Ko-fi shop has been updated, you can find the link at the end of the chapter.
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Observing the Crown Prince closely, using all senses except sight, Diana concluded that while he was undoubtedly a charming man, something about him seemed off.
The Crown Prince went to the forest behind the annex every morning, returning around noon. After a light meal, he spent the rest of the day in the living room, motionless until late at night. Generously, one could call him composed; less kindly, he was lazy.
He maintained an astonishing level of isolation. No visitors had stepped foot in the annex during the past fortnight. While he kept Diana nearby, it was clear he considered her nothing more than “a maid who mixes pigments.” Or perhaps, he simply found it too bothersome to dismiss her.
There were other peculiarities. The Crown Prince often smoked cigars while painting, but the scent was overwhelmingly pungent, far from what one would expect from a mere indulgence.
…Could he possibly be a drug addict?
Diana’s hands faltered as she ground the glass stone against the pigment.
Even being tasked with seducing a normal person felt like a challenge, but the idea of him being an addict was even more troubling. During her time at Hilde, she had encountered countless vagrants ruined by drugs. The brothel owner called them “walking corpses.”
No, no. He’s far more refined than those kinds of people.
Thankfully, the Crown Prince did not slur his words or stagger when he walked. Comparing him to such lowly individuals felt like a crime in itself.
In that case…
“See? It’s only been a few days, and I’m already forgetting. Where’s my whip?”
…Could it be that his preferences are a bit… unconventional?
Diana imagined the grotesque whip she had seen before, struggling to suppress her discomfort, and replied:
“You left it in your bedroom, so I placed it in the drawer.”
“Fetch it.”
“…Yes, Master.”
Turning left from the sofa, it was fifteen steps to the door leading to his bedroom. The whip was in the top drawer of the cabinet adjacent to the doorframe. The faint smell of blood still clung to it as Diana retrieved the object and returned to the living room.
The strange orders didn’t end there.
“Lie down on the carpet.”
“…Pardon?”
Diana instinctively asked again, unsure if she had heard correctly. Lie down? Just like that?
The Crown Prince was not the type to explain himself twice. Diana hesitated briefly before kneeling awkwardly on the carpet.
“Should I lie on my side… or on my back?”
Instead of responding, he stood from the sofa. In just three steps, he was beside her, pressing her left shoulder with his hand. Diana lost her balance and fell backward.
“…!”
“Stay still.”
The hand that had once gripped her face in a single motion now firmly pinned her right shoulder to the carpet. His shadow enveloped her entirely.
A whip landed on Diana’s chest. It wasn’t a strike—it was too soft for that—but neither was it a gentle placement. It felt like he had dropped it onto her.
Even the thought of such a grotesque object grazing her skin made her shudder. The long whip trailed down her neck and over her chest.
The man pressed one of the whip’s ridged sections firmly between her sternum and her waist.
“Was it here…? Yes, this is the spot.”
His murmured words hinted at some sudden realization.
“Master, is this what you’re painting?”
The whip and the person. It seemed to be connected to his subject.
“They weren’t this intact.”
He rubbed the spot he had just touched—the area beneath her left ribcage—with increased pressure. Startled, Diana gasped, her chest rising and falling sharply.
The Crown Prince let out a small chuckle and added:
“And of course, they weren’t this beautiful, either.”
It was the first time he had directly mentioned Diana’s appearance. Her earlobes grew warm. It wasn’t just because of relief.
Was her heart beating faster because she saw a glimmer of hope to fix her eyes and return home? Or was it because of the alluring timbre of his voice, piercing her eardrums?
“Diana.”
She didn’t know. Her heart was racing as if it wasn’t her own.
Diana suddenly found herself resenting Nephrine. If only this black wall that obscured her sight weren’t in the way, she could have seen what expression and gaze he wore now—or, at the very least, known what kind of person he looked like.
“Are you curious about what I’m drawing?”
“Yes.”
Diana’s eyelashes fluttered slightly. She lowered her eyes and murmured softly, as if whispering.
“I’m curious about you, Master.”
That was Diana’s honest feeling.
Any relationship between people presupposes knowledge of each other. Since losing her sight, Diana had taken a greater interest in exploring people than before.
The absence of vision creates illusions. Most people are kind to the blind, but not all of them are truly good-hearted.
However, the blind are easily captivated by those illusions they create. Just like her own heart beating uncontrollably at the sound of his enchanting voice.
“What a coincidence. I was just thinking the same thing.”
Felix gently lifted Diana’s chin with his fingertips. The eyes hidden beneath her lowered eyelids now turned toward him. Her fresh, light green irises held no reflection.
Though clearly beautiful, something felt subtly lacking.
Felix’s gaze traced the delicate line of her shoulders, following it with his fingertips. Her hands, surprisingly clean for someone who had been mixing paints for hours, revealed no signs of work.
When the warmth of the man’s hand left her chin, Diana flinched. He rubbed her slender wrist and intertwined his fingers with hers, turning their clasped hands so her rounded nails were visible.
As expected, not a single drop of paint had splashed on them. Felix had never once seen her wash her hands after preparing paints by his side.
Above all, there was her scent.
She smelled neither of blood nor oil. Only a pure, refreshing fragrance of water emanated from her.
“M… Master?”
When the crown prince pulled her hand upward, Diana hesitantly called out to him. Instead of responding, he exhaled softly over her fingers.
Startled, her fingers twitched and brushed against a soft, fleshy surface. Realizing it was his lips, Diana held her breath. Surely she hadn’t scratched him?
As if to ease her worry, he brought her hand to his nose and lips, inhaling deeply. A mysterious tension coursed through Diana, causing her to tremble slightly.
It tickles…
The earlobe peeking out beneath her fine, golden-brown hair flushed red. Diana’s half-lowered eyes wavered aimlessly. The weight of his presence above her, the shallow breaths brushing against her fingers, and the warmth of their intertwined hands heightened her senses.
“Diana Escaliff.”
Her heart thundered like a drum. Thump, thump, thump—
Blush spread down Diana’s earlobes to her cheeks. But only for a moment.
The man’s lips curved subtly against her fingers.
“Prepare my bath.”
Diana’s face turned pale.
At first, she thought she had misheard.
“As Butler Emel said… I lack the qualifications to personally serve His Highness the Crown Prince. I differ greatly from the maids who’ve assisted before…”
“So, you’re asking for special treatment?”
That wasn’t what she meant. Diana paced nervously in front of the bathroom door.
She had bathed plenty of Hilde’s prostitutes but had never attended to the bath of someone of such high status. Nephrine despised Diana touching her body and never let her near the bathroom.
Given that, how could she possibly know how the crown prince bathed? No one had told her, and no one could dare to explain it.
She wandered the first floor for a long time looking for Butler Emel but couldn’t find him anywhere.
He said to ask him anytime if I needed help. Where on earth is he…? Could he be on leave?
As always, no one was there to help Diana. In the end, she filled the bathtub. Fortunately, the faucet allowed her to draw hot water directly.
The bathroom quickly filled with steam.
No, maybe this is a positive sign. After all, entrusting one’s bare body implies at least a minimal level of trust.
Perhaps gaining his trust didn’t necessarily require sharing his bed. Prince Aizen had demanded she serve him in his bedroom, but ultimately, the goal was to win his trust. Couldn’t the means and methods change?
While hurriedly arranging the bath items, Diana heard heavy footsteps behind her. She quickly set down the soap and oil and turned around. But the other person approached much faster than she could react.
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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
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