Chapter 41
Chapter 41
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: What Clings to the Lips
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A knocking sound came from the door. Daphne sat up in bed.
“Hello.”
The voice was soft, like the chirping of a bird. As Daphne looked over with a puzzled expression, a woman in a light purple dress walked in slowly.
With each step, a faintly familiar scent wafted through the air.
“Who are you? What brings you here?”
“Oh, haven’t you heard? I’m supposed to give you painting lessons.”
Ah. Asherad had mentioned something like that. But did she really have to paint? The woman smiled brightly at Daphne’s face.
“You don’t seem too eager to learn. In that case, may I paint here?”
It didn’t matter what she did in this room. The room was spacious. And Daphne would just keep lying there anyway.
“The paints I received in exchange for teaching you are quite expensive.”
The woman smiled, her dimpled, youthful face sparkling with light. Daphne nodded, as if entranced, and the woman sat on the stool beside the bed where Daphne reclined.
It was terribly rude to remain in bed with a guest present, but the woman didn’t seem to mind. Smiling, she extended her hand.
“Then I should at least greet the one lending me this studio.”
Wasn’t she grabbing her skirt to curtsy? Why a handshake? Daphne tentatively offered her hand, and the woman grasped it firmly, shaking it.
“I’m Artemisia of the Count Leski family.”
The woman smiled, her vivid dark blue eyes full of life.
* * *
Artemisia was strange. She really only painted. Whenever she came, the room filled with the thick, oily scent unique to oil paints.
It brought back memories of painting as a child. She was someone who made Daphne think of her own childhood.
Unlike others who chatted away, Artemisia announced her presence with the clatter of tools and that distinctive smell.
Sara had told her that Artemisia was the second daughter of a count’s family. For a noble lady of such high birth to come teach painting—surely she despised Daphne as the daughter of a seductress.
Daphne was a woman hated and scorned by all, so there was no reason to expect a good relationship anyway.
Daphne gave up on any bond with her. That day, too, Daphne was gazing at the sky when the smell of paint drifted in, turning her head. Come to think of it, what was she painting?
When she was very young, Daphne had learned to paint too. Mostly still lifes. But no subject was visible.
Curiosity stirred, and Daphne found herself peeking at the canvas. But Artemisia’s back blocked the view.
As Daphne squinted and shifted this way and that, Artemisia turned around.
“I’m painting an angel.”
She smiled as if she knew everything, making Daphne flinch. Artemisia spoke warmly.
“Come, take a look.”
Daphne peered at the canvas. It depicted an angel descending with a sword in hand. Far from soft and delicate as God’s messenger, the angel resembled a sturdy warrior.
The angel’s face wasn’t benevolent but stern, eyes flashing, evoking awe rather than beauty. Artemisia shrugged.
“My big brother nags me about it. I love being able to paint what I want in a fine studio like this.”
“…….”
“You can come closer to look. Oh, but don’t touch the paints. They’ll ruin that pretty lily-white dress you’re wearing.”
Why was this woman so kind? Didn’t she know about Daphne? Daphne approached hesitantly, like a wary puppy.
Artemisia nodded toward the stool, and Daphne fetched it, sitting down. She didn’t need to do anything.
Just watching the brush glide across was enjoyable. Daphne stared for a long while.
* * *
Asherad watched Daphne. Oblivious to his gaze, she lifted yellow paint and applied it to her canvas.
“You’re good.”
After Artemisia left, Daphne kept painting. Asherad narrowed his eyes at her unexpectedly skilled work. She was painting daffodils.
The brushwork captured the petals’ texture so realistically. As Asherad sat beside her, Daphne set down her brush and looked at him. Paint smeared her soft cheek.
“Pretty.”
Her white dress was covered in paint. Daphne lowered her eyes and nodded slightly.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“…….”
“And thank you for letting me paint.”
It was the first time Daphne had spoken to Asherad like that. Beyond that, she seemed to have nothing more important, immersing herself in her painting.
Asherad watched her. Daphne, once dead-eyed, now painted with genuine focus.
In the past, she had looked at Asherad with that face. Her eyes sparkling with happiness at his mere touch.
Paint on her face wasn’t conventionally pretty. Yet somehow, it was strangely beautiful. But he couldn’t reach out.
He knew it was as fragile as spun sugar glass. Asherad understood that precarious line all too well.
Daphne painted for a long time, ignoring Asherad. Unable to hold back, he reached out, pulling her ponytail—tied like a horse’s tail—to his lips for a kiss. Still, she didn’t turn, fixated on her painting.
A man looking at the woman, not the painting. A woman looking only at the painting.
Their gazes began to miss each other.
* * *
Daphne’s days were no longer listless. At the appointed time, Artemisia arrived to teach her painting, and after she left, Daphne practiced on another canvas.
In the end, having taught Daphne, Artemisia herself hadn’t painted much, but she didn’t mind.
“You have talent.”
“Really?”
“Yes! Really, a lot! It’s truly astonishing!”
As Artemisia’s eyes sparkled, Daphne bit her lip, her cheeks flushing red. She’d never heard praise like this.
“Have you studied painting before?”
“A very long time ago… because of my mother…….”
Her words trailed off. A very long time ago, her mother had made her learn as part of her education.
Painting had been quite fun. She’d wanted to paint her mother’s portrait someday. Her teacher always praised her talent.
Of all her mother’s lessons, painting had been her favorite.
But perhaps because it wasn’t a virtue befitting an empress. Her mother had looked bitterly at Daphne’s paintings and made her stop.
Daphne had cried, but her mother had been stern, saying there was much else to learn.
She had forgotten……
‘So that’s it. It was because I had talent.’
Daphne smiled bitterly. She turned to Artemisia, their eyes meeting. Artemisia had been staring right at her.
I’m the daughter of a seductress, right?
She’d learned painting with wealth from the emperor’s favor. Unlike her pure pursuit, Daphne’s lessons stemmed from her mother’s dark intentions. How repulsive it must be to this delicately raised noble lady.
That’s when dark thoughts began to creep in.
“Wow…… And, um.”
“Yes?”
But Artemisia changed the subject, suddenly lifting the canvas and sketching rapidly with charcoal. What was this about?
“Should we title the painting something like ‘Melancholy Beauty Lost in Reminiscence’?”
“Yes?”
This was another first.
Daphne blinked. Artemisia was serious. Strangely, she didn’t offer fake kindness like, “You’re the seductress’s daughter? That’s fine.”
She simply saw Daphne as a model. Even with charcoal staining her hands black, Artemisia remained earnest.
“Um, could you make that sad expression again?”
Somehow, this time didn’t feel bad.
* * *
Asherad looked at the sleeping Daphne. Her room now reeked only of oil paint. The smell was starting to grate on him.
Letting her paint had been good.
Daphne had regained some vitality. She’d ask him to buy paints when she saw him, inquire how long the Lady Leski would stay.
Yes, that was it.
Their conversations went no further.
Asherad glanced at the open paper. It seemed like figure practice—a fairly lifelike human form.
He smirked at it. Naturally, a cold smile curved his lips. Something irked him.
But the fact that she was beginning to ‘demand’ something was significant.
Asherad raised his large hand, brushing over the sleeping Daphne’s body. So much paint. Impulsively, he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her clean.
As his hand moved to her collarbone, it brushed her breast. Daphne startled awake with a flinch and recoiled backward.
Asherad watched her rise at his touch and retreat.
“Awake, Daphne?”
Seeing her guarded posture, Asherad gave a crooked smile. He’d only meant to wipe the paint.
“Your Majesty.”
But Daphne looked around, then approached him as if resigned.
He hadn’t intended to today. Truly, no such intention.
“Ah, right, of course.”
Yet it twisted his gut. Asherad pressed his lips to hers. Pain shot through as if her lip might tear. He bit deliberately, as if to inflict pain, tilting his head to force her mouth wider.
Their wet tongues tangled. The intense kiss brought the metallic tang of blood. Still, it continued.
Panting, Daphne met his gaze as Asherad spoke.
“Daphne. Go wash up first.”
“…….”
“I can’t stand the smell of paint.”
He brushed the drop of red blood on her lip with his thumb. For Asherad, red paint was enough.
Like what clung to this woman’s lips……