TPOP 103

Chapter 103

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But the canvas bearing Diana had yet to be hung in its frame. For there was no finished work.

The bundle of sketches, already rummaged through several times, had frayed corners. Felix pulled back the cloth in the corner. His most recent painting lay there.

A woman standing by the foam-filled water's edge emerged from behind the cloth. The composition looked down from above at the woman, half-submerged in the river bathed in pale moonlight. It was Felix's own viewpoint.

Roughness stood out compared to his usual style. Lines with blurred edges, paint clumped and dried in place, rough brushstrokes left visible. It differed markedly from his previous style, which had rendered another reality on canvas with greater precision than reality itself. Yet this version suited the model far better.

In the painting, she was smiling brightly. Her pale green eyes, reflecting the moonlight, were brimming with vitality. She possessed lustrous skin and wet hair.

In truth, Diana had never worn such an expression by the riverbank. This was an illusion born of his desire.

Still, it allowed him to breathe a little easier.

"Ha..."

Felix gripped the canvas's edge and let out a ragged breath.

"She's not dead."

Even if it was a false image, it was undeniable that Diana had discovered a 'spirit' or some equally extraordinary being in the river that day.

Therefore, she couldn't be dead.

From the very next day after Diana fell from the cliff, Karman sealed all its borders. Except for the neighboring country's envoy delegation, who had stayed in Karman after attending the birthday banquet, no one could enter or leave the empire. At least she was still within his territory.

So she could be found. If she wasn't dead.

She couldn't be dead.

Even when Diana was locked in the secret chamber of the main palace, she hadn't harmed herself with the intent to end her life.

"A dreadful person—"

Had she been the sort of flower-like woman whose neck would snap over such trifles, she wouldn't have caught his eye in the first place.

"If I wanted to kill her, I would have done it long ago. Damn it..."

Felix picked up another canvas hidden behind this one and hung it on the easel. This one was much closer to reality. 

Deep melancholy covered the woman's bloodless face. It was the very same face he had seen constantly for the past ten days, from the main palace until just under two months ago.

At some point, Diana had started crying often.

That day too, even at the edge of the cliff, she was crying so hard it took her breath away.

"You're not hiding anything?"

...Could she really have jumped to die?

"I see..."

But that expression that day, those tears...

Her face, twisted in anguish more than ever before, tore his heart apart. Though muffled by the rain, she must have sobbed like a child. Instead of the vitality Felix craved, despair and resignation had taken root within her.

Why on earth was she crying like that?

"You don't understand anything..."

Felix knew almost everything about Diana, but naturally, he didn't know everything. He still couldn't comprehend why Diana hated the main palace so intensely.

And he still didn't know why Diana had let go of his hand.

It was her will, her choice. Diana hadn't been dragged away by someone; she had fled on her own two feet.

Why?

What was so unbearable?

He questioned himself, though deep down he knew the answer.

"You're a terrible person."

I... I, I.

Because she hates me.

His stiff tongue moved, spitting out the question.

"Why do you hate me?"

Felix gripped the canvas's edge, pressing his face close to the woman within the flat plane.

"Why—?"

No one could hate their master. Harboring such feelings might be their own freedom, but revealing them outwardly was an absurd act. He wasn't some mere noble—he was the master of this country.

"I belong to no one... and certainly not to you."

Yet Diana persistently denied the fact that she was his.

"I am not an object."

He had never treated her like an object. He had merely possessed her. It wasn't that he had desired to possess her; she had been his from the start.

Before she was a slave, she was a maid belonging to the imperial household. It wasn't a matter she could refuse by saying no. It was as natural as the highest-ranking noble in this empire kneeling at his feet, and that was the system of this country. What fate awaited those who defied the system had been proven by his foolish younger brother.

That was Felix's common sense. But Diana's common sense was different.

Felix struggled desperately to understand her.

"You... yes, you're a Dortese. Diana. I suppose that makes sense.”

Being a human outside his system, the concepts of ownership and obedience might not apply to her. If so, Diana wouldn't regard him as the master of her existence, and she could hate and despise him. Felix barely grasped that truth.

Then why does she hate me?

Figure it out, damn it...

Amidst the raging headache, fragments flashed through his mind.

He burned the forest Diana loved. So she couldn't hopelessly dream.

He hid the fact she'd briefly carried his child. He instinctively sensed how she would look at him if her weakened mind learned of the miscarriage.

After that, Diana grew terribly ill. She bled for days, wasted away, and then attempted self-harm. He locked the blind woman in a small, windowless room, just before she could slit her wrists. She must have felt miserable and suffocated.

So you can hate me. You can even dare to resent me, to find me utterly repulsive.

But you can't run away. You're mine. I decided you were mine. Why? If you aren't mine, then what part of you have I taken until now?

The conclusion kept circling back to the same place. His thoughts wouldn't settle.

Felix hadn't slept properly in the past ten days. Memories from the day Diana first appeared before him to today were jumbled into fragmented pieces.

Felix clumsily draped the canvas over the painting.

‘Nothing is certain yet… First, I need to confirm she’s alive and well.’

He couldn’t take this painting with him. Diana’s beautiful upper body was laid bare.

But once he started scrutinizing it, he realized few of his works were presentable. Even his sketches mostly showed Diana gasping with pleasure.

Better to just paint her face separately. He didn't have the time for brushwork, so charcoal, graphite, or ink would have to do.

Things he couldn't sort out in his head became clear once he tried painting them. Whether trying to understand something, give it form, or set a clear goal, Felix always started by looking for something to draw. It was more than a simple habit; it was an instinct.

Felix unconsciously reached for his brush, his hand moving before he gasped. His right hand felt as heavy as a stone.

"Ah."

The pain came a beat late. Only then did he identify the source of the headache that had been disrupting his thoughts for a while. The realization that this pain, which had been bothering him quite a bit for days, was no minor matter hit him the very next instant.

"...?"

Felix tried to move the fingers of his right hand. It wasn't because they were firmly secured in the splint. He couldn't even twitch a finger. Not at all.

The brush, bumping against the bandage, rolled noisily under the table. Without conscious thought, he frantically tore open the bandage on his wrist. He forced a pencil into the gap between his fingers, swollen bright red. But the thin, long pencil slid down his palm and dropped to the floor.

Felix gritted his teeth and flung open the studio door.

"Get the attending physician here. Now!"

***

Operating on the mangled hand took a good three or four hours.

The Crown Prince watched without flinching as the attending physician sliced through the raw flesh on the back of his hand with razor-sharp surgical tools and set the broken bone fragments. He didn't even take painkillers. To alleviate pain of this magnitude, one would need painkillers nearly as potent as poisonous herbs to have any effect, but his immunity to all manner of bizarre toxic substances rendered them useless. They used the strongest anesthetic available, but its pain-numbing effect would be minimal.

While the attending physician sweated profusely, concentrating intensely on the surgery, the Crown Prince did not utter even the slightest groan. His complexion merely grew a little paler.

"The broken bones have been aligned and immobilized. All we can do now is pray they heal properly, Your Highness."

The physician used the word 'pray' instead of 'wait'.