6. Traven
As the night deepened and the party reached its peak, the hosts—Kylie and the count—each approached groups of nobles to exchange greetings. The count mingled with the male nobles, while Kylie went to the ladies, flashing bright smiles to flaunt their social connections. Ever since her mother passed away in her early teens, Kylie had effectively served as the lady of Traven House. This innate sociability, ingrained in her from childhood, shone even more elegantly when paired with her tall stature.
A few social dances were played midway through the banquet, and the noblewomen paired with their husbands to take the floor. Those standing by the walls of the hall—either reluctant to dance or on poor terms with their spouses—gathered with gloomy expressions, gossiping spitefully about the noblewomen who laughed and chatted brightly with their husbands as they danced.
Spotting two women exuding a peculiar aura amid the group, Kylie approached them. They were the ladies from Baron Belpharos's household, who had earlier been surrounded by a cluster of noblewomen. Baroness Belpharos wore a lavish dress, her hair swept up high and adorned with sparkling accessories, each curl meticulously styled. Her neck, wrists, and fingers glittered dazzlingly with what appeared to be her finest and most exquisite jewels.
Standing beside her, Olivier was equally dolled up, adorned head to toe in items of the same discerning taste as her mother's, making the two look strikingly similar not just in their features but in their attire and overall appearance. The only noticeable difference was their biological age.
Kylie wore a dress that accentuated her shoulders and waistline, and as the tall woman approached, she didn't evoke the goddess-like presence of Evril but rather the impression of a thoroughbred racehorse—fine-blooded, sleek, and perfectly streamlined. Unlike the typical ladies with their pale, dry skin, she had a healthy, sun-kissed glow and a toned, muscular build. Her breasts were neither small nor large, but ideally shaped in a perfect, uplifted roundness.
“Baroness Belpharos, thank you so much for gracing our Traven estate.”
As Kylie spoke in a soft voice, both women's gazes turned to her. The baroness regarded the twenty-two-year-old Kylie—who stubbornly remained unmarried—with an intrigued look. Olivier, following noble etiquette, gave a polite curtsy, having to tilt her chin slightly upward due to Kylie's height.
“You have such a beautiful daughter.”
At Kylie's compliment, Baroness Belpharos allowed a faint smile.
“They say Olivier looks just like I did in my youth. Watching her often pulls me back into old memories.”
“Indeed, you're still beautiful yourself, Baroness. Lady Belpharos has truly been blessed with her mother's looks.”
“Oh, no, you're too kind. Lady Traven, on the other hand, seems born with every blessing—those long limbs, that lovely face, an Eximia education, and her family lineage to boot. She's like Lady Loren, who showed such kindness to my daughter last winter.”
“Ah, so you're acquainted with Lady Loren. I had a chance to build some rapport with her at a few imperial balls. She's truly an exemplary noblewoman.”
The two chatted at length about Evril. Olivier stole envious glances at the tall, captivating Kylie standing before her. No matter how diligently she studied ancient tongues every spare night—languages still beyond her grasp in forming even a single grammatically perfect sentence—Kylie had all but mastered them at Eximia, a place reserved for such elites. On top of being from high nobility and a woman in the Imperial Guard, she held an unassailable independent status. She was perfection, from her innate class to her achieved social standing. Add to that her confident demeanor, sociable warmth, and striking looks. The brown-haired noble she'd glimpsed earlier from the guest room window beside Sir Kingston had been a man? No—Kylie, dressed for practicality in riding breeches underneath and a tailored men's-style jacket that hugged her curves.
“Seeing the esteemed Count Traven, I can understand why Lady Traven turned out so flawless.”
As Baroness Belpharos nodded toward the tall, graying middle-aged man tilting a wine glass amid the male nobles, Kylie's eyes flashed cold for an instant. The baroness, focused on the count, missed it, but Olivier—who had been watching Kylie closely—caught the fleeting moment. It passed quickly, though, as Kylie blushed shyly at the praise.
“You're too kind.”
“The count is still a bachelor, isn't he? Quite rare in noble society. He must be quite the romantic.”
“...He loved his wife deeply. He still hasn't forgotten her.”
“Oh, how touching. Since I'm from Templton, I don't know much about Countess Traven. If it's not too rude, which parent do you take after more?”
Curiosity flickered across Baroness Belpharos's face. Kylie replied with an enchanting smile.
“Everyone always said I look just like my late mother. As for resembling my father... physically, only my height, I suppose. Mother was of average stature for a lady. Everything else is hers.”
Her eyes drifted distant, lost in reminiscence. Olivier was struck by the poignant expression of longing for her departed mother—like gazing at an unreachable star, mirroring the dreams Olivier herself harbored.
“Even from the count's perspective, it must be hard to let go of such a beautiful daughter.”
As if subtly reminding her of her single status, the baroness's implication drew another smile from Kylie. The baroness and Kylie exchanged wordless smiles, gazing at each other for a moment.
“Um...”
Olivier, standing beside the baroness, spoke up hesitantly. Kylie turned her gaze to her.
“If I may ask, what prompted you to learn the sword? It's not something most ladies take up, so I was curious.”
“Well,”
Kylie opened her mouth to reply, her gaze flicking momentarily toward Count Traven in the distance before returning to Olivier.
“It was largely Father's influence. Like the Kingston ducal house, Traven has served as the emperor's sword for generations. Father was an exceptional swordsman, and our home was filled with skilled warriors. Growing up watching him and the knights wield their blades, I naturally picked up the sword.”
“Of course. That makes sense.”
The baroness chimed in approvingly. Olivier looked satisfied, her curiosity sated. Kylie's eyes deepened as she held Olivier's gaze before turning to the baroness. Having bonded over their recent conversation, the two smiled at each other without breaking eye contact for a while—until other noblewomen called out to Lady Traven from across the room, drawing them away.
“What a beautiful, bold, and capable lady. Isn't she?”
Baroness Belpharos said to Olivier, watching Kylie's retreating figure. Olivier nodded in agreement.
“She's stunning yet sturdy, strong yet soft—truly captivating.”
“Even we women are smitten, yet she's still single. Lady Traven must have impossibly high standards. Countless suitors must have come knocking at a Traven lady's door, only to be turned away. Right?”
“Probably.”
As Olivier replied, Baroness Belpharos placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Olivier, you mustn't end up like that. No matter how grand a count's daughter she is, if her father remarries and has children—or suddenly passes—her position becomes precarious. She's in the Imperial Guard, thankfully, but only as ceremonial. Her height and looks are welcome in the palace now, but age will fade them, and an unmarried woman's fate is obvious. At best, she'd aim for a second wife.”
She emphasized to Olivier:
“So you must accept a proposal before you're seventeen.”