At Rebecca’s nod, Kanna quietly opened the door.
With a chilling smile, Rebecca greeted her guest.
“Welcome, Rodrigo.”
The room was softly lit by flickering candles.
In the dim ambiance, Rodrigo stared at Rebecca, dazed.
Clad in a provocative black dress that revealed glimpses of her skin, waving her cuffed hands, she shed the saintly aura of daytime.
Exuding a decadent, dangerous air, she made Rodrigo flinch.
A shiver ran down his spine.
“So, have you decided who to pledge your loyalty to?”
The sound of a hound’s leash trembling reached her ears.
* * *
Barinika’s secret studio was in one of the emperor’s remote villas, deep in a secluded forest.
Surrounded by lush greenery and stunning scenery, the grand estate was far from civilization, reachable only after a long carriage ride to the nearest village.
Zeppelin watched Barinika paint for a while before heading to the garden for a walk.
As he stepped out, three burly guards trailed him.
“I’m just taking a walk. Don’t bother following.”
Despite his menacing glare, the guards remained unfazed, repeating:
“Imperial orders.”
Damn it.
They weren’t guards—they were jailers.
They followed him when he ate, even to the bathroom.
Not a moment of peace existed here.
He’d thought he was sent to watch the painter, but he felt like the prisoner.
Did I do something to anger the emperor?
Zeppelin mentally reviewed the imperial orders he’d quietly sidestepped.
Nothing seemed incriminating, just minor infractions.
To him, Emperor Zahidra was a benign, lazy old man who avoided trouble, a reputation well-known.
The temple’s wariness prompted Zahidra to craft this facade.
But older nobles, recalling Zahidra’s days as a prince, knew his hidden depths and stayed cautious.
Zeppelin, uninterested in others, judged people by first impressions—a weakness, perhaps.
Jakim, knowing this, had planned to educate Zeppelin on the dark undercurrents of high nobility after his marriage secured him the countship.
But Zeppelin had sent Jakim to his doom first.
His inability to see Zahidra’s true nature was, in a way, his own doing.
Unable to fathom the emperor’s motives, Zeppelin grumbled.
“This is no different from exile.”
Intimidated by the guards’ stern gazes, he returned to the estate, collapsing in a room connected to Barinika’s studio.
Opening and closing a locket with Rebecca’s picture, he was struck by longing and shut his eyes.
Despite her recovery, he hadn’t held her once.
He needed to have a daughter with her before he aged further.
Only then would his perfect kingdom be complete.
With a burning heart, he selected a spare canvas, placed it on an easel, and waited for time to pass.
He began sketching boldly.
Gifted in art but obsessed with perfection, his works always ended up burned.
“Drawing your wife, I see.”
As Zeppelin added deep blue to Rebecca’s eyes, a rich voice interrupted.
Barinika, in a paint-splattered apron, rubbed his stubbled chin, eyeing the canvas.
His critical gaze made Zeppelin feel exposed, and he quickly hid the canvas.
“Not meant for anyone to see.”
“A painting unseen is as good as dead. Hmm… You have remarkable talent in this field, Count.”
“Compared to your work, it’s trash. I’m not swayed by flattery, but your pieces always impress me. I own a few.”
“That’s kind of you. But don’t call a painting filled with love trash. Even a child’s scribble can be art.”
“Love in my painting… How did you know it’s Rebecca?”
Barinika chuckled at Zeppelin’s wary look.
“What artist doesn’t know Countess Devonshire? Countless painters have wanted her as their muse since her youth. Speaking of…”
Barinika leaned in, scrutinizing Zeppelin’s features.
Zeppelin recoiled, flustered.
“What are you doing?”
“You and your wife look strikingly alike. Faces any artist would covet.”
Few were so blunt with compliments, and Zeppelin frowned, embarrassed.
“The wrinkles on your brow are perfectly proportioned. Hmm, your eyes are clear as a summer sea, your nose flawless…”
“Enough!”
Zeppelin swatted away Barinika’s hand, repulsed, as if appraising a statue.
Barinika tilted his head, puzzled by the reaction.
“Don’t you love art, Count? It’s an artist’s instinct to explore beauty. Why so shocked?”
“I’m not a piece of art! What rudeness is this?”
Sensing Zeppelin’s rising anger, Barinika stepped back.
“Fine. But grant me one request. I’m stuck here painting, so I deserve something.”
Still fuming, Zeppelin glowered.
Were it not for the emperor’s orders, this man would be gone without a trace.
“Be my muse.”
“What?”
“Don’t you want to be the subject of a masterpiece?”
“You’re asking me to model for a blasphemous painting? Do I look like a fool?”
“Who’d recognize you in it? I don’t paint literally.”
“True, your charm lies in twisting reality.”
“So, you agree?”
Seeing Barinika’s sly smile, Zeppelin hesitated.
Truthfully, he was tempted.
Barinika was an artist he admired.
He’d glimpsed the work in progress—a daring masterpiece, even with its provocative message.
It was a piece that would be celebrated for generations.
To be part of such a work?
Zeppelin, always eager to display his beauty, found the offer irresistible.
After brief deliberation, he succumbed to desire.
The emperor had said the work would be anonymous.
If anyone noticed a resemblance, he could deny it.
“If it’s just a short time…”
Feigning reluctance, he entered Barinika’s studio.
Barinika smiled, as if he’d anticipated this all along.
* * *
“Even treated the same, he felt nothing.”
Yulian muttered, folding Barinika’s letter.
“Regret won’t change anything now.”
He began writing a reply, promising Barinika and his fiancée a life abroad once the job was done.
Yulian had told Barinika some of Zeppelin’s deeds, instructing him to mirror them.
Barinika, desperate to reclaim his fiancée, agreed to anything.
Yulian hoped Zeppelin would feel a fraction of Rebecca’s pain, perhaps giving her more freedom if he showed remorse.
But instead, Zeppelin raged and greedily accepted Barinika’s muse offer.
A worthless wretch.
Yulian dripped wax onto the letter, sealing it with a plain stamp, then called Croa.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Deliver this to Barinika. And assign more men to Zeppelin—make his every breath unbearable.”
“Understood.”
Croa left quietly.
Yulian picked up a chilled wine glass and approached the window.
The wind howled, signaling an approaching storm, fluttering the curtains.
“What’s Rebecca doing…?”
Gazing at the clouded forest, he pictured her room.
Was she brushing her soft blonde hair at her ornate vanity?
Or nestled in her plush bed, napping early?
Perhaps leaning by the window, gazing at the same sky…
In his mind, Rebecca’s soulful eyes met his.
“Yulian.”
Her eyes curved gently, her voice calling his name.
That tingling pain in his chest returned.
