Chapter – 26
As soon as the play ended, people flocked to me.
“Did Lady Louisa write the script? Remarkable.”
“Now I understand why you took over White Friars.”
Even those who had subtly looked down on me and never bothered to greet me first were suddenly changing their attitudes and approaching.
Of course, it wasn’t purely because they were moved by the play.
“There’s clearly a reason the Count handed management over to you. Dienche has excellent judgment.”
One noblewoman smiled knowingly.
In short, this was what they meant:
“I find myself interested in the White Friars Theatre. Would you reserve me a seat for the next performance?”
From their perspective, I had suddenly become “useful.”
After the fall of the duchy, countless nobles had lost their investment opportunities and were desperately seeking new ventures. They lacked the initiative to start businesses themselves, yet hated leaving their surplus wealth sitting idle in vaults collecting storage fees.
Naturally, they swarmed toward me.
They weren’t quite ready to invest yet, but after the next play? I’d bet my own wrist they would all show up with money in hand.
“Theater really does make money in this era, huh?”
Smiling softly, I accepted their subtle proposals just enough to keep them wanting more.
Meanwhile, people were gathering around Benvolio as well.
Benvolio looked overwhelmed, flustered by the sudden attention from so many young ladies.
“Which troupe are you from? How long have you been acting?”
“A troupe…? Uh… I’m… um… Lady Louisa’s, actually.”
What nonsense is he spouting?
Listening to his voice from nearby, I was somewhat exasperated—but also oddly satisfied.
Because he really did seem to be realizing that he had become the “actor” he claimed he wanted to be.
Everyone around him assumed he must belong to some troupe and had trained for years.
“You’re very handsome.”
“Uh—oh, thank you…?”
Benvolio accepted every compliment shyly, and the young ladies found him utterly adorable.
If he stayed like that, he looked like he’d get devoured.
“Where can we watch your next performance? Though… seeing you before the play would be fine too…”
“Ah—uh—um—th-the White Friars! Please come there!”
But of course.
With his signature cluelessness, Benvolio deflected all their flirtation with ease—while still managing to squeeze in some advertising.
He really did have some actor instincts in him.
But where was Leo?
Leo had disappeared the moment the play ended.
The nobles either asked me where the prince-actor was or looked like they desperately wanted to.
Even Elena.
“I really enjoyed the play, Lady Louisa…!”
Elena approached with her cheeks flushed.
I could tell instantly.
This girl—she had fallen for Leo.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“You wrote this script as well, didn’t you?”
But then Elena said something strange.
“This one as well?”
I felt the hairs on my neck stand.
“I loved Romeo and Juliet too. Though… I kept it a secret from my father.”
……!
Elena had seen Romeo and Juliet?
The play with that kiss scene onstage between me and the male lead?
A chill ran down my spine as I looked down at her innocent blinking eyes.
She was shorter than me, and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
In the original novel, those sparkling eyes were often described.
The moment Elena fell for someone, she charged forward without hesitation.
Naturally, those moments always involved Leo.
Reckless to the point where I often thought:
“A bright-eyed madwoman.”
And now, that madwoman was smiling shyly at me.
“I knew even then—you’re a genius, Lady Louisa.”
“…Thank you.”
“If I come to your next play… could I greet you in your dressing room? Please don’t tell my father. He… well… he doesn’t really like theater.”
She said that while looking nervous.
But from what I knew, Marquis Burbage became a complete doting fool where Elena was concerned ever since adopting her.
If Elena wanted to watch a performance, he’d probably buy the entire theater.
Right on cue, Marquis Burbage approached us.
“Elena. It seems you enjoyed the performance.”
“Marquis…!”
Calling her own father “Marquis,” she blushed deeply.
Marquis Burbage eyed me warily.
As if I might eat Elena alive—when really, I was the one who’d almost been eaten just moments ago.
“Well then, I’ll be—”
“Lady Louisa.”
“…?”
I tried to escape this minefield of death flags, but the Marquis called to me.
“The performance was entertaining. To be honest, I never imagined you were capable of such an intriguing production.”
His words were meaningful.
Especially the part about the performance being intriguing.
The part he found intriguing was probably… something else entirely.
“You also seem to have a keen eye for actors. Am I right?”
I glanced at Elena. If I showed off any familiarity with the male lead here, it would be game over. So I answered:
“I’ve always had an excellent eye for picking out… goods.”
“……”
His brows twitched.
Calling a person “goods” offended him.
But at least no one falls in love with goods, so this way I avoided provoking the heroine.
“If you plan to keep running a theater, you’ll have to pay your actors, and provide lodging for those who need it.”
“…Most likely.”
I understood his intention.
Ah, so this was—
“I’ll sponsor your troupe.”
A sponsorship offer.
Ha.
I nearly burst out laughing.
Things are going smoothly, aren’t they?
I’d received plenty of investment offers, but those were just that—investments.
Investors would demand repayment after each production cycle, just as the Count did.
They could choose not to reinvest next time.
But sponsorship was different.
In this era, sponsorships worked like modern conglomerates funding their own foundations. The sponsor’s name was placed before the troupe’s—such as “Lord Burbage’s Men”—and they provided continuous financial support.
There were ways to withdraw funding, yes, but sponsorships were much more stable and incredibly beneficial for running a troupe.
I was planning to recruit more actors anyway. Binding them as a troupe would make everything smoother.
It was an offer overwhelmingly in my favor—but I hid my reaction and answered calmly.
“Lady Elena said you don’t particularly enjoy theater. So it’s surprising—a swordmaster’s household suddenly sponsoring a troupe.”
His expression stiffened.
Of course I knew why he wanted to sponsor us.
He recognized Leo Fier.
He knew the actor under my wing was the First Prince. Sponsorship was a way to form an official connection.
And his other reason was clear:
He interpreted my political stance as supportive of the First Prince.
I had intentionally framed the play to be critical of the current Emperor.
No doubt Marquis Burbage had realized it.
The script was based on the story of the First Prince and the current Emperor.
And that meant—
Leo must have realized it too.
I believed that was part of why he chose to reveal a bit of himself.
He must have come to trust me at least a little.
After all, the script I handed him contained the story of the First Prince being robbed—and dreaming of taking back what was his.
But I pretended not to know any of that and asked, and the Marquis answered,
“Today’s performance changed my mind. Theater….”
He hesitated slightly, then looked at me.
“…steals people’s hearts. You know that, don’t you? Everyone here has had their hearts stolen by you.”
Behind him, Elena flushed red.
Why is she reacting like that?
Either way, I nodded.
“That’s what’s fun about theater. There’s something only those who watch can understand.”
Then I spoke.
“Very well.”
Without needing to think, I accepted.
“But allow me one thing. I want to decide the troupe’s name.”
“And that is?”
“King’s Men.”
His eyes shook.
“A name wishing His Majesty long life and good health. Is that a problem?”
I smiled sweetly. He shook his head.
His expression hardened as if I had just proposed treason.
But I only continued to smile.
Because I knew.
This treason would succeed—
and it would be the very thing that saved my life.
