Aware that my behavior was strange for a guest, I summoned the servants and commenced an inventory of the kitchen’s provisions. Unsurprisingly, nothing remotely useful for alchemical purposes was to be found. Consequently, I dispatched orders for a few critical ingredients. The servants, understandably hesitant to spend their Mistress’s funds without authorization, balked at the task. Yet, bereft of coin myself, convincing them was the sole way forward. I invited them to lay the blame squarely upon my shoulders, urging them to fulfill my requests regardless of any potential repercussions.

  The needed supplies arrived sooner than anticipated. With purchases secured, I ventured into the kitchen and set to work. Experience had taught me that leaving the delicate formulation of alchemical remedies to mere cooks was unwise, especially after the headaches we had endured previously.

  As I commanded ingredients be gathered using funds not my own and labored over them personally, careless whispers reached my ears—suggestions that the noble Lady may have lost her senses. To some, this was all beneath my station, and I could scarcely argue against such perceptions.

  However, in my eyes, a well-stocked kitchen and an alchemist’s laboratory bore striking similarities. Managing both was well within my capabilities. The Almeda flower required precise handling, its petals needing to steep in boiling oil at a carefully controlled three-quarters fire for exactly one hundred and twelve seconds. The pears’s sugar was extracted by slicing the fruit evenly, while sodium hydroxide combined with sulfur’s combustion yielded a delicate compound. Though the process demanded exactitude, iron pots proved less effective than the aluminum alloy crucible I had back home. Drying the resulting powder without a glass retort required some… creativity, but a jar of steaming tea was ultimately produced.

  As I poured myself a cup, the scent evoked memories of rare indulgence. Almeda tea, sweet upon the tongue with a lingering minty coolness in the throat, had long been a small comfort amidst my frailties, one of the few pleasures my former body could tolerate.

  “Ah… sweet relief. I missed your tea, Dubart,” Princess remarked, savoring the soothing effects that swiftly took hold. “I still don’t get how you make it. Why did you turn that pan upside down and tie it to a cup? I had never seen you do that before.”

  “I was being creative.”

  I directed the servants to deliver the tea to both their Mistress and Lady Lunatora, were they to complain about a headache. Both Ladies did, of course, as the hangover symptoms of dehydration due to excessive alcohol consumption were well-documented and predictable. Both Ladies found themselves grateful for the remedy. Once they were clothed and restored, their fascination with the tea’s effects led to inevitable inquiries about its origin.

  To honor my earlier promise to the servants, I claimed responsibility for the procurement of expensive flowers and the untidy state of the kitchen, thus absolving them of blame. The Ladies were generous in their praise, and Lady Telenhart, far from taking issue with my restocking of ingredients, seemed pleased. When they pressed me for the recipe, they came to realize that the tea was a product of science and not simple seasoning. To avoid suspicion, I explained it thus:

  “I must have observed Master Dubart prepare it a hundred times. He imparted some alchemical knowledge to us, you see. He believed that we sisters, as his caretakers, should be capable of crafting remedies when he was unable to do so himself.”

  During my former life, the occasional success in alchemical endeavors earned me much acclaim. It was inevitable that visitors to Highsummit Manor would hear of the Lord Duke’s peculiar son—whispers of the strange child, dabbling in alchemy despite his unusual condition. Such tales, undoubtedly, could readily explain why one in my service, namely Princess, would possess specialized knowledge.

  Perhaps a tad reckless in my belief that such explanation sufficed, I continued my alchemical pursuits. I requested permission to procure additional materials, which was granted without hesitation. My next creation in the now tidied kitchen was a salve—one of my trusted remedies, the pomadora cream. With Princess’s blessing, I applied it to our injury. The cream, while excellent for alleviating pain, was particularly renowned for its ability to stimulate internal tissue regeneration, especially where bruising was involved. It had spared me a great deal of blood and suffering in the past.

  Of course, the two maids who had been tasked with cleaning after me were less than enthused to see me return to the kitchen, once again setting up my alchemical paraphernalia. In an attempt at reconciliation, I endeavored to teach them the process, as the ointment was a valuable creation. Unfortunately, its complexity only seemed to frustrate them further, leading me to suspect that I may not be as effective an instructor as I once believed.

  True to our agreement, I was to begin painting that morning. As I prepared the cream, I also set about creating paints in shades that would best suit my artistic vision. I requested brushes of varying sizes and found inspiration in a piece of white cloth, which I slightly altered to serve as my canvas. Its texture, though slightly adhesive, promised to absorb the first strokes while preserving the rich clumps of paint, allowing me to achieve the desired effects. Determined to improve, I set my sights on making this portrait of Tirrha my finest work yet.

  With all preparations complete, it was time for the model to decide how she wished to be immortalized. Tirrha, feigning modesty, mentioned to Lady Telenhart that the commission was merely a gesture of friendship, a pretext to spend time together, and that she had not given the matter much thought. According to Fermina’s schedule, Lady Lunatora was to be our fifth client out of the six we had altogether; Tirrha’s excuse was that the turn of events was premature and unforeseen.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  During breakfast, Tirrha expressed her desire to be painted in her private quarters, citing embarrassment as this would be her first time posing. This decision disappointed Lady Telenhart, who had hoped to witness my work firsthand. Despite Tirrha’s coy demeanor, I suspected ulterior motives behind her request but agreed nonetheless.

  As we retreated to Tirrha’s chambers, any pretense of propriety was swiftly cast aside the moment the door closed and locked behind us. I arranged my materials near the window, where the illumination was balanced—neither too harsh nor too dim. Yet the presence of three mirrors threatened to disrupt this equilibrium, reflecting the light in a way that verged on excess.

  “Finally, just the two of us!” Tirrha exclaimed, brimming with excitement, which I imitated with a playful grin.

  “What are you envisioning, Tirrha? What would fit your taste?” I inquired, though her current attire—a simple dress—left much to be desired. I could certainly embellish it in the painting if need be.

  “I will give you three guesses as to the kind of portrait I desire, kitten,” she teased, her eyes half-lidded with mischief, and her finger playfully caught between her teeth. She might as well have stated it outright.

  “You want a nude,” I declared.

  “Yes, she does,” Princess coincided. It was easy to communicate with her in this room.

  “You are absolutely correct,” Tirrha confirmed, her laughter rich and indulgent. “I already know exactly what I am going to do with it.”

  “I have no objections. I shall gladly paint you in whatever manner you prefer,” I responded, feeling the weight of anticipation settle upon me. Though I had felt her body pressed against ours the previous night, the veil of darkness had denied me the opportunity to truly see it.

  “I don’t have any objections either,” Princess chimed in, her tone almost conspiratorial. “If you are ever going to do it, this is the time—while you are young and beautiful. Tirrha will make an amazing model. With your talent, her beauty will be admired for generations to come. You better make this one count, Dubart. I want it to turn out well.”

  “You need not tell me twice,” I assured Princess, though outwardly I directed my words toward Tirrha. “Very well, then… whenever you are ready,” I added, offering a smile that suggested we were accomplices in some naughty scheme. “Disrobe and strike any pose that pleases you.”

  “Let’s ensure it is tasteful,” Tirrha requested as she circled the room, her eyes scanning the space with intent. “I want something elegant yet simple—something that conceals the pubis but leaves everything else visible. I’ll leave the rest to your artistic vision. Above all, I desire a smile—one as wide as you can manage without showing teeth.” I had been nodding absently until her final words caught my attention.

  “Tirrha? Are you perhaps suggesting…?” My concern began to rise. I would have continued, but Princess interrupted me from within.

  “Oh, no. She can’t possibly mean…!”

  “Why! Yes, I am!” Tirrha confirmed with unrestrained enthusiasm. “Nothing but the most beautiful woman I have ever known will suffice. I shall accept nothing less. Yes, I specifically asked for you, but not solely as the paintress. I also want you to be the model.”

  Tirrha dragged a mirror before me, slightly taller than herself and heavy enough to strain her arms. She struggled but refused any assistance, carelessly disturbing the carpet beneath it. I found myself staring at my reflection, unsure how to proceed.

  “No. She can’t ask this of me,” Princess asserted. “I have done a lot for her, but I can’t let her have a permanent picture of… that. One thing is asking for her own, but mine? W-who knows who could see it!? And she is to keep it? No. Absolutely not. Dubart, tell her no,” she instructed with urgency.

  “Tirrha, you must understand that-”

  “Mistress,” Tirrha corrected, arms crossed and chin raised in defiance. “While you serve as my paintress, you shall address me as Mistress.”

  “Call her that; we don’t want her getting difficult,” Princess sagely advised.

  “Stop staring at your own reflection like some wild deer caught in lantern light. I care not for that borrowed dress of yours. Unveil yourself at once!” Tirrha commanded, her smile both a taunt and a challenge. “I hired you for a self-portrait, and it will be done to my specifications, Aufelia.”

  “Mistress,” I complied, softening my tone in an attempt to placate her, “granting you the power to reveal my bare form to others… it is no small matter.”

  “It is to be displayed only in the privacy of my chambers. No one but the maid who tends to my quarters, and I shall ever see it—for a long time, at least. You will be grateful for this when we are old and gray, my pet. Years, perhaps centuries, from now, your flawless beauty will be revered by thousands. I have seen the portrait you painted of Riatna; I want that gifted artist’s legacy to endure. I do not plan to budge,” she warned, her voice firm with conviction.

  Princess’s own reasoning had turned against her, and I found myself wordless, staring into the mirror, desperately seeking an escape in the glass. It was Princess, after all, who should navigate this treacherous conversation.

  “This is like stripping naked for the world. I can’t do it,” I echoed what Princess told me, attempting to be faithful to her phrasing and tone.

  “You showed no hesitation when you believed you were painting me,” Tirrha reminded us.

  “That’s because you were going to keep it! It’s fine if you ask for it and guard it. I can’t give you my nude; it’s too much to ask!”

  “Fine. Then you keep it and protect it. All I want is for the piece to exist; I will even pay you for it,” Tirrha generously offered.

  “Please, my Mistress, be merciful! I do not ask for this often, but this time, I am afraid it is too much for me. I am not ready.”

  “Are you going to remove your clothes, or do you want me to do it?” Tirrha pressed on, unmoved by Princess’s plea for leniency.

  “Argh! D-damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Shit!” Princess inner rage manifested, and I knew better than to repeat her outburst. “May Ivinis forgive me. I can’t believe what I’m about to do.”

  “Should I…?” I quietly whispered.

  “Yes, yes… Just do as she says. And for the love of everything… make it tasteful.”

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