Chapter 108

Hearing that the painter who would draw her portrait had arrived, Enria hurried to the reception room where the artist and Fyoren were waiting.

 

She marveled again at Fyoren’s capability—he had found a painter much faster than she expected—and quickened her steps.

 

But the moment she arrived and saw Caldeon standing right in front of the door, her face filled with confusion.

 

“Caldeon?”

 

He stood squarely in the center, arms crossed, blocking entry for anyone. His brow twitched as he complained to Fyoren inside the room.

 

“I clearly said no young men.”

 

“But didn’t you ask for someone quick-handed and skilled?”

 

“There are painters all over the Empire. You couldn’t find an elderly one or a woman?”

 

“There are plenty of painters, yes, but few who are truly good.”

 

“So you’re telling me that green young brat paints better than old masters who’ve been at it for decades?”

 

Caldeon seemed deeply displeased with the young painter, nitpicking over the most ridiculous things.

 

Fyoren, who normally accepted Caldeon’s words with an immediate “Yes, sir,” now protested for once, sounding sincerely wronged.

 

“He’s the son of the imperial portraitist, Master Tichirrano. He’s not that young to begin with, and since he uses the same techniques as Tichirrano, his skills are excellent.”

 

“Then bring Tichirrano.”

 

“Master Tichirrano is currently ill—”

 

“My father no longer has the strength to hold a brush.”

 

At that moment, the young painter, who had been listening quietly, spoke cautiously to Caldeon.

 

“I understand your doubts, but I am confident in portraiture just as my father was. If you trust me—”

 

“It’s not that I doubt your talent. I’ve seen your work myself.”

 

“Then what is the problem?”

 

“What is the problem, sir?”

 

Fyoren and the young artist asked at the same time.

 

Caldeon lifted his chin, as if stating the most obvious truth in the world.

 

“No matter how fast your hands are, you’ll have to look at Enria for over three hours. With young blood like yours, what if your gaze lingers with… inappropriate interest?”

 

“Caldeon.”

 

Enria cut him off and pulled one of his crossed arms down.

 

He lost balance for a second and turned toward her—his face instantly brightening the moment he saw her.

 

“Enria.”

 

“What in the world are you talking about right now?”

 

When Enria looked up at him with a baffled, exasperated expression and sighed, Caldeon took her hand in his and said: “I was just about to go fetch you. The weather outside is lovely. How about we take a walk?”

 

“The painter has arrived to draw my portrait.”

 

“He can’t. He’ll use that excuse to ogle you from head to toe with lecherous eyes—”

 

“You misunderstand!”

 

The young painter shouted, unable to hold back.

 

All three—Fyoren, Enria, and Caldeon—turned their gaze toward him.

 

“I already have a lover. I have no such intentions toward the subject of my work—”

 

“Most married men in the Empire cheat for one reason or another.”

 

“But I’m not—!”

 

“Leave. Fyoren, find me an elderly or a female painter inst—”

 

“My lover is a man!”

 

Cutting off Caldeon’s order to Fyoren, the young painter declared it loudly.

 

As everyone’s astonished eyes turned toward him, his face reddened. His voice trembled between indignation and embarrassment.

 

“I don’t feel anything toward women. If anything, only toward men.”

 

Caldeon looked at Fyoren as if demanding why that detail wasn’t in the report and Fyoren looked at the painter as if doubting the truthfulness of that claim.

 

Seeing their reversed expressions, the young painter sighed and continued: “And I am not such a lowly man as to cheat when I already have someone I love. I love my partner.”

 

Fed up that he had to explain such personal matters, yet unwilling to leave behind an unfair misunderstanding, he added firmly: “So I will absolutely not look upon the lady with impure eyes.”

 

 

***

 

 

Sitting in the chair, holding the required pose, Enria quickly realized that young Tichirrano was just as earnest about painting as his father.

 

Even with Caldeon standing behind her with arms crossed and a glare sharp enough to kill, the young man focused solely on his work, unaffected.

 

Being the son of the famed imperial portraitist, and having studied directly under him, it made sense that he held such seriousness toward his craft.

 

His usually gentle eyes grew razor-sharp whenever he faced the canvas—almost rivaling Caldeon’s intensity.

 

That alone told Enria how much painting meant to him.

 

“Hey, did you just now look at my woman’s chest?”

 

Even with Caldeon constantly picking pointless fights from behind him, the young painter kept working diligently.

 

“I was not looking at her chest but examining the lace embroidery on the front of her dress. A woman’s chest is meaningless to me.”

 

“What? My woman’s chest is meaningless?”

 

“I meant in the general sense.”

 

“You don’t have the right to assign any meaning to my woman’s chest.”

 

At that absurd remark, the painter, who had remained composed until now, finally frowned and looked at Caldeon.

 

“Then… are you telling me I should appreciate it?”

 

“Do you want to die? Are you declaring, right in front of me, that you want to admire my woman’s chest?”

 

“Caldeon.”

 

Unable to bear it any longer, Enria looked up at him.

 

“Go back to your office and work. You’re slowing him down.”

 

“…”

 

“Hurry. The more you interrupt him, the longer I have to pose in front of him. I have other things to do, and I still need to check on Belona.”

 

With that, Caldeon finally backed off, saying he would return after finishing his work.

 

Enria watched him leave, and as soon as he disappeared, she turned back—meeting Tichirrano’s apologetic gaze.

 

“Sorry. He must’ve made it difficult to focus.”

 

“That’s not entirely true. This is the first time I’ve seen such a breathtakingly beautiful face up close—quite the sight. Ah—my apologies. How rude of me to speak so casually in front of His Grace’s partner…”

 

He looked genuinely distressed at his slip.

 

Enria gave him a gentle smile.

 

“It’s fine. Everyone knows how unfairly handsome Caldeon is. Even I, who live with him, sometimes lose my breath for a moment.”

 

“He truly is remarkable. As if crafted by the gods themselves with extraordinary care—the finest masterpiece.”

 

Yes. His face could indeed be called a divine masterpiece.

 

Any artist would want to draw Caldeon at least once in their life.

 

“So I’d love to paint him as well. As soon as possible, that beautiful face.”

 

Enria fully understood the sentiment.

 

And now she found herself wondering how he would react when he saw Hayden, who looked exactly like Caldeon.

 

 

***

 

 

“W-wow…”

 

A timid gasp escaped Tichirrano’s lips.

 

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Hayden—who looked identical to Caldeon—cradled in Caldeon’s arms.

 

Enria couldn’t help but smile.

 

Anyone would react like that when seeing a “mini-version of their favorite celebrity.”

 

“A family portrait will take longer. But I’m not sure how long Hayden’s patience will last.”

 

Caldeon kissed the top of Hayden’s head as he spoke.

 

Not understanding what was happening, Hayden simply clung to Caldeon’s neck and stared at the painter, eyes filled with wariness and curiosity.

 

“Judging by how quickly you finished my sketch earlier, it shouldn’t take too long. Right?”

 

Enria asked Tichirrano, who jerked in surprise and nodded rapidly.

 

“It won’t take long. I’ll begin immediately. What posture should I—”

 

Before he could finish, Caldeon had a servant bring a chair, seated Enria, and positioned himself beside her—one arm around Hayden, the other resting atop Enria’s chair.

 

Enria folded her hands neatly on her lap and faced forward.

 

Servants rushed over to fix her hair and clothes, then stepped back.

 

Once the family was ready, Tichirrano returned to his sharp, hawk-like gaze and stood firmly before the canvas.

 

His eyes swept over the family with precision as he began sketching the framework.

 

“Is that drawing?

 

Hayden asked, sticking his finger into his mouth.

 

Caldeon gently pulled the hand down and explained that the painter was making their portrait.

 

Hayden pouted at the touch, cheeks puffing in displeasure. He let out a little sigh and stared at the painter.

 

Then, in a sharp, sulky voice, he said: “Make Daddy ugly.”

 

“Pfft.”

 

Enria burst into laughter.

 

Caldeon narrowed his eyes at Hayden.

 

“My son still doesn’t understand. Your father cannot be drawn ugly even by force. This face can only be handsome.”

 

At that, both Enria and Tichirrano’s brows twitched in perfect synchrony.

 

They both wondered the same thing: ‘How many people in the Empire can brag like that with a straight face?’

 

But neither knew the other was thinking it too.