Grand Lust Sovereign-Chapter 69: Who Is He?

Duchess Eleanor Von Lichtenstein descended slowly, each step deliberate, the sound of her heels like a metronome ticking against the stone. Her black velvet gown trailed behind her, the flared sleeves swaying with her movements.

A thin black veil covered her face, concealing her features, leaving the masses to speculate about the beauty hidden beneath. Her blonde hair shimmered faintly under the enchanted lights, falling in soft waves that framed her elegant figure.

She stood there, perfectly poised, as if sculpted by an artisan’s hands, her presence exuding a quiet yet overwhelming power. Even the air seemed to grow heavier, pressing against the officials and the onlookers alike.

The magical screens displayed her figure across the Silverose Kingdom.

In the bustling squares, the crowd fell silent for a moment before the murmurs began.

"Is that… her?"

"She doesn’t need to say a word. Just look at the way she stands."

A child, eyes wide, tugged at his mother’s sleeve. "Is she… really one of them?"

His mother, her voice soft but filled with awe, nodded. "Yes. That is true power."

Nearby, an old man’s whisper cut through the air, barely audible yet carrying weight. "They’re finally here. The Lichtensteins. The ones who stand above us all..."

"I thought Barthes was intimidating, but this… this is entirely different."

"She looks like she could command an army without raising her voice," someone whispered, their tone tinged with awe and a faint trace of fear.

"What’s with the veil? Is she hiding her face?"

The murmurs grew, but none dared to criticize. It wasn’t awe alone that silenced the crowd—it was the instinctive understanding that they were witnessing something beyond their world.

In the courtyard, the King’s officials stiffened as the Duchess walked forward, each step measured, each movement oozing elegance and authority.

"Your Grace," one official managed, his voice steady despite the sweat gathering at his temples. "The King awaits you."

Eleanor didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Her gaze—or what they imagined of it behind the veil—passed over them like they were mere decorations.

But then, just as the officials began to breathe a sigh of relief, Eleanor paused.

Her veiled face tilted slightly, and then she turned—composed, fluid, deliberate—back toward the carriage.

The officials froze.

"What is she doing?" one of them whispered, his voice barely audible over the tension thick in the air.

Eleanor raised a gloved hand and reached into the carriage. The gesture was calm, elegant, and deliberate.

The officials’ professionalism slipped. Their minds raced, barely able to process what they were seeing.

"She’s… she’s waiting for someone?"

In the public squares, the crowd watching the screens erupted into hushed speculation.

"There’s someone else in the carriage?"

"Who could it be?"

"No one of lesser status would dare delay the Duchess."

"Who could make her do this?"

The atmosphere was electric, filled with unspoken questions and mounting anticipation. All eyes remained locked on the screen, waiting to see who would emerge and what power they must wield to have the Duchess of Lichtenstein extend her hand.

The entire kingdom held its breath, caught in the web of intrigue spun by that single, decisive gesture.

A similarly gloved hand appeared out of the carriage and held the Duchess’ hand.

Coming out of the carriage was a young man in a midnight blue suit, donning a thin frame. As he stepped down onto the stone, the astonished awes went quiet.

Standing beside his mother, if it wasn’t for his shoes having some elevation to them, Julien would have appeared really short. Right now he reached her shoulder, and appeared totally like a teenage boy.

His mask hid his face, but his youthful appearance could still be felt by the masses.

Eleanor interlocked her fingers with her son’s and without saying a word more, began walking towards the palace gracefully.

Her maid, Sophie, stepped out next. Dressed in an elegant gown and a mask, her presence was quiet and unassuming, overshadowed by her mistress’s majesty, but no less precise.

Behind her, another carriage arrived, from which Jackie and Amelia emerged.

The boy was dressed in an elegant black suit, appearing cute and refined, while the nun wore a pristine red priestess robe, adorned with intricate black lace details and a black lace blindfold.

Their presence, like Sophie’s, was subdued before Eleanor and Julien, but the common folk caught fleeting glimpses of them and their curiosity piqued.

None could see their faces, and many felt it was a great pity. Still, the onlookers appreciated the rare spectacle they were allowed to witness.

The stiffened bodies of the King’s officials finally relaxed when the Duchess entered the castle. Whose hand she was holding and who accompanied her remained a mystery, but they couldn’t have cared less. All that occupied their minds was the relief of avoiding punishment from the Duchess for the delay they had caused.

…..

The ballroom was lavish, filled with soft music and the aroma of freshly baked assorted breads and wine.

Tables were arranged according to the hierarchy of the noble houses, with the Dukes seated closest to the stage at the far end of the ballroom. The nobles sat at their respective tables, awaiting the King’s entry.

There was still some time before that, so the nobles chattered amongst themselves, occasionally stealing glances at the table nearest to the stage, where a lady in gothic robes and a veil sat alongside her house officials.

This was the Duchess of Ravenwood, Eleanor Von Lichtenstein. Everything about her exuded regality and elegance.

As they observed her, a singular question lingered in everyone’s minds: Who is the boy beside her?

The boy’s facial features were concealed, his mask obscuring any details. Only his stature and body language were visible, forcing the onlookers to strain in an effort to discern anything further.

So far, no one had succeeded. The boy in question remained stoic, minding his own business. He neither spoke to anyone nor drew anyone’s attention to him.

The Lichtenstein House’s table was silent and reserved, as unapproachable as ever.

"Are the rumors true, Maxim?" Duke Barthes, slowly swirling a cup of wine in his hand nonchalantly asked his aide.

Standing behind the man and overlooking the Duchess’ table, the slender and old aide said in a soft whisper, "They seem to be true, sire."

"Hmm…" Duke Barthes rubbed his well trimmed gray stubble and went in deep thought.

"If they are true, then we are in for a surprise for sure."

"We’ll know about it soon." The aide replied, looking at the silent Duchess and then at the empty stage in front of them.

The corner of Duke Barthes’s lips curved up as he absentmindedly stared at his swirling wine, anticipating the upcoming events.

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