Free Web NovelChapter 66: A Most Unconventional Painting
Chapter 65: A Most Unconventional Painting
Lyria’s POV
I remained still long after Baron Redwick finished speaking.
The courtyard seemed to breathe again only gradually, as though the entire assembly had been unwilling to disturb the quiet reverence his painting had created. I could not deny it—the Baron possessed remarkable skill. His understanding of composition, balance, symbolism... all of it surpassed my own efforts with humiliating ease.
A small, unpleasant thought settled firmly in my mind.
Would he take a student?
The notion came unbidden but stubbornly refused to leave. Compared to what I had just witnessed, the drawings I had planned to sell in the markets would fetch little more than polite smiles and pity coins.
I folded my arms quietly.
If I wished to improve—truly improve—then perhaps lessons from Baron Redwick would not be the worst idea.
Though convincing him might prove... complicated, especially given my situation.
My thoughts were interrupted when the footman finally stepped forward again, clearing his throat loudly enough to draw the attention of the entire courtyard.
"And now," he announced, his voice ringing across the assembled nobles, "His Grace, Duke Evander Valenridge of Blackmere."
At once, the crowd stirred.
I straightened instinctively, my attention shifting toward the man who had stood patiently throughout the entire exhibition without once being called forward. The Duke of Blackmere had remained unmoving through it all. He showed no sign of irritation even as those considerably lower than him were called forward.
The servant assigned to retrieve his painting hurried forward, clearly eager to conclude the proceedings. Yet the moment the man reached the easel and laid eyes upon the Duke’s work, he froze.
The pause lasted only a second.
Perhaps two.
But it was long enough that several nobles exchanged curious glances.
The servant blinked rapidly, recovered himself, and bowed before lifting the canvas. Whatever shock he had experienced, he masked it quickly with the practiced discipline of palace staff.
I wasn’t surprised by the reaction, especially given what the Duke had painted.
Meanwhile, the Duke himself appeared entirely unhurried.
Rather than immediately approaching the dais as every other candidate had done, he reached calmly for the glass of water set nearby and took a long drink. Only after finishing did he adjust the cuff of his sleeve, inspecting the silver cufflink as though it had suddenly become of immense importance.
I watched in disbelief as he then bent slightly and brushed a speck of dust from his boot.
He even polished the leather briefly with a handkerchief.
The delay was unmistakably deliberate.
From the dais, I saw the King shift slightly in his seat, irritation flickering across his expression. The Queen’s smile stiffened just a fraction.
Yet neither monarch spoke.
Finally satisfied with his appearance, the Duke began walking toward the dais.
Slowly.
Far more slowly than any man reasonably should.
By the time he reached the center of the courtyard, the servant had already positioned the painting so that the royal family and the gathered nobles could see it clearly.
And then the silence fell. It was similar to when Baron Redwick’s painting had been exposed, but this time it was different.
It was not reverent.
It was stunned.
The Queen blinked once.
Then again.
She leaned forward slightly, as though uncertain whether she was seeing the painting correctly.
"Your Grace," she said carefully, "would you care to explain... precisely what this painting represents?"
The Duke inclined his head respectfully.
"I would be honored to, Your Majesty."
The Queen studied the canvas again before continuing.
"I observe," she said slowly, "that you are not... particularly artistic."
The Duke nodded without hesitation.
"That is entirely correct, Your Majesty."
A faint murmur passed through the nobles.
"Blackmere," he continued calmly, "is not a territory renowned for its artists. Nor am I self-taught, like Marquess Hale." His tone remained polite, though there was something faintly amused in it. "And I do not possess a younger sister who taught me to paint."
From the royal dais, the King’s eye twitched.
He forced a laugh that sounded distinctly hollow.
"Now see here," the King said lightly, though his voice held a strained edge. "You do have a sister, Duke Valenridge."
The Duke nodded again.
"I do, Your Majesty, but my sister," he replied, "has not a single artistic bone in her body."
A few nobles coughed discreetly.
"She is also not particularly cute," the Duke added thoughtfully. "In fact, she is more inclined toward bullying. When we were children, we spent considerably more time staging pirate battles than learning to paint landscapes."
Several ladies lowered their fans to hide their smiles.
The Queen cleared her throat sharply.
"Quite enough, Your Grace."
Her smile returned, though it was noticeably firmer now.
"We are not here to hear tales of your childhood adventures with your sister."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"Kindly explain your work," she continued, gesturing toward the canvas. "Because from what I can see... it is certainly a piece."
The Duke chuckled softly.
"I assure Your Majesty that my painting signifies exactly how I see the Princess."
The Queen tilted her head slightly.
"Indeed?"
Her gaze shifted back to the canvas. ƒrēewebnovel.com
"And do you see the Princess," she asked delicately, "as a stick figure?"
Several nobles choked on suppressed laughter.
The Duke turned to look at the painting as though examining it for the first time.
"Well," he said thoughtfully, "it is depicted that way."
"But once I explain it," he continued calmly, "you will understand."
A pause followed.
Then he added, with complete sincerity—
"The stick figure is simply the only thing I know how to draw."
I was dying with laughter where I was because the stick figure wasn’t even perfect.
A few nobles could no longer restrain their laughter.
Even the King looked as though he was fighting a losing battle with his composure.
The Queen, however, maintained perfect decorum.
She leaned forward slightly, studying the canvas again.
"I must say," she remarked, "the figure does appear rather... askew."
"And the ’W’ upon the head? That would be the Princess’s crown, I presume?"
"Correct."
The Queen’s brow lifted.
"It appears... somewhat crooked."
The Duke regarded the drawing thoughtfully for a moment before replying with complete seriousness—
"The Princess’s crown is often quite askew."
