“Apologize to Wyeth. Now.”
“I’m fine…”
Vessia’s face hardened ominously as she turned around. Her gaze at the painter was filled with an anger Couven couldn’t understand. It was as if she were personally insulted and deeply offended.
Couven, deciding to forgo a reply, pressed his lips together in silence.
“…”
Seeing this, Vessia shifted her gaze toward Lord Maybach. The count’s heir let out a hiss through his teeth.
“Ha, is it my turn now?”
“Stop babbling nonsense and apologize. Or do you want to get hit again?”
The young noble clicked his tongue. The leisurely smile he had worn vanished without a trace, and the corners of his lips twisted bitterly. His piercing blue eyes rolled up to the ceiling of the mansion before settling back at Couven’s eye level.
“Forgive my rudeness.”
Though devoid of even a sliver of genuine remorse, the apology felt sharply sincere in its intensity.
Even though the apology was reluctant and insincere, Couven had to accept it to spare Vessia any embarrassment. So, as a gesture of forgiveness, he nodded.
“Do not set foot in this mansion until I summon you again.”
Vessia issued the command firmly. Lord Maybach was the root of all this trouble. If he hadn’t been here, their first meeting wouldn’t have gone so awry. There would’ve been no need to feign indifference when welcoming Couven.
Each encounter with Couven was marred by Maybach’s involvement, and this time was no exception.
Though it was unavoidable because of her father’s request, some things couldn’t be overlooked. Vessia had no desire to keep the count’s heir nearby, especially when his jealousy flared at the sight of men around her. Who knew how else he might provoke her in the future?
Maybach interpreted her intent to dismiss him accurately. His sky-blue eyes gleamed coldly, sharp as ice. It felt as if his frigid gaze could carve into one’s skin like a blade.
But Vessia, unfazed, glared back at the count’s heir.
“…”
After a long silence, it was Maybach who yielded first.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he brushed back his disheveled hair. Even as he irritably unbuckled his gloves, as though they were stifling him, his gaze remained fixed on Vessia, brimming with vivid and unrestrained emotions.
At the doorway, Maybach retrieved the dagger he had thrown. With the blade in hand, he flung the door open. Without so much as a farewell, he strode out of the room with wide, deliberate steps.
His attendant, who had been waiting, hurried to gather the foil and mask left on the floor before chasing after him.
***
The noblewoman’s heavily burdened chest sank as a deep sigh escaped her lungs and settled on the floor.
Couven wetted his dry lips with his tongue. His mind raced, unsure how to proceed in this situation. Should he comfort her after what seemed like a breakup? Or should he pretend not to notice and focus on painting her portrait? Perhaps he should give her some space and leave her alone…
“Are you all right?”
In the end, the hesitant man settled for a shallow attempt at consolation.
Vessia turned to look at him. She frowned, her expression as if she had overheard something she shouldn’t have.
“That’s what I should be asking you.”
She clasped her hands tightly together.
“I’m sorry. I said I’d let you draw a croquis, but now I’ve sent my sparring partner away. If it’s okay with you, I can pose for you while practicing on my own.”
Couven’s eyes swept over Vessia, who was dressed in her fencing uniform.
She was still slightly damp with sweat, and he wanted to capture her exactly as she was on the canvas. He began sketching endlessly on the blank paper in his mind, contemplating which pose would best capture her regal presence.
The painter’s gaze, heavy with deep focus, weighed on her like a wet sponge. Even though she understood why he was staring, the noblewoman couldn’t resist teasing him.
Vessia curved her lips into a mischievous smile.
“If you have something to say, just say it. You don’t need to look at me with those longing eyes to make yourself understood.”
The strength drained from Couven’s amber eyes. He was dumbfounded. If he didn’t set the record straight now, he’d probably be teased endlessly in the future.
“As you know, I’m a painter and have a habit of observing people. I have no intention of harboring such feelings for you, who already have a lover, so please don’t misunderstand. Not that I could, in the first place.”
The man spoke firmly, his words precise and deliberate, though his lips moved stiffly. Even his eyes suddenly became as sharp as a wedge.
Vessia realized that when the painter’s gaze roamed over her outward appearance earlier, it had been softer and more gentle.
Wait, but “not that I could, in the first place”? It’s not like anyone had forbidden him from doing so.
“Those words are a bit hurtful.”
Oh dear, she was teasing him again. But since she claimed to be hurt, an apology was in order. Appeasing a noble’s temper wasn’t an easy task. Couven let out a resigned sigh.
“I failed to consider your feelings. I apologize—”
“No, not that. Why are you so certain you couldn’t harbor such feelings for me? Is it because I’m a ‘beta’ and you’re an ‘alpha’? Does that mean alphas and betas can’t even breathe the same air?”
“That’s not it, but you have a lover, don’t you?”
“Feruel and I are merely in a contractual relationship arranged by my father. We’ve never shared any genuine feelings. I’ll keep reaching out to you and talking to you, so don’t worry about Feruel and just get used to me.”
TL’s Note : Feruel Maybach is that guy’s full name.
“…Understood.”
Her words, devoid of any pretense, swept him along. When she looked up at him with those drooping eyes, silently urging a response, Couven found himself nodding before he could even think.
Vessia was more than satisfied with his answer. The conflict with Maybach and the cautious concern for Couven’s feelings all vanished like a clean slate.
Hearing his affirmation left her feeling as light as if she were floating on a cloud.
At this moment, her entire world revolved around Couven.
“Your hands were trembling earlier. Are they all right now?”
She paid attention to the man’s hands. Eventually, her warming gaze wrapped around Couven’s large, rough hands.
The artist tried to withdraw the attention touching his hand, pulling back the hand that had trembled earlier.
“I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for earlier.”
The young lady’s eyes lingered intently on where the man’s hand was hidden.
“Don’t let such a lowlife get to you. Instead, speak firmly and clearly, just as you did with me just now. Got it?”
The artist was a fast learner. He was far better than when he bristled like a hedgehog, rigid with spikes raised in defense.
If Couven had considered Vessia an unpleasant person, he would have still spoken in stiff, curt tones. He would have swallowed his opinions and simply bent over backwards.
Instead of awkward consolation, he might have stubbornly kept his crimson lips shut and stood frozen in place like a statue.
“Yes….”
Her lips curved into a soft smile, pleased with Couven’s response.
Well then, since the artist hadn’t definitively agreed to sketch, it seemed it was time to wrap up fencing.
The young lady handed the foil and mask she’d picked up from the ground to her maid. The servant tidied the fencing equipment passed down by her mistress.
Vessia loosened the buckle of her gloves, which were snug enough to hold her wrist comfortably. Using the hand she had removed from the glove, she massaged her shoulder lazily.
Her muscles, pressed and stiffened, sent a dull ache through her body. Feeling refreshed from the exercise, she hummed a light tune.
“Lady Quixote.”
It seemed a pity to wrap things up so quickly. The heat of the duel had yet to subside, and the young lady’s vibrant energy, sparking like embers, begged to be recorded.
Still filled with that longing, he called out to the young lady. She turned her attention to Couven, still idly rubbing her neck.
“I would like to capture your appearance in fencing attire in a portrait. Would you grant me permission?”
Instead of answering, she picked up the sword that had been laid on the display stand. From the wall above it, she also retrieved the mask.
Her fencing shoes lightly pressed against the ground. Holding the foil and mask, Vessia approached Couven with a subtle smile.
“Of course.”
The maid, who had been like a shadow in the corner, tidied Vessia’s face.
She gently brushed back the dried, disheveled strands of hair and wiped her face meticulously with a damp towel.
“Do I smell of sweat?”
“Even your sweat smells fragrant, my lady.”
Meanwhile, the artist opened his art supplies box and prepared to draw. He took out pencils, an eraser, and a board to fix the paper. Since he didn’t have a canvas or easel with him, he intended to make a draft on the paper.
After preparing, Couven washed his hands with the water he’d set aside for the young lady.
Vessia, too, was ready to be sketched. Though she’d been in disarray after the duel, the maid’s touch had made her presentable.
Far more so than when she’d just removed her mask after the duel with the young count.
“I plan to capture your full figure in this portrait. Can you stand still for the duration of the sketch?”
“Let’s give it a try.”
“I’ll draw as quickly as possible.”
“I’m not in a hurry at all. I’d like to spend as much time with you as possible, so take your time.”
“…I’ll help you with your posture.”
The artist posed the young lady in the positions he’d imagined countless times since watching her fence today.
Should she hold the mask against her side, lowering the foil at a diagonal in a salute?
Couven stepped back to admire the pose he’d devised for the young lady.
Or should she bend her arm upward, resting the foil on her shoulder? Perhaps raising the sword before her chest would be better?
From a distance, the artist assessed all three poses and sank into deep thought.
“A diagonal foil conveys dignity and grandeur. Resting it on the shoulder or raising it before the chest strikes a balance of boldness and poise….”
Every pose seemed perfect, leaving him in a dilemma. Unsure of what to choose, Couven crossed his arms tightly and stared intently at Vessia.
“….”
Every part of her body he gazed at felt as if it had been sharply cut, leaving her bleeding.
She moved as the artist guided her, trying to relax her body.
…To be honest, she wanted to relax, but it wasn’t easy.
Whenever their gazes met, his eyes, spreading thickly like the light of the setting sun, caused her body to tense briefly. A man who didn’t flinch at casual teasing would suddenly focus and grow visibly tense; the shift in expression was nothing short of a spectacle.
***
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