The pencil that she used to bind her brown hair into a bun clenched in her hand, and she was trying to find the best angle for her muse, glancing upon the tip of the pencil with a closed eye. Ezra, who did not have a peck of a will to change his current position, sat by the window, annoyed at her sudden good mood.
"Can't you take it off?" Rivienne asked as her words slipped.
'Things I do for a bite,' He sighed inwardly and covered himself with a newsletter.
Then again, silence enveloped them. Only the sound of her strokes and drinks disturbed it. The more she got drunk, the more Ezra starved.
"… Shame," He spoke. "Nude painting? Moreover a new bride?"
Rivienne took a direct sip from a fancy glass bottle and peeked beside the canvas. "I was thinking of creating my best piece before I end my career officially. And this wine…" She tapped on the bottle. "It is the most expensive one I have ever bought. My last drink,"
"That's a whisky,"
"Is that so?" She checked the bottle, furrowing her brows. "How is that possible?"
Ezra did not comment.
"What a horrible fiancé he is. And what a silly you are to crush your dreams for his sake," Ezra flipped the newsletter and pretended to read it, expecting another wail of hers. But he did not get it.
Rivienne hiccupped and glanced at the piano. "I love him,"
Oh!
Suddenly, he was furious at himself seeing her starting to walk down her memory lane. Indeed, Rivienne was there at the beginning of the lane.
She did not remember the boy's face. It was too bright for her to remember. "I met him for the first time in a yard. I don't remember clearly. There were a lot of trees. I was wounded all the time, and he helped me. He was mean to everyone except for me." She chuckled and drank again.
How happy she was at that time. The time when no one blamed her for anything and the time when she could breathe in peace with the people she loved and cared for. Etiquettes or useless politics were far beyond their horizon.
Ezra was elated.
Success!
Rivienne was unconsciously creating her best piece, yet there were two men, one on top of another. She never knew how she sketched it, looking at her muse. It seemed to be nude, and her strokes got sloppier when the time went on.
"I love him," She started again. "I had to come to the countryside for my manners and etiquette. I mean… You can see that I am not the best, but I am going to try my best. He is very kind. And he will spare me for my mistakes… if only I make them." It was an utter lie, even Ezra, who did not know her name could see that.
She did not care whether Ezra listened or not. She just boasted. "… They say when I was young, I used to walk holding his hand, and when we were going to part, I cried as if I was dying. Hoho! My nanny was making fun of me every day. I was very embarrassed. I mean…"
The newsletter was mostly about the marriage market in the capital, scandals, and the upcoming engagement of the crown prince, his dear half-brother. His ears were ringing with love and knots as he flipped to the other side and froze for a moment.
It was an article about the upcoming war in the eastern borders near the Avalon kingdom. It was the best feeding ground for someone like him, yet he was disgusted. He had been sent to a battlefield when he was a prisoner. He hoped the demon inside him would like it, but he got sick and threw up every meal he ate every day. He was a just boy at that time and believed in pure misery.
Now that he was a man, he only had a crazy painter, who was high on love. He hoped to favour the battlefield, looking back at the month he was dying.
Or…
He glanced at the painter.
She was like any other ordinary noble lady who dreamt of a good husband, loving children, and, of course, with a little bit of passion for art and bravery enough to step into the red-light city just to hide her creations. If he were to bring his meal to the battlefield, wouldn't she be more delicious? Also, The quality might be increased by seeing the horror.
Even if she were to die, she would die after taking a nap she was craving for her lifetime. He was more excited about the thought of bringing the baggage of the painter while Rivienne erased the additional man on the top of her sketch. Her face was red, and she innocently glanced at Ezra, fearing he might have caught something.
He looked less grumpy, though the expression was the same as before.
"Sir," She said, "Will I have nightmares if I am not with you?"
"Maybe..."
"Can't you do something about that,"
"It does not work like that. Who do you think I am?" Ezra covered himself with the newsletter, returning to the marriage talks.
"… A dream eater," After a pause, Rivienne answered him, and she gulped down the last drop of the drink.
Ezra did not say anything. Her imagination was better than the truth.
She began her wailing again.
"I want to have a happy life with him. I want to be with him. And the nightmares will haunt me. How am I supposed to get rid of them alone? And you… you looked sick. Thanks to me, you are fine too. Can you not help me?" Ezra was inwardly getting excited hearing, the pleading.
Yet something was missing.
Something came up in his mind. Where did I hear the same lame love story? Was it the minister or Cain?
It cannot be Levi. He stared at the newsletter, pretending to be reading. And the blurred memory got cleared after he saw the headlines written in the big letters.
"You know who I am," Ezra mumbled and leaned back. He was speechless.
"Your Highness," She bowed her head as her long, wavy brown hair fell over her shoulder, making her look like a cursed doll, but soon she pushed them back, showing her grin of victory. "Or the bride killer,"
In Ezra's mind, things were still processing.
He scoffed in disbelief.
"You liar!" He accused his soon-to-be sister-in-la