After waking up from her long slumber, the first thing Kirsi Daciana Reverie asked was not a glass of warm water but to ask this residence to summon a painter. She didn't mince words about the condition of her husband who hadn't been home for the past 4 days, but asked worriedly if the painter could come without a hitch this afternoon. Alruna guessed that there was a bit of domestic strife between the two, and didn't take the matter anywhere else but in the corner of her head.
In the afternoon after lunch, an old painter who used to work on portraits of noble families came in a hurry with his painting tools. He was picked up one-sidedly by a maid from the Crown Prince's residence who didn't even make an appointment with him beforehand. He was about to get angry, but most of the nobles were being arbitrary so he wasn't too surprised anymore. The old painter had almost lost all of his hair, leaving only a small part of the hair on his temples and the back of his head.
The hostess who had forced him to come was lazily sitting half-recumbent on the sofa, in a satin red dress that stood out against her yellowish skin. The high slit of the dress exposed her smooth thighs and calves. The old man who witnessed the beauty only dared to admire it as one of God's creations, and did not dare to raise his head too high. The old man sat across from the hostess, speechless. The two of them were left alone in a magnificent living room that was so quiet. After tens of seconds of silence, the hostess got up and straightened her seat to be more polite and appropriate.
Kirsi put on a friendly face that looked half-hearted as she said, "Sorry to suddenly interrupt your time, Mr Benedict."
Benedict shook his head slowly, smiled modestly and replied in a friendly manner of a noble family's small talk, "It is an honour for me to be able to illustrate Your Majesty."
"Ah," Kirsi stood up, walking towards the ancient painting equipment the old man had brought. Her smooth and soft hands swept across the linen canvas which had been stretched by the spanram frame, which was firmly set on the easel. The sight of a device like this seemed familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Kirsi's hands stopped in the middle of the canvas as she said, "Today you don't have to do anything but accompany me. Let me do the work. You know, I'm very good at painting, but no one in this house truly understands about painting and can accompany me to talk about it."
Old man Benedict was quite surprised by this statement. This was the first time he had gotten this kind of noble consumer, and he could only nod in approval. It was good if he didn't have to paint now. His energy had been drained to complete the 1x1 meter portrait of the city lord for two whole days and nights. Accompanying someone's painting and talking about it is not difficult.
Kirsi sat in a small wooden chair with a soft cushion. She crossed her legs elegantly as she picked up a graphite bar and began to scrape its pointed end against the canvas, making a rough sketch of her draft drawing. While working Kirsi spoke, "Have you ever painted anything other than a portrait of a person's face?"
Benedict replied, "Yes, occasionally paint memorable scenes and one's hometown."
"Do you like it? "
Benedict nodded even though the hostess couldn't see it. "Yes, Your Highness. I thought it was very impressive." without being asked he gave his reasons.
"How about painting, do you like it?"
Of course, Benedict liked it. If he didn't like it, he wouldn't be able to keep up with his decades of work and force himself to put up with the behaviour of the nobles he couldn't stand the least. Benedict had his own answer, but it was too emotional and private to say to the hostess who just asked as passed. So Benedict paused to prepare a simpler and more reasonable answer and said, "Of course, I like it, Your Highness. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here with you."
Kirsi chuckled upon hearing that. Her laughter was very subtle and dignified, like a religious song in a place of worship. Her shoulders trembled faintly, the corners of her lips lifted elegantly, and her head was sweetly tilted to the side. She said, "So am I, Mr Benedict. If I didn't like painting, I wouldn't be here with you. I might still be in that living hell, study hard for my college entrance exams, and continue living my boring life like reps of a broken cassette." half of her sentences were spoken in a low mumble as if she was talking to herself.
Aged Benedict still had good hearing in addition to his night-blind eyes. He could still clearly hear the mumbling of the hostess which he couldn't understand. Perhaps the hostess was once a noble girl who wanted to study at the imperial academy, but it couldn't happen because a woman in this empire was not allowed to go to school and went outside to study except for ethical education at home. But it was only Benedict's guess just to dispel his curiosity. In fact, who knows?
"Mr Benedict, you're someone who paints for other people, right? You've been doing it for years, and I'm wondering if you're still painting for yourself, or are you just doing what someone else is telling you to do." The next speech from Kirsi came like a storm in the heart of an old man like Benedict.
At first, Benedict was a self-taught student. His family was too poor to send him to school and intended to send him to a military academy to get a reduced tax payment instead. At that time he was so young and rebellious. Benedict fled to the East to become the painter he dreamed of. Before someday war in the East broke out and Benedict was forced to enter a military academy and go to war. His shoulder blade was fractured, and he was forced to retire early from the army. Benedict raises money to return to the West, bringing with him the good news that his family won't have to pay taxes anymore because their eldest son has retired from the military. Apart from the good news, he also brought home the bad news that there was a high chance that his right hand could no longer be used for painting.
Young Benedict was not discouraged. If his right hand cannot be used, then he will use his left hand. He trained for years to improve his non-dominant hand while constantly running around looking for a healer who could reduce the burden of his injury. Until one day, Benedict met a beautiful healer from the Western border command line. The woman was a capable military healer. Because Benedict was one of the war volunteers who managed to survive and arrived at his home intact, he didn't have to spend a lot of money on treatment.
The beautiful healer was a woman who had escaped from Verdant and was received with open arms by the troops on the Western frontier. She went here and there carrying a little girl who was no less gorgeous. And when the female healer suddenly disappeared from circulation like an exploding soap bubble, Benedict was instinctive to take the girl into his family. Benedict raised her like his own daughter, allowed her to study medicine the way she liked, and allowed her to pursue her dreams while Benedict tried to make as much money as possible to support their lives.
Benedict who initially dedicated his life to painting began to depend his life on the paintings. When he began to realize that he had lost his muse and only painted when asked by others and never again painted the things he loved most, he was too old to turn back time and redo everything. Now that the hostess of the Crown Prince's residence suddenly flicked the topic that was bothering him the most, Benedict couldn't pretend to be calm anymore.
Kirsi, on the other hand, is still as gracefully as she runs a paintbrush on the surface of the canvas, which begins to form the object of her image clearly. Kirsi realized how shaken the old man was just by looking into his pale brown eyes. Kirsi snorted in laughter, continuing her topic when she didn't get the answer she wanted.
"At first I didn't really like painting. But my mother is an art observer who is good at using her hands. When she lost her muse and could no longer move her brush, she forced me to continue with her dream. I practised painting every day. And when I finally did like what I was previously forced to do, she made me love and hate painting at the same time. She made me paint the things I hate the most on canvas, torturing me with unnecessary punishments. You know why she acts like that to me?"
Kirsi shifted from the canvas before her to Benedict's brown eyes once more. Leaking out her deepest feelings through her blank stare. Kirsi continued, "It's because she's jealous of me. In the end, I lost the meaning of my paintings and could only create one painting after another as an obligation. Just like you. We are broken painters. "
Was this hostess telling the story of the same person as the late Evander family patriarch's wife that Benedict knew?
After moving to the capital with his foster daughter, Benedict was summoned several times to the capital's noble houses and asked to paint portraits of their families. The Evander household is one of them. Despite belonging to the capital's noble family, the Evander household was originally located in Suerius. At that time they invited Benedict to come from Hilaria to Suerius to depict the ailing wife of the patriarch Evander. The woman didn't look like someone used to painting brushes and canvases. She didn't fit the description of the story this hostess in front of him had given.
Is Kirsi Daciana Reverie talking about someone else? Seeing her expression and hearing her tone, there was no way she was making up her story. The bewildered Benedict couldn't answer once more. He was good at using a paintbrush and not good at using his tongue to string sugar-coated words together.
The next few hours were spent wordlessly. There were only the small sounds of people passing by outside, doing their job diligently, and there was also the sound of a brush dipping into a glass of water, as well as the sound of a paintbrush scratching the surface of the canvas. The occasional soft murmur from Kirsi was also heard when she finished her painting.
Dusk came when Kirsi finally finished. Benedict asked permission to see for himself how the paintings of his consumers. Kirsi permitted with a small nod. As Benedict inched closer and stood some distance behind Kirsi, he saw for himself how beautiful and realistic this Madam painting was. The beauty of the painting is incomparable as if Benedict had seen this kind of painting for the first time. Her brush strokes looked so confident and firm, not much different from the painter's demeanour.
It was a portrait of a woman sitting half-lying lazily on a long sofa. It was Kirsi moments ago when Benedict first entered this room. The precision of the image that is too fitting makes Benedict goosebumps. This painting is so good that it feels a bit unreal. At the same time, the emotions contained in it are too complex for the message to be captured by a veteran painter like Benedict. Kirsi's gaze in the painting looks as if she is looking right through the heart of the beholder. It scared Benedict to look at it for too long.
"This is extraordinary, Your Highness. You are truly talented." Benedict said the compliment from the bottom of his heart. He also has complex feelings towards the painting. He remembered Kirsi's words about being forced to paint what she feared the most. And she said that when she finished painting herself.
Kirsi puts down the brush. A little tidying up the remnants of her work. Benedict looked like he wanted to stop her from doing the job, but Kirsi refused, ignoring him. Instead, she started to open up another topic and said so lightly as if the topic being discussed was not important. "I hate this body for giving me a new life. I hate that I have become helpless and have to protect it at all costs. I hate that I'm starting to love my new tiny life, and it scares me at the same time."
Benedict was taken aback. This topic is too heavy to talk about as lightly as someone's lunch menu. Is the hobby of the nobles truly like this? They were too strange for Benedict who lived in a different world. As Benedict drifted off into his train of thoughts, Kirsi was done with her work and was standing next to a painting of herself half a meter wide. Her hands filled with paint gently traced the edges of the canvas, as if stroking a baby's crown. Without looking at Benedict, Kirsi said, "There's another reason why I called you here."
Benedict snapped out of his thoughts and immediately stuttered in reply, "Yes, Your Highness?"
Kirsi smiled sweetly, then said, "Your adopted daughter needs more money to study medicine, doesn't it?"
Like being struck by lightning in broad daylight, Benedict was shocked to death. To avoid things that are not desirable, during their stay in the capital, Benedict lived separately from his adopted daughter, and he never told anyone about their relationship. All people knew was that the old painter Benedict was quite close to a great young healer because he was undergoing therapy for his shoulder blade.
And now when the hostess of the notorious Crown Prince's residence who always had problems with his adopted daughter, suddenly says out loud that she knows the relationship between the two, only scares Benedict like being chased by a demon. Benedict opened and closed his mouth several times, no longer able to string words together.
Kirsi continued, "Don't worry too much. I just wanted to convey my proposal to become her patron."
Benedict was made even more astonished. It was only yesterday when his adopted daughter came home from a hunting event in a bad state and had been mute for some time, as if her zest for life had been sucked out. When Benedict asks if the Crown Princess is bothering her again, the girl looks frightened and angry, but doesn't answer. Benedict concludes that Viona, his adopted daughter, was really bullied by the Crown Princess for the umpteenth time.
This was the reason why Benedict felt so wronged when the next day, the Crown Princess suddenly summoned him to her residence by force. He never thought that the Crown Princess would find out about their relationship, and never would have thought that the Crown Princess who hated his adopted daughter to death would one day say that she would become her patron. This was even crazier than suddenly being made the Emperor's sworn brother.
Benedict frowned and said suspiciously, "What do you mean? I'm not—"
Kirsi interrupted Benedict, "There's no need to dodge anymore. Just tell her that I will be her patron and I will pay for all her studies. She will be facilitated by me, even given permission to access restricted areas and protected medicinal plant species. Also, tell her that she has no other choice. She might be able to refuse my ex-boyfriend's kindness by not wanting to bother him, but to accept my offer she doesn't need to be concerned about my feelings by being polite to me, right? I need her talent and she needs money. This is a win-win solution. "
How did Kirsi know? Of course, she knew because she had read the novel all the way through. Unlike the story of Kirsi's life and past which is tightly closed like Pandora's box, Viona's life and past stories are wide open like a people's banquet. Everyone can taste it.
Until the end, Benedict did not give a definite answer. He repacked his painting equipment and didn't say a word as he received his blind salary and walked out of the gates of the Crown Prince's residence. Kirsi wasn't too worried that Benedict wouldn't get her message across to Viona. No matter how much the two of them hated her, they couldn't resist her money and connections. Not to mention Kirsi is known as a reckless person. It would be better for them to face the fire head-on rather than anxiously wait for the fire to burn them from behind.
Kirsi was standing next to a large window consisting of broken glass gradations that formed the figure of a woman holding a baby in her arms.
Her eyes gazed quietly out the window, watching as it began to darken and the first snow to fall in the middle of autumn.
"Oh my, first snow!" Alruna who had just entered the room exclaimed excitedly. Wrapping her fox fur coat affectionately around Kirsi, she said once again, "It's going to be very cold tonight, Madam. You'd better go visit the Master at the Palace tomorrow afternoon."
Kirsi nodded. But in the end, she came two days later when the snow started to accumulate on the palace grounds.