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Keeping the Yandere Duke in check chapter 89

* * *

“Ah, that is a familiar face.”

Trying to suppress my laughter, I retorted. Anton, encouraged, exclaimed excitedly:

“Right? Apparently, people are desperate to get their hands on these! Since they can’t see the real thing up in the North, they’re content with just a copy.”

Eran, however, seemed indifferent to the hype.

“People sure waste their energy on trivial things. I suppose the Empire is about to experience a bumper crop.”

His tone suggested that idle minds indulged in nonsense because life had grown too comfortable.

Yet, since the portrait was undeniably impressive, I doubled what Anton had paid for it and bought it myself.

Eran grumbled beside me about wasting money, but soon, even he was silenced.

“I’ve brought the finished portrait.”

The fastest of the painters we’d commissioned had completed their work.

The painting was flawless.

Centuries from now, descendants who might stumble upon it would wonder if someone so stunning had truly existed.

They’d never know it failed to capture even half the real thing.

“Hang it right in front of the staircase,” I ordered.

A servant hoisted it up like a flag, and Hernan watched with a displeased expression, arms crossed.

Even if he didn’t approve, it didn’t change the fact that it was an aesthetic masterpiece.

“Light the chandelier.”

As the hall was bathed in warm light, it created the scene originally intended when the castle was built.

The refracted light danced off the painting, adding a frosty blue hue, as if the image itself radiated an ethereal glow.

[That spot used to hold Hildea’s portrait.]

A miniature dragon, appearing for the first time in ages, grumbled.

But Hildea’s portrait had long been lost, an unsalvageable relic of the past.

“Well, it looks nice, doesn’t it?”

I mumbled, urging the dragon to quit complaining.

A tiny creature perched on my shoulder let out a chirp in agreement.

[Still as insolent as ever.]

The floating dragon, Yudenet, flicked its tail in irritation, prompting the smaller creature to scuttle down my arm and hide in my pocket. Everything had been going smoothly until then.

The painter, accompanied by his assistants, loitered around even after finishing his task.

“And this, Your Grace, is a humble offering from me.”

I wondered what the aging painter—he must’ve been nearing sixty—was so eagerly presenting.

His assistants unveiled a second painting, neatly framed and ready to hang.

‘…?’

What could it be now? The answer revealed itself as they pulled the cloth away.

“What in the world—!?”

The portrait was of me.

And not in the usual dignified, front-facing pose of a ruler.

No, it depicted me in profile, gazing intently at something or someone.

In the painting, I had a serious, almost contemplative expression.

My gaze carried a weight that felt oddly unsettling, as if directed at someone specific.

‘Why would anyone paint this…?’

While I silently grumbled, Hernan, beaming, handed the painter a reward far exceeding our initial agreement.

I quietly scolded him for overspending, but he ignored me completely.

“Should we need another artist in the future, we’ll be sure to call on you.”

“Oh, it would be an honor!”

The painter seemed more elated by Hernan’s warm smile than the heavy pouch of coins.

After he left, I turned to Hernan the moment the door closed behind him.

“Give it here. I’ll store it somewhere.”

By somewhere, I meant a dusty office storage or wardrobe.

But Hernan, sensing my intent, quickly stepped in front of me.

“This was gifted to me. Why should you take it? It’s mine.”

Technically true, but I wasn’t about to back down.

“But it’s a portrait of me. What do you even plan to do with it?”

Eran immediately declared he’d hang it in his office, right on the most prominent wall. Absolutely not.

“No.”

Seeing my face every day in mirrors was enough; I had no desire to also confront it at work.

Besides, the expression in that portrait was far too unsettling, as if the artist had embedded layers of meaning into it.

It didn’t Velong in a place where others could see it.

“Are you saying I can’t even hang a gift I received?”

“Yes. No way. Take it down, or we’ll start sleeping in separate rooms.”

After I cheekily asked Hernan out, we’d been sharing a room.

Even though we weren’t married, it was scandalous enough for people both in the North and South.

And I certainly wasn’t keen on seeing him and my painted self together in the same space every day.

‘Move the bed over there,’ I instructed.

I can still vividly recall the sulky expression on his face when I asked to have only the bed moved from my room to Hernan’s, as if I had betrayed him.

That didn’t mean we were in one of those rigid, no-touching arrangements where even brushing against each other would cancel all dates.

No, whenever Hernan wrapped up work early and we both turned in before 10 p.m., things would naturally escalate between us.

It happened so often that I started to wonder if, after all this, he’d refuse to marry me, and I might even end up accused of seduction under false pretenses.

Funny, considering how I used to struggle with just the idea of sharing my room with someone else.

Yet here we were, fully adjusted to cohabitation—both Hernan and I.

“Bringing that up here is cheating,” Hernan grumbled, sounding half-petulant.

Unmoved, I replied, “You’re the one who cheated first. If you want it up, put it somewhere out of sight.”

I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the pact’s sigil etched on my arm.

Who had schemed first and then cried foul?

In the end, my portrait ended up in a place I hadn’t expected.

[…? You two are seriously peculiar.]

It was hung in a spot as secluded as possible but still visually pleasing—not some dusty corner of a storage room or a dim hallway.

“I had no part in this. It was entirely his preference,” I said, pointing at Hernan as if I had no agency in the matter.

Hernan cleared his throat.

“I wanted to hang it in the study.”

[Enough with the chatter. Get lost.]

A painting of mine now hung awkwardly in an ethereal, white shrine bathed in a soft blue glow.

Complaining that it wasn’t a conventional frontal portrait was ironic, as it would have looked like a memorial photo if it were.

“Anyway, we’ll be visiting often from now on.”

[Not like I’ve done anything to deserve this….]

“You once said my mere existence was filial piety.”

[Back then, I didn’t know you’d turn into such an insolent brat. I warned you to be careful, yet here you are… Forget it. Not like it’s confirmed.]

With a swipe of his staff, Yudenet smacked Hernan on the head.

I almost stepped in to defend him but stopped, recalling the chain of events that led us here.

“Please, give him another smack.”

[You two are insufferable. Now, get out!]

In the end, we both had to flee the shrine, barely escaping further strikes.

Like scolded kids, we bolted down the corridors, laughing only after we tumbled into the snow outside.

Not quite puppies frolicking in a snowstorm, but close.

We tripped over each other, shoved snow down clothes (okay, that was just me), and laughed until we were breathless.

“Should we head straight to our room?” Hernan asked, grinning.

I nodded in mock defeat. His arm, sneaking around my waist, hinted at ulterior motives, but I let it slide.

* * *

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Comment

  1. Ahorobaat Channel says:

    o

  2. welis says:

    (⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)😏

  3. Blue says:

    😳🤭😏

  4. erinnnnn says:

    Awwww and the cohabitation continues…only marriage is the thing left that needs to be addressed

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