Ko-fi shop has been updated, you can find the link at the end of the chapter.
***
The corners of the table were sharp. Diana cautiously approached the sofa, recalling the outline of the furniture she’d confirmed with her fingertips. Just as she was about to sit down, a strong hand pulled her abruptly. Diana fell back onto the sofa with a thud.
Thud. The table leg bumped against her ankle. The gap was much narrower than she had roughly guessed. A slight misstep would have had her shin colliding hard.
The Crown Prince wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. As her thigh brushed against his, the table screeched noisily, sliding backward. She was slightly taken aback.
Did he block it for me? So I wouldn’t hit it…?
Her heart pounded at the unexpected possibility.
It was only after that she realized how close they were. The Crown Prince was right beside her. The scent emanating from him was far stronger than the pervasive smell of blood that filled the room.
“Be careful.”
Heat rushed to Diana’s earlobes. His voice. That voice, as if burrowing into her chest, was the problem.
Then, a cool hand reached out and brushed Diana’s forehead. When he swept aside the strands of hair gently falling around her temples, a reddish bruise on her temple became visible. It was where she had hit her head on the side table while picking up the brush.
“What did you do while at Duke Osfil’s estate?”
As he questioned her, his presence momentarily receded, only to return again. The sound of him rustling with something reached her ears before he moved closer to her once more.
“I cleaned the mistress’s bedroom. I also assisted in the bathroom. Beyond that, I attended meals and helped with preparations for outings.”
The lie, mixed with some truth, flowed out effortlessly. All she had to do was replace the subject from Nephrine to the Duchess of Osfil. Even so, the tension of lying directly to the Crown Prince made her knees tremble.
“As far as I know, the Duchess of Osfil has been suffering from asthma and hasn’t appeared in society for a long time. How many years has it been now?”
“Ten years… Your Highness.”
“Were there any other maids working with you?”
“Not many. Perhaps two or three…”
It was unexpected that he knew the internal affairs of Duke Osfil’s household, despite not being an ally of theirs. This must also be a test for Diana.
Diana swallowed nervously, waiting for the next question. But instead of further interrogation, a calm monologue followed.
“The servants of Osfil must have had their share of hardship. Taking care of someone with an illness is a grueling task.”
There was a hidden undertone to his words. Perhaps because of her own inferiority complex, Diana felt as though he was elegantly mocking her for not being entirely free of “illness” herself.
“That’s not true. I was the only one who had a hard time… there.”
Diana’s impulsive rebuttal trailed off abruptly. Something thick and sticky touched the wound on her temple.
The sharp smell of medicine wafted up. It was an ointment. The fingers that had just brushed against her forehead were now spreading ointment on her wound. The Crown Prince spoke in a monotonous tone.
“You’d better ask Emel for a gauze. A scar wouldn’t be pleasant to look at.”
“…Yes, Your Highness.”
Diana belatedly added a word of thanks. She heard him chuckle lightly.
Did I pass his test? Has his wariness eased slightly? Otherwise, there would be no reason for the Crown Prince to personally apply medicine to a maid.
Perhaps the gentleness Prince Aizen mentioned wasn’t about his tone or words but rather these non-verbal gestures. Feeling a bit more courageous, Diana spoke up.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“That’s something you’d know better, isn’t it?”
“Pardon?”
The Crown Prince hadn’t given Diana any specific instructions yet. A brief silence fell. Diana’s puzzled gaze inadvertently lingered between his waist and lower abdomen.
Her gaze wasn’t meant to be disrespectful, but she wasn’t aware of that. Her innocent green eyes blinked, casting fine shadows beneath her lower lashes.
As the silence stretched, Diana slightly raised her gaze. Her unfocused eyes traveled upward to the open lapel of his robe.
A low chuckle escaped him.
“Impressive.”
“…Pardon?”
“You’ve changed compared to before.”
“Before? What do you mean…?”
“Do you know how to grind pigments?”
Without resolving her confusion, an unrelated question was thrown at her. When Diana truthfully answered that she hadn’t done it before, the Crown Prince tapped the armrest of the sofa with his index finger.
“Then start by fetching the oil can.”
***
Mixing pigments wasn’t difficult. The powdered pigment was blended with oil and ground under a shiny glass weight until no coarse particles could be seen. Once it turned smooth and sleek, the process was complete. The finished paint was transferred into small containers for convenience.
Starting the next day, Diana spent nearly the entire day sitting in the living room, mixing pigments. The pigment itself was nearly odorless, and even if it had a scent, it was indistinguishable under the smell of the oil.
On the third day, Diana mustered the courage.
“Master, may I ask what color this is?”
“It’s a color everyone possesses.”
Skin color? Diana tilted her head slightly in confusion. An indifferent explanation followed.
“Carmine. Extracted from cochineal.”
It seemed to be the name of the pigment. But knowing that didn’t make her any wiser.
I should ask Emel the Butler when he returns. He’d been absent for a few days, likely on leave, and hadn’t been seen anywhere in the palace.
So the palace has been left unattended without its Butler for several days? Already desolate, the palace felt eerily empty. Aside from the noise of Harper handling kitchen tools or the faint presence of Sir Arnold, the escort knight, the only sound proving human habitation was the brush strokes filling the silence.
With no visual stimuli and auditory input so limited, anxiety often crept in. The only person she could talk to was the Crown Prince.
“Shall I mix more pigment, Master?”
“The more paint, the better. I’m likely to start another piece soon.”
Felix, who was halfheartedly adding color to a canvas, glanced briefly at Diana. The maid, who seemed desperate to speak to him, was gazing at the pigments she had prepared.
“Actually, it might even be two pieces.”
Muttering as if to himself, he resumed painting the canvas. The painting was nearly complete. The canvas was red—entirely red.
Unaware of this, Diana scooped some pigment onto the glass plate. Two more paintings to come. That would make four paintings completed in just over two weeks.
On the day she signed the employment contract with Prince Aizen, he had said something to her:
“When he was young, he used to paint. Though not as much as during his boyhood, he still occasionally picks up the brush. Find out what he’s painting.”
To describe it as “occasionally” seemed an understatement, given how much time the Crown Prince spent on the sofa. The sound of his brush strokes was crisp and bold. It didn’t seem like he was painting just one picture. Two heavy canvases alternated on the easel.
Though he painted all day, there was an odd sense of indifference about it, as if he lacked genuine interest.
He was said to have a chronic illness. Diana suddenly felt a pang of concern.
“Master, wouldn’t it be better to rest a little?”
“Humans are creatures of forgetfulness.”
Sometimes, she received responses as baffling as this.
“If I forget, it will be problematic. Time, place, the tools used, the angles of the body, the expression.”
The latter part of his statement became increasingly enigmatic.
Could the subject of the painting possibly be a person, rather than an object or a landscape? However, there was no one in the palace who could serve as his model. If it were someone worthy of being immortalized in a painting, it must mean they aligned with his preferences.
The Crown Prince’s preferences. Diana, grinding pigments, sank into deep thought.
“If you could at least tell me about His Highness’s preferences—or even what he dislikes—then…”
“If I knew that, wouldn’t it defeat the purpose of sending you as a spy?”
“But without any information, I have no idea how to approach him.”
“There should be someone in the annex to assist you. When the opportunity arises, you won’t be left in the dark.”
She had no idea who would help or how.
How on earth was she supposed to seduce him?
If only she knew the Crown Prince’s preferences, she might see a path forward, but for now, it seemed hopeless.
***
The portrait of Pride has opened a ko-fi shop with 5 advanced chapters. Ko-fi shop will be updated with each update in website. Here is the: LINK
***
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed what you have read, do consider tipping me a little through: click here. An advanced chapter will be posted as a thank you once I receive 6$. Don’t forget to mention the series that you’re supporting!
