, I expected him to be proud and difficult—but he was surprisingly humble.
“Your Grace, the director wishes to introduce you to the cast. Would you like to meet them?”
“Kyaa! Coachviel? Of course I must!” squealed the Marchioness like a teenage girl.
I wasn’t particularly curious about Coachviel, but I did want to see what the backstage looked like, so I followed Samuel.
As we entered the waiting room, I stopped short.
There stood Coachviel—shirt unbuttoned down to his stomach, holding a bouquet of flowers.
Samuel introduced him with an awkward smile.
“This is our pride and joy—Rondoris’s finest opera singer, Coachviel.”
“Your humble servant, Coachviel, greets Her Grace, the Grand Duchess,” he said, kneeling on one knee.
Before I could react, he took my hand—uninvited—and kissed it.
‘So uncomfortable!’
Maybe he mistook my frozen face for shyness, because he smiled knowingly and lifted the bouquet.
“For the noble Duchess—please accept my heart.”
“You… don’t need to give me your heart,” I muttered softly, taking the bouquet.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cecilia biting her lips, trying not to laugh.
“Oh my! Coachviel! Do you remember me? We saw each other with Her Majesty in the capital!” said the Marchioness, stepping forward excitedly.
“But of course,” Coachviel said smoothly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.
“How could I ever forget such a beautiful lady?”
Yeah, right. He clearly had no idea who she was.
He took her hand too and kissed it.
“Oh my! Well, I suppose I am unforgettable,” she giggled loudly, her laughter echoing through the dressing room.
‘Lady Raphael, please…’ I thought helplessly.
Raphael looked like he was about to be sick, but the Marchioness stayed glued to Coachviel even as the other actors came to greet us.
“What’s behind there?” I asked, noticing a corridor.
“That’s the backstage dressing area. Would you like to take a look?” Alcent said quickly, remembering I was the investor.
While the Marchioness gushed about Coachviel’s “heavenly voice,” I explored the rest of the backstage area.
“This is the props room,” Alcent explained as we entered a smaller space.
Then I heard faint movement in the dim corner.
“Is someone there?”
“Who’s inside?” Alcent called out.
A hesitant figure slowly stepped out of the shadows.
