True to my expectations, I completed rendering her form in approximately a twelfth of a day. The remaining elements of the composition took longer to finalize. There was no need to meticulously capture every reflection in the mirror; I simply rotated the canvas and rendered the scene from an altered perspective. Reversing the image proved challenging, yet I had no need to be overly precise with details that were not central to the piece. Tirrha had requested that I paint the bed adorned with Princess’s scattered garments, but the rest of the chamber was left to my discretion, allowing me to bypass particulars I deemed insignificant.

  “This truly is a work of genius. It’s better than any of the pictures Father owns,” Tirrha praised, her voice rich with admiration. “And it’s not only because you’re on it; I mean… the quality of it, how do you call it? The lighting? Details? Colors? Whatever it is. I… want to stretch my hand and reach for the pretty woman painting on the other side of the canvas. It’s so real, so alive. Thank you, Aufelia. I love it.”

  I had omitted painting the mirror itself. The image was of Princess, blushing and smiling as she worked on her canvas, her modesty scarcely preserved, within a luxurious chamber next to a bed strewn with her garments. It was my finest work to date.

  Yet, it seemed Princess had been beguiled by Tirrha’s ploy. After the absurd request to unveil it publicly, the notion of allowing Tirrha to keep the painting seemed almost reasonable. She was permitted to do so under strict conditions—namely, that the work was not to be made public, at least not until she had a nude portrait of herself to display beside Princess’s. We trusted that Tirrha would neither muster the courage nor find a suitable artist anytime soon.

  Upon the painting's completion, Lady Telenhart, with an inquisitiveness far greater than I had ever seen in her, insisted on viewing it. Denying her request was almost heart-wrenching, but Princess’s wishes had been made abundantly clear. Normally, that would have concluded the matter; however, Tirrha, with her characteristic mischief, continued to extol the painting, likening it to a masterpiece of Courde de Califagnia herself. Under such lavish praise, Lady Telenhart’s restraint wavered, and soon enough, her fervent pleas compelled Princess, albeit reluctantly, to grant her request.

  The unveiling took place in the very room where the painting had first been conceived, and it was Tirrha who performed the honors. Princess remained silent throughout the process, and I found myself accepting accolades on behalf of us both. Though the painting itself had been executed by my hand, it would not have been possible without Princess’s nimble and determined fingers—she deserved her due credit. Our small audience of two applauded the work.

  Lady Telenhart lauded the painting with as much enthusiasm as Tirrha had pretended to have. She remarked that she understood why Princess would not wish to make the piece public, but lamented that such a magnificent creation had to be hidden away. Princess urged me to secure Lady Telenhart’s word that she would not speak of the nude’s existence. It was mortifying enough that the unstable Tirrha owned it; Princess certainly did not want rumors circulating. The Lady promised readily enough, but her tone and demeanor betrayed insincerity. It was evident that word would soon spread among her circle of friends, and Tirrha’s pleasure was evident.

  As for payment, few nobles were as direct and straightforward as Lord Faringoth. The promise of compensation had been made beforehand, and Tirrha would fulfill it. Eventually. Perhaps. With not a copper tremon to our name, no further business in the city, and nothing to show for our trouble, we found it imperative to depart, though resistance met us yet again. Tirrha broached the subject over lunch.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Why are you in such a hurry? Stay for a few more days. When was the last time you left Highsummit Manor? Years?” she attempted to entice us with an argument that bore no weight.

  “I was already reluctant to come in the first place, Tirrha; please understand,” I explained, all the while selecting only what Princess instructed, ensuring her plate was prepared to her astringent specifications. “I must be present for Dubart’s funeral.” Normally, it would be unthinkable not to add ‘Master’ before my name, but Princess never spoke of me with any titles, honorary or otherwise, and I assumed she would omit it in front of Tirrha. “I was the last person to see him alive; Lord Duke Archiments is on his way to the estate, perhaps already there, requesting my presence.”

  “No, we would have received the news; he hasn’t arrived,” Tirrha shook her head and answered. “Servants come to Bernan two or three times a day, making trips for everything the mansion needs. If they had truly called for you, you are not exactly hard to find.”

  “All the more reason to leave early so I might be there upon his arrival. Tirrha, I beg you. If this is about rekindling our friendship, I would gladly accept your invitation to join you wherever you wish once this matter is settled. I would not mind spending a few seasons with you, even a year or two,” I insinuated, certain Princess would scold me later, but Tirrha would not be easily persuaded otherwise.

  She was the sole daughter of Shean Lunatora, the venerable Duke of Grimesda, whose dominion stretched two territories to the south of those ruled by Lord Duke Archiments. The Duke, beset by grave infirmity, had entrusted the guardianship of his lineage to my own father, his peer and steadfast ally. Tirrha’s elder sibling, a lackluster youth by the name of Gurrow, had been placed under the instruction of my mother, preparing to assume the mantle of his father’s titles upon the grim conclusion of the Duke’s protracted struggle with lung cancer. Tirrha herself would inherit a considerable estate, ascending to the title of Countess of Delanford, the Lady of her own castle and the surrounding villages. Yet, for the preservation of dynastic stability, she would be compelled to cede these holdings back to her brother, or to his progeny, rather than bequeathing them to her own descendants—a customary arrangement among the nobility, where bloodlines and estates intertwined in the unyielding dance of inheritance and power.

  This meant that Tirrha would likely enjoy immense wealth throughout her life, with her only concerns being the orchestration of advantageous marriages for her offspring and the pursuit of her own pleasures—an existence both enviable and effortless. I felt confident that my offer would be alluring. Within the walls of the Lady’s castle, these two beauties could adorn the rooms with any paintings they desired, indulge in whatever pleasures they wished, even with doors wide open if they so chose, with no one to hinder them. They could partake in all the ‘games’ their imaginations could conceive, to their hearts’s content.

  “It really means that much to you, huh?” Tirrha colloquially answered, concerned and thoughtful. “I guess I have no choice, then. Fine; I’ll get you back to the Cafligen estate, but not for free. That is not how it works.”

  “And how might I repay you?” I inquired, certain it would not be as simple as money.

  “The truth.” Her expression grew serious, and she drew closer, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard. “That is my price to you, if you are interested. I heard some rumors, and you are the only one who really knows what happened; they say you were right there at the exact moment. All I know for sure is that it was not peacefully in his sleep, as we were told. Aufelia, how did Dubart Cafligen really die?”

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