Ecstasy
Couven pressed his ear against the unyielding door, closing his eyes to concentrate on the faint sounds coming from inside the room.
“……”
There was a sound, but it was so faint that he couldn’t discern it. It seemed like someone was shouting, but it was so indistinct that he couldn’t be sure.
Opening his eyes, the man pulled his ear away from the door and knocked again.
“I’m coming in.”
There was no point in waiting for permission, as the sound of knocking would likely go unheard. Deciding it was a waste of time, the painter grabbed the handle. The door’s heavy weight and thick volume were palpable.
So that’s why I couldn’t hear any sound from inside.
It happened in an instant.
As Couven stepped into the room, tilting his head slightly—
Thud.
He instinctively halted mid-step, holding his breath. Couven sharply turned his head, moving reflexively before his thoughts could catch up.
A blade whistled through the air, embedding itself with a dull thud into the open door.
It was a fleeting moment, so brief he didn’t have time to process it. If he had hesitated, the flying dagger would have lodged in his eye. Cold sweat broke out all over his body, stinging as it trickled down his skin.
Blinking for the first time, Couven slowly came to his senses. His pounding heartbeat thundered in his ears like an explosion, his chest heaving so violently that his shirt visibly moved.
At the edge of his vision, he caught sight of Lord Maybach adjusting his stance deeper inside the room.
Why did he suddenly throw a dagger?
Vessia, perplexed, removed her mask. Turning around, she saw Couven standing in front of the closed door. Right beside him was the dagger Maybach had thrown, now firmly embedded in the door.
She felt as though her heart had plummeted into the depths of her chest.
Discarding her rapier and mask, Vessia dashed toward the man standing motionless at the entrance. Swallowing her heavy breaths from the recently ended duel, she scanned the painter’s pale complexion.
“Couven, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. More importantly… I must apologize. I didn’t have time to prepare the bouquet I usually bring to you today—”
“Are you an idiot? That’s not important right now!”
He thought he had replied with a calm expression, meeting her worried gaze.
But his body betrayed him. The hand holding the paint box began to tremble violently, causing the drawing tools inside to clatter noisily.
Couven wanted to stop the spasms that felt like a seizure. He set the paint box down and clasped his hands together.
Still, the trembling did not cease. His face contorted as the alpha struggled to suppress the pheromones threatening to leak out in this unexpected moment, despite having taken suppressants. He tightened his throat, exerting all his strength to contain it.
Lord Maybach, who had been observing the entire scene, sneered at Couven. His dimples, which normally accentuated his sharp features, appeared twisted. Feigning remorse, the nobleman furrowed his brows slightly as he added a sarcastic apology.
“I apologize. I imagine a painter like yourself doesn’t often handle blades, so this must have been quite startling.”
“……Yes.”
Is he picking a fight? Couven cast a sidelong glance at Maybach.
Meanwhile, Vessia remained focused on the painter. She noticed beads of cold sweat glistening between the strands of his red hair.
“Baudry, bring some water.”
The maid poured water from a pitcher into a crystal glass and brought it to Vessia.
Holding the glass on a tray, Vessia handed it to Couven.
“Drink.”
“I’m fine.”
Couven’s response didn’t sit well with her. He clutched his arm tightly to prevent his hand from shaking, but his arm continued to spasm.
Frowning slightly, Vessia raised the crystal glass a little higher.
“I said drink it.”
Reluctantly, Couven took the glass. He intended to take just a sip and return it to the maid, but Vessia’s sharp gaze wouldn’t allow it.
Her expression conveyed an unyielding determination to see him drink every drop. Couven also knew he couldn’t defy her rank.
Resigned, Couven gulped down the entire glass of water. When he finished, he wiped a stray drop from his throat with the back of his hand.
“Thank you. That was refreshing.”
The painter handed the crystal glass back to the maid. After taking a breath, Couven briefly surveyed Vessia and the nobleman, who seemed to be her lover.
Her long hair was neatly tied up, but stray locks clung to her face, damp with sweat. Judging by the flush on her cheeks, the exercise must have been intense.
The young nobleman had slicked back his blond hair with pomade, but the strands had split and stuck out due to perspiration. His faintly furrowed gaze, directed at Couven, betrayed irritation at the interrupted flow of events.
Both were dressed in fencing attire. Even Lady Quixote was wearing pants. Their practice uniforms bore smudges of black soot, and each held a fencing sword in hand.
Couven now realized why the lady’s palms were calloused.
The painter lightly clenched and unclenched his fists. While observing the two as he drank the water, the trembling in his hands had subsided without him noticing.
“You were fencing, I see. That’s perfect timing. Before painting your portrait, I’d like to warm up with some croquis sketches. May I request another match?”
TL’s Note : – Croquis: A quick sketch capturing the form and movement of a person or animal.
Vessia was about to accept Couven’s proposal, but Maybach spoke first.
“I’d rather have a match with you instead. Do you know how to fence, or do you only bother with dull painting?”
His lopsided smirk deepened the dimples on his cheeks.
“……”
Vessia graciously overlooked the fact that he had dared interrupt her as the Duke’s daughter. After all, she’d never quarreled with Maybach over trivial matters like this. She had always held her temper, determined not to worsen the atmosphere.
But her patience had its limits. The insolent attitude and offensive remarks aimed at her guest finally pushed her to the edge. She could no longer tolerate his rudeness.
Before saying anything to Maybach, she checked Couven’s face. The painter’s expression remained calm, showing no sign of distress. He merely gazed down at Maybach in silence.
He didn’t seem upset, but it looked as though he was holding something back.
“Maybach.”
She called out the young nobleman’s family name.
Ironically, the one who turned his head to look at her was Couven Wyars.
The person whose name had been called, however, refused to look away from Couven, as if determined to win this staring contest.
The painter briefly considered using his pheromones to overpower the nobleman. But uncertain of whether the man was an Alpha, Omega, or Beta—and unwilling to resort to childish tactics—he quickly dismissed the idea.
Still, Couven was curious how long the man would keep looking up at him.
He was about to assure Vessia that it didn’t matter when she stepped in front of him. Her eyes softened as they shifted to him.
“……”
Maybach said nothing. He neither asked why she had called his name nor warned her not to interfere, nor did he apologize for his earlier behavior.
Instead, he held her gaze defiantly, as if daring her to do something.
From behind her, Couven noticed Vessia’s trembling hands. If he didn’t intervene, something was bound to happen.
The painter made up his mind. He reached out to grasp Vessia’s hand, which seemed moments away from exploding.
Slap!
A stinging crack pierced the air. If only he had acted faster.
Her pale hand struck Maybach’s unblemished cheek with ferocity.
“――!”
Both men’s eyes widened in shock.
Maybach’s face turned without resistance, his cheek flushing red. The maid, who had been fidgeting nervously since Vessia first called the nobleman’s name, clasped her hands over her mouth in astonishment. She couldn’t bring herself to criticize her mistress’s actions.
The atmosphere became suffocating, as though all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Standing behind Vessia, Couven could only imagine her expression. She always exuded serenity, as if unacquainted with anger.
For her to react so strongly, Maybach’s behavior must have truly offended her.
Maybach clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face twitching.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“What do I think I’m doing? I hope you’re not asking that seriously.”
The young nobleman let out a faint laugh. His response, ill-suited to the situation, made Vessia raise her eyebrows.
“You think it was wrong of me to indulge your antics and your Grace’s whims?”
“Before we get to that, have you forgotten all the etiquette lessons you’ve learned? If the tutor who taught you saw this, they’d faint in shock.”
“……”
Unable to come up with a retort, Maybach clamped his mouth shut.
“Wyars is a guest in my father, Duke Quixote’s, mansion—my guest. You have no right to treat him disrespectfully. Your actions just now are tantamount to insulting the Duke himself.”
Couven was used to being disrespected by nobles.
Disrespect was the least of it. In the past, he’d been exploited without knowing better. When Betas and Omegas glared at him with hatred, his only thought had been to escape quickly.
So what Maybach did hardly ranked among the worst offenses.
It was such a common occurrence that it didn’t bother him anymore. He could easily dismiss it as bad luck and move on without a second thought.
But having someone else stand up for him so earnestly made him feel strangely unsettled. A feeling akin to ecstasy tightened around Couven’s ribs.
***
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