Duke Keimpe De Boer is a man whose presence is felt long before he speaks—partly due to his rank, and partly due to the heavy scent of clove oil and camphor that clings to his embroidered cuffs. In his late sixties, he is a relic of a fading generation: paunchy, gout-ridden, and perpetually draped in velvet robes that strain at the seams. His once-proud posture has softened into a stoop, and his gait is uneven, slowed by the swelling in his joints and the weight of indulgence.

His hair, once thick and golden, has retreated to a thin silver crescent around his crown, which he keeps meticulously combed and powdered. His face is broad and ruddy, with a nose that has grown bulbous over the years and eyes that gleam with calculation—and something less savory when they settle on the Fey princess.

Keimpe’s voice is deep and syrupy, often used to deliver compliments that linger too long and veer too close to impropriety. Though he couches his words in courtly charm, his gaze betrays his intentions. He is a man who believes his title entitles him to anything he desires, and he has made no secret of his interest in the princess, despite the political delicacy of her engagement to Kenric.

In court, he is a traditionalist, quick to dismiss innovation and quicker to silence dissent—especially from women. He speaks of honor and legacy, but his actions are driven by appetite: for power, for wealth, and for the attention of those he considers beautiful and vulnerable.

Despite his flaws, Keimpe is politically shrewd. He has survived three monarchs, two wars, and countless scandals. His influence is waning, but his voice still carries weight in the delegation—especially among those who share his views and owe him favors.