SRVB 13

Chapter 13

Why on earth had her skills deteriorated so badly?

He had once — just once — accepted Dantalion’s invitation and gone to observe her work.
Even though she worked only in Dantalion’s mansion, he had recreated the same environment for her down to the smallest detail — the same room, the same materials.
And yet, something was wrong.

He stared at the atrocious painting for a long time in the name of analysis, until his head began to ache.

Damn it.

Perhaps it would be faster to talk with Lilia directly rather than try to figure this out alone.
But every time he faced her, anger surged uncontrollably.

“Duke Lecongias, you won’t die peacefully.”

“……”

Locked in his cell, Raphael’s hands, feet — even his mouth — were gagged.

She didn’t seem to care that he couldn’t reply, continuing to speak on her own.

“Marquis Esteban gave me his word. He said you’ll be tortured every single day until the day you climb the execution platform.”

He had no intention of yielding easily.

Instead of responding, he glared at her, eyes filled with murderous intent.

She sneered.

“It’ll be better for you to behave obediently. Unless, of course, you’d like to make the Marquis’ torturers happy.”

Just remembering how arrogantly she’d acted while relying on Dantalion made his blood boil.

Pressing his temple with his fingers, he muttered quietly.
“Maybe it’s just a sketch.”

As a noble, Raphael had been painted many times for portraits.
Even famous artists’ initial sketches looked like odd geometric shapes — but the more they studied the subject’s face, the more lifelike the work became.

Maybe Lilia’s paintings were the same. The first drafts might be terrible, but the closer she got to finishing them, the better they’d turn out.

In fact, weren’t her completed paintings beautiful, despite her wicked and dark nature?

* * *

Until now, Raphael had occasionally sent her money through Henna.
But now, he began delivering his requests directly.

“He said to tell you — finish it.”

The word finish made her uneasy.

But every painting I’ve done so far was a finished work… wasn’t it?

My guts weren’t big enough to treat that terrifying man like a blackmailer who only wanted my doodles.
I had done my best every time.
So what was the problem?

I’d even used paints mixed with crushed gemstones!

What did finished even mean by Raphael’s standards?

As I pondered the deep mysteries of art, several days slipped by.

A few days later, I was still staring blankly at the white canvas.
Then, suddenly, I realized something critical.

This isn’t what I should be doing right now!

Because Raphael’s messenger had brought his demands, I’d unconsciously gotten caught up in painting again.
But my real goal wasn’t to finish a painting — it was to get away from the original villain of this tragic story as fast as possible.

Hadn’t I already seen with my own eyes the terror that Raphael’s creation, Nox, could inflict?

I glanced toward a newspaper lying nearby.

[The Grand Patron of Culture and Art, Marquis Dantalion Esteban, Makes a Magnificent Return.]

Dantalion Esteban —
That was the name of the male lead from The Empire Where Darkness Falls.

If the male lead had returned to the capital, the original plot would soon begin in earnest.

How did the story start again?

Ah, right. It began when Célestine’s paintings — after being exploited under another artist — first began to circulate.

Art was the least of my problems right now. I needed to prepare for the future.

Maybe I should get one too.

Nox’s only cure — it wouldn’t hurt to have at least one in my possession.

The gallery that sold her paintings appeared frequently in the original story.
So of course I remembered its name clearly.

It was the Green Shrimp Gallery.

To get Célestine’s painting, I’d have to go out.

And I need to visit the guild that handles asylum requests too…

But with Henna and Maximus constantly watching me, I couldn’t just leave the mansion freely.

Thinking hard, I came up with an idea.

“I need some specific materials.”

They’d told me to ask if I needed anything, after all.

Henna, who stood nearby, responded immediately.
“Yes, my lady. What do you require?”

“I need a mysterious black paint — one that carries hints of blue, like the night sky after rain. The paints I have now can’t capture the sky properly.”

Henna’s polite smile faltered with confusion.
Such an abstract description was meaningless to someone untrained in art.
Of course, I was just saying nonsense anyway.

“If you’re not sure, I can go buy it myself. Actually, that might be best — it’s been a while since I’ve gone out.”

“My lady, are you saying you’ll go out alone? That would be inappropriate.”

“Not alone, of course. I don’t know my way around the capital, so you’ll come with me, Henna. While we’re out buying paints, I’d also like to visit some art shops. There must be many in the capital — I’d love to see what kinds of paints they carry.”

Perfect.
That was a natural enough excuse to go out!

There would still be guards following, but at least I’d get outside.

Unlike the closed mansion, the streets were full of people.
Surely there’d be at least one chance to slip away.

“I understand, my lady. I’ll seek His Highness’s permission.”

Henna bowed lightly and left.
But before long, she returned.

“His Highness requests your company for a meal.”

The words dropped like the sky collapsing over my head.

* * *

Why had Raphael summoned me?

Was he upset that I’d asked to go out?

Seriously, can’t I at least take a short trip outside?

Technically, as an employee, I had no reason to be imprisoned here.
But my courage shrank the longer I thought about it.
After all, he was the story’s villain — there was no telling when he might lose control and do something insane.

And it didn’t help that I hadn’t produced a painting lately either.

“……”

Feeling like a criminal, I glanced at Raphael.

He had invited me to dine with him, yet he said nothing — only plucked grapes from a nearby plate, one by one.

With his long, elegant fingers, he detached a plump grape and placed it against his full lips, biting gently with his front teeth.

Between the soft, bursting fruit, a glimpse of his red tongue showed briefly.

Why does he have to eat so suggestively?

Heat rose to my face, as if I’d witnessed something indecent.
I quickly lowered my gaze to the table.

W–wow!

The duke’s meal was far beyond anything I usually ate.

My own meals were decent, but this — this was like a royal buffet.
An array of dishes lined the table:

Thick cuts of grilled beef.
A whole turkey stuffed with nuts.
Bright, fresh fruits piled high.
An assortment of cheeses.

It all piqued my curiosity.

What kind of meat is this?

I began to analyze the meal before me.

The steak came first.
No garnish — a bit plain-looking — but its color was rich and inviting.
Slicing a bite-sized piece, I noted how tenderly the knife slid through.

A quick poke with the fork, then into my mouth — the juices burst warmly across my tongue.

The texture’s good… but something’s missing.

This world’s ingredients were, by default, of high quality — perhaps too high.
Because of that, chefs rarely bothered with seasonings or sauces, and flavors became dull quickly.

A little more attention to detail, and it could be a magnificent dish.

“I heard you haven’t been painting lately.”

Startled mid-bite, I swallowed quickly.

Don’t panic.
I’d prepared excuses in advance.

“I think it’s because I’m not used to my new surroundings yet. Maybe I’m in a slump.”

I added an apologetic look for good measure.

Raphael tilted his head lazily, tossing a particularly small grape into his mouth.

Now that I noticed — he hadn’t touched his steak at all.

Does he dislike meat?

Out of habit, I glanced at the food near him.
Aside from the fruit, he’d only eaten a bit of the strongest-smelling cheese — blue cheese.

He seemed to prefer foods with intense aroma and flavor.

As I studied him carefully, he finally spoke again.

“So, you’re delaying the painting’s completion — and yet you want to go out?”

“Yes, because I need some paint.”

He let out a low chuckle.

“Do you really think buying a tube or two of paint will suddenly help you finish?”

Ugh… as much as I hated to admit it, he had a point.

Still, I had to get outside somehow.

“W–well, since I’m in a slump, maybe I can borrow inspiration from new materials. I thought visiting a gallery might help. I’d like to take a walk too — I think getting familiar with the capital would help me feel more comfortable.”

Of course, the real reason was to buy Célestine’s painting and learn about escape routes.

“I refuse.”

His voice was flat, final.

“You’ll be living here from now on, so get used to the mansion instead. Spend your time painting — not on pointless errands.”

I hadn’t wanted to say this, but—

“I’m not a slave, Your Highness. You don’t have the right to take away my freedom.”

It wasn’t like I’d agreed to stay here forever!

He smirked faintly.

“No, you’re not a slave. And what of it?”

His tone dropped, dangerously low.

“Is there anyone in the capital who even knows you? Even if there were, do you think anyone would move for an orphan with no family or backing?”

“……”

He’d seen right through my intent to run. Words failed me.

“If I treat you like a slave, no one will object. So perhaps you should simply do your work properly — before I decide you’re useless and dispose of you.”

Flinch.

That was enough to make me abandon all thoughts of going outside.
If I wanted to keep my head attached, I’d better paint quietly and stay in his good graces.

“…I understand. I’ll focus on painting.”

But curiosity got the better of me.

“Just one question, Your Highness — about the painting.”

“Speak.”

“What part of my paintings do you like most?”