TPOP 77

Chapter 77

***

Felix transferred the sketch's composition directly onto the canvas. He tried to depict the woman's expression identically, but changed his mind. He had seen a more captivating face than this by that damned riverbank.

He didn't need to strain his memory. Diana's face, seen that day by the water, occupied a corner of his mind almost every moment. The more Diana rejected him, the more he kept pulling that scene from memory and savoring it.

Thus, bringing that image, etched like a portrait, into reality was easy. He borrowed the composition from reality but freely altered and painted in the emotions the figure expressed. The sketch thus completed held a longing even Felix himself hadn't recognized.

The moon hid its face in the west as it crossed the dawn sky. By the time the first light appeared, the underdrawing was complete. Felix wasted no time, pouring paint onto his palette.

He painstakingly mixed pigments made from white lead, red lead, and pure gold. It matched Diana's hair perfectly. He liked it.

The pale green irises were much easier to color. He painted the hair first, then added color to the eyes. They matched Diana's eyes exactly, as he knew them.

"......"

Desire moved him. Felix picked up a fine brush and dipped it in white paint. He dabbed it onto the monotonous pale green. The tiny white dot became a reflection, settling in her pupil.

Only after adding shadows and painting the faint reflection of the subject in the pupil did Felix finally exhale. The woman in the painting's gaze met his precisely.

"Diana."

But no voice answered him. The woman on the canvas was an illusion.

Even though he had painted a picture that perfectly satisfied his heart, he felt no sense of ownership over it. It was only natural, for it was false, not real. Diana did not look at him with eyes like these. She…

As he recalled the woman left behind in the secret chamber of the palace, the faint smile lingering at the corners of Felix's mouth vanished.

Painting falsehoods was meaningless. He couldn't become a fool living in fantasy. Why should he, of all people, seek solace in such a thing?

He shoved the canvas aside, sending it crashing off the easel. The woman's face rolled across the marble floor with a loud clatter.

"......"

Felix's chest heaved. His molars ground together.

"Damn it..."

After a long moment, he drew a deep breath, picked up the sprawled canvas, and placed it on the table. Then he hung a new canvas on the easel.

Again. Until a painting he liked emerged. If the best wasn't possible, he'd settle for the next best thing. As long as a passable painting appeared. A determination resembling twilight flared in Felix's eyes as he stared at the blank canvas.

Lunok returned to the studio the following morning. A young attendant he had personally selected stood guard at the studio entrance.

"Is he still inside?"

"Yes, sir."

Lunok glanced at the tightly shut door. There were certain rules when serving a demanding master: the first was to never, under any circumstances, disturb him from the moment he picked up the brush until the moment he put it down.

"See to his meal. Use the key to open the door, enter, quietly place the tray, and exit. Be careful not to disturb His Highness with unnecessary words."

"Yes, understood."

The attendant respectfully accepted the key.

After Lunok left, the attendant bustled between the painting studio and the kitchen, preparing the Crown Prince's meal.

Each time the door opened, the attendant darted a quick glance inside the studio. Yet the noble man, surrounded by vibrant paints, showed not the slightest interest. It was as if he didn't even notice the attendant coming and going.

***

It was hot. Her whole body was boiling.

Diana curled up tightly under the blankets. Why was it so hot and cold?

She alternated between shivering and unbearable heat, then freezing cold again. Feverish, she couldn't tell if she was in a sealed room or Felix's bedroom.

One thing was certain: Felix hadn't come for her in days. What had changed his mind? The day after she'd last fallen asleep in his arms, she'd woken to find both the man and the silk cloth binding her wrists gone.

With no man around to startle her from every corner, she felt a refreshing sense of freedom for several days. She even found the leisure to regain her senses and reexamine every nook and cranny of the sealed room.

She lay down, agonizing over whether there was any way to pry off the wooden boards nailed to the window, when suddenly an unbearable chill began to torment Diana.

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through her lower abdomen. Diana buried her face in the pillow and gasped for breath.

‘Ah, menstruation.’

The word flashed through her mind.

Her period might be starting. She didn't usually suffer severe cramps, but after all she'd endured recently, this month would be different.

Yet the pain was so intense she couldn't lie flat. As if a knife were slashing deep inside her abdomen, she froze, turning pale as snow.

It was at that very moment a melody, almost like singing, drifted into her ears.

Diana. Diana. Diana.

It's okay, Diana.

A tender voice came from outside the blocked window. Her dazed mind snapped back into focus. Diana clutched her aching stomach and raised her upper body. Standing on tiptoe toward the window, she strained to hear their voices.

Come out now.

Come out, Diana.

A raindrop plopped onto the tip of Diana's nose.

She smelled blood on herself. Her legs felt uncomfortable, but she didn't care. Clinging to the wall, Diana whispered while looking up at the window.

"Wait."

I'll be out soon, please wait for me.

Barely moving her lips was the best she could manage. Finally, her knees buckled at their limit.

Her dull, wheat-colored hair fell in a lifeless arc. Something unknown inside her screamed and vanished like a bubble. The smell of blood was overwhelming. Whose blood was it?

She couldn't tell. Diana's consciousness sank deep beneath the surface.

***

"You locked up that maid?"

Hugo Christen was speechless upon hearing Emile's report.

"Even plants need light and air to survive. How could a human endure being locked up like that? People aren't objects!"

Only after shouting did he realize he was talking about none other than his own nephew. Felix Asteanu was a man who didn't understand the difference between treating people and treating objects. He couldn't even grasp the basic common sense that people should be loved, not owned.

Emile's complexion was almost earthen. Normally, leaving the palace required the Crown Prince's permission, but she had slipped out secretly to the Duke's residence, fearing something truly terrible would happen if she stayed.

"After that, I couldn't give her her medicine... I'm genuinely concerned. I did notice her appetite changed slightly just before that incident, but I can't be certain. The attending physician didn't mention anything unusual either.”

"No other signs?"

"No. There haven't been any other symptoms so far."

"Does he still sleep with the girl these days?"

"Occasionally... I do hear sounds, but I don't know if he's actually embracing her. And for the past three days, he hasn't entered the bedroom."

"He hasn't slept in the bedroom? Then?"

"It seems he's been staying in the painting studio at the secondary palace."

"Oh dear."

It was behavior one might expect from Felix during his boyhood, when he lived for painting. Locking himself in the studio for days on end, attacking the canvas with a death-defying intensity.

That meant the maid had been left alone for those three days, receiving only the bare minimum of care.

“This will end in someone dying.”

Hugo groaned as if the ground were collapsing beneath him, then forced himself to his feet.

"His Highness isn't in the main palace? I must go there first. I'll get that child out and speak with her separately."

But Hugo couldn't meet Diana face-to-face. Or rather, he did meet her, but she was in no state to converse.

Maids fluttered about in confusion outside the Crown Prince's bedroom. Emile hurried over to assess the situation.

"What's going on? What happened to Diana?"

"Well, Head Maid... His Highness ordered us not to enter the inner chamber. We only went in for meals, but when we went to bring breakfast this morning..."

It seemed the Head Maid had been absent, so they'd urgently reported to the Head Butler instead. The head butler had summoned the royal physician, who was now examining the maid.

Hugo pushed past Emile and entered the inner chamber.

"Gerard. How is she? Is she in bad shape? She hasn't fallen ill, has she?"

A patch of the white quilt had turned brown. It was dried blood. An ominous feeling scratched at the back of Hugo's neck.