Pale Painter Ch 04

Author's Note: This is a fantasy world that does not exist in reality. However, some concepts are based on or even copied from common behaviors and trends of various cultures in various time periods in the past, mostly European and Colonial American, although I took a few liberties. I want to inform the reader, if you are not already aware, about breeching. For quite a few centuries, it was common for small boys of all social classes to be wearing actual dresses until they reached a certain age. When a boy was old enough, he would be "breeched," meaning he would be given breeches/trousers/pants. I've heard that this was considered to be a wonderful event, and a father would often be very proud of his boy. I'm pretty sure this had nothing to do with transgender issues or cross-dressing. It's just that, little kids grow fast. It's easier to adjust a skirt than breeches. It's also easier to potty train a kid who wears a skirt. Plus, tiny fingers often have difficulty with buttons and laces. Velcro wasn't a thing yet.

******

Rosanda was secretly elated. She loved that she was no longer deceiving anyone. In fact, she thought she should dress like a normal Navian. Her face was happily revealed. Her fingers were pleased to feel the wintry air. She even chose a gown that wasn't black, simply for the pleasure of it. The gown she put on was a dark blue. It wasn't a bright, whimsical outfit, but she loved wearing it.

It didn't take long for word to spread around the palace.

The women had lied to the king, and to the royal heir.

They had lied and profited from it.

Well, it wasn't like they sold the men counterfeits. The paintings were legitimately created. The lie itself was enough to cause problems, though.

And maybe an hour after their meeting with the queen, the king summoned the women to his own office. It was every bit as large, but there were suspiciously less bookcases. Kutberth I stood behind his dark desk with a straight back and a red face. His fingers were trembling, folding into fists and then unfolding. He didn't give the women a chance to curtsy. With a severe voice, he bid them to sit before him. Then he gave his thoughts, harshly, loudly, practically hollering at them.

"Mrs. Lunai, were it not for my wife's kindness, you would be in prison!" His hand shot in the air. His rings almost blinded Rosanda for a moment as their reflective nature put a flash in her vision. "You took advantage of your child! You've fooled the royal family! The worst crime of all," here he turned his ire to Rosanda, who only sighed in response, "is that you, Miss, agreed to this! You let this wretch profit from your labor! Are you truly such a weak-minded little coward?!"

Rosanda nodded. It was the only appropriate response she could think of. She was afraid that if she said yes or something similar then he would assume she was being sarcastic. The king slapped the top of his desk, making a grand bang of a noise. Pens jumped out of a wooden cup and rolled around. One of them fell to the cold floor.

"Cancel all of your commissions! Pack your things and go! I want both of you gone before the day is out!"

And although Rosanda's stomach turned sticky and cold, although her promise to the prince was being carved into her heart, although tears drew shining lines down her cheeks, Rosanda nodded her head, and she said with a passionless tone, "I have no choice but to do as my king wishes."

This whole fiasco was stupid anyway. Kosette never should have agreed to produce more images of Rosanda. Rosanda never should have played along with her. It really had been a simple matter of time.

Rosanda felt adequately chastised.

Oh wait. The queen had wanted a portrait. Poor woman wouldn't get that, it seemed.

For a moment, Kutberth I's eyes went to her very sad face, and a glimmer of regret loosened his features. But his stubborn mood won in the end. He returned to a livid state and repeated his command, dismissing them and turning his back to them.

There wasn't much to do other than obey.

Each woman went to their assigned rooms and packed up their belongings. However, Rosanda took a moment to write a small note, hoping the prince would find it. She wrote down, "I'm terribly sorry, Alex." Then she folded the piece of paper and rushed to find the drawing room where the prince had kissed her. She went to the section of the wall she had been so affectionately pressed against. Then she put the paper on the floor, slightly pressed against the wall.

Odds were, a servant would notice it and throw it away.

Rosanda didn't care.

***

One of the first things she learned once she was back in her home in Lealna was that her favorite maid, the always sniffling Angora, was gone. She left a vague note claiming she had killed herself and not much else. It seemed as though the blood left Rosanda's feet and legs as she read the note. She had to sit down and collect her worries.

It didn't matter to her that Angora was only a maid. She was still a person, and she had seemed to be a very nice person. Now she was gone, likely dead, and nobody knew where her corpse was. Had she really been so miserable that death was her only desirable option? The news put Rosanda in a lethargic state for some time. She even gained a weak stomach and a bitter attitude.

For the next few days, the news of Kosette's deception was whispered around. Less and less people put in commissions to Kosette. It didn't bother Rosanda too much, because she was too depressed to paint anything she wasn't enchanted with anyway. Still, there were customers; they simply asked to speak with Rosanda instead of her step-mother.

Actually being recognized ... it wasn't bad at all.

She pitied Kosette, though. The poor woman was gaining a reputation as a con-artist while Rosanda was hurrying along a path of profit and fame. Rosanda believed that she would have to financially support her step-mother, and that wasn't so horrible.

Despite all this good news, Rosanda was still in a melancholic state. She never smiled, hardly spoke, and complex thought seemed impossible to her raw and exhausted brain.

Another week went by, and then something peculiar happened. On a cold morning weighed down by a dense layer of snow, an exhausted postman delivered two letters and two packages all at once to Rosanda's home.

Apparently, the king and the eldest prince had each sent her their own handwritten letters and packages.

In the privacy of her narrow bedroom, Rosanda read the king's letter first.

***

To Miss Rosanda Lunai,

You have my sincerest apologies. I relished my anger, bathed in it, and I have harmed an innocent woman who only wanted to remain loyal to her family. Please accept my gifts as compensation. If you ever wish to return to Penthorn Palace, please send a letter, so that I will know when to prepare your studio again.

Earnestly,

His Royal Majesty, King Kutberth Bardrick Lothair

***

Apparently, the king was the type of man who would make a decision when angry, pout for a while, and then change his mind.

The package he sent contained two gifts, as the letter claimed. First, there was a fresh pair of wool stockings, apparently meant to replace the pair he had taken. Second, there was something much more luxurious. It was a pair of formal shoes with high heels and pointed toes. They were overall a pale green color, with shiny gold buckles adorned with little diamonds. Remembering how the king had measured her feet on one occasion, Rosanda curiously examined them. They were very lovely, and they probably fit her pretty nicely. She unbuckled the plain shoes on her feet, kicked them away, and then she pulled the green shoes on.

They were gorgeous. She considered selling them for cash at first, but then she shrugged and changed her mind.

Rosanda put away the fancy shoes and slipped her ordinary shoes back on. Then she read the letter from the prince.

***

To Miss Rosanda Lunai,

My mother has been asking for your talent. She has been surprisingly upset with my father. I found the situation to be very amusing. I must confess that I'm looking forward to seeing you. I thought I'd tempt you with a gift. Please think of me as you hold it.

Honestly,

His Royal Highness, Prince Kutberth Alexandrio Lothair.

***

The package from the prince contained a shiny, lovingly painted thin case of wood. Inside the case was a very long pearl necklace, similar to the false one Rosanda had used as a reference in painting. She gently tested the texture of the pearls against the smooth bits of her teeth. The pearls were gritty. Then she noted how the pearls were cool to her fingers until her body heat warmed them. The jewelry also felt pretty heavy. She skimmed the little spheres, and she noted tiny imperfections in their shapes.

Rosanda was convinced that the necklace was made of genuine pearls.

Guilt was giving her a headache.

She knew that if she returned to Penthorn Palace, she'd end up a plaything tossed between two men. Her presence would only stir up trouble. She went to her small desk and searched for two pages from her best stationery. Then she carefully wrote two polite refusals for the two men, and she paid a postman a little extra money to rush them along.

Normally, she wouldn't even try to refuse a king and prince, but since she wasn't being officially ordered to do anything, and she didn't want to start a fight between the men, she was content with her decision.

On the morning after she had sent her letters to the royal palace, Rosanda received a new letter. It was from, of all people, the Duchess Adurant.

***

To Miss Rosanda Lunai,

It's come to my attention that you've gained the approval of the royal family. My husband is quite proud to know that a civilian of the Duvanu province has shown such talent, and I empathize with him contentedly. I would say that I am also proud, but I do not feel as though I've earned the right to claim you, Miss Lunai. I only gained my position through marriage. I was raised in Henrisk. My husband, sweet, loving man that he is, would disagree. He would say that I became a Duvan the moment I married him, and that I should be proud of you. I will tell you, though, that I am incredibly impressed, even humbled, by you.

If it wouldn't be a bother to you, would you please come to my home? I've painted some in my life, and I would be honored to have such a master tutor me. I'd also be thrilled to have you paint my son's likeness. He is a winsome, delightful child. My husband and I would love to have a portrait of him while he is still so small and plump.

With Respect,

Duchess Danetta Adurant, Lady of Duvanu

***

Well, that seemed like a good way to hide from the prince and the king. It also seemed fairly profitable, too.

Rosanda decided to courteously cancel all the commissions on her list but one, because she was mostly finished with that one, and it wouldn't do to stop. Her finger drew thoughtful lines down her list, looking at the name of each customer. She wrote sincere apologies for each customer, explaining that the lady of the land required her presence.

It was almost lunchtime when she finished with that task. Her final letter was addressed to the Duchess, accepting her invitation and giving her a rough date for her arrival.

***

If Rosanda had to describe Penthorn Palace in a single word, it would be pompous. If had to describe Caste Adurant in a similar way, she would use the word intimidating. The old castle, while well cared for, reminded one of past centuries, even of the feudal era, when the country was divided between several lords and ladies who ruled as monarchs in their own right. The ancient crest of Adurant, the frightening yet beautiful cat, inspired Rosanda. She wanted to paint a portrait of a noblewoman of the past, her gown thin and clinging to her body, holding a bloodstained flag bearing the noble symbol.

Morning snow was falling onto the sturdy old stones of the castle. The armed guards were bundled in fur and carrying flasks of what was probably hot cider. As Rosanda entered the great estate, she pulled her black cloak closer and tried not to smile. She was all alone, no step-mother to bother her. This was truly an adventure.

A finely dressed woman with two handmaidens greeted her. Rosanda was momentarily dumbstruck by her beauty. While she was the same height as Rosanda, she was much curvier, with beautiful blonde hair and eyes a peculiar cyan color. Rosanda's thoughts delayed her curtsy, but the woman's kind smile put her mind at ease.

First, the duchess gave her a somewhat curious look, which made sense, since Rosanda was remarkably pale, but she seemed to ignore her thoughts out of politeness. "It's very fine to meet you, Miss Lunai," the duchess said, nodding her head and relaxing her shoulders. Rosanda believed those shoulders were clearly pampered, because they were covered by a slightly open cloak lined with expensive fur and adorned with silver brooches.

"I'm the lady of this province, and the mistress of this castle." The duchess shrugged then, her pretty cloak quirking up from the movement. "But please don't be intimidated. The most frightening person here is my husband, and he's an endearing creature."

Rosanda had heard that the lord of the land was horribly, horribly scarred, but she honestly didn't know much about it. She didn't even have an opinion on it. She simply said, "I'm honored to be in your great estate, Your Grace."

The duchess waved a heavily jeweled hand towards a set of stairs. "Our men should be taking your things to your room here. For now, though, would you mind terribly if I rushed you away to my child? I know you must be tired, Miss Lunai, and so I won't press you. If you need to refresh yourself, then do so."

Rosanda didn't see the harm in it. She nodded her head and said, "Of course, Your Grace. I'd love to see the little Marquess." The boy wasn't actually a marquess. That was simply a courtesy title.

Duchess Adurant excitedly chatted on about how intelligent her little boy was. Andreo was his given name, but she often called him her, "Little Mouse" or "Little Mousie." The handmaidens gave agreeing statements automatically, as if they were accustomed to the mother going on and on about the apparent perfection that was Andreo.

Rosanda was led into a large nursery. The handmaidens waited outside the door. The room was fairly cluttered with toys. Even the little bed facing the fireplace bore toys. A woman Rosanda assumed was a nanny was watching a laughing child ride a wooden rocking horse. The child was small and too young for breeches, which had complicated buttons and strings that little children often couldn't navigate. And so, like most boys his age, he hadn't gone though the "breeching." He had to wear dresses.

The little dress that Andreo wore was clearly well made, but not fussy. It was of a brown and blue striped fabric, with a plain but bright apron that covered his chest and the front of his skirt. Black curls peeked out of a white padded cap on his head, meant to protect him in case of any accidents. There was a tiny, layered bracelet of coral beads around his wrist. They could have been inherited from his father, or even his mother. It was a common tradition for wealthier parents to let children gnaw on coral when they teethed, and once they were past that stage the children normally kept the jewelry even in adulthood.

He was an embodiment of innocence and playfulness. Rosanda looked forward to painting a portrait of him. She even loved his laughter. It was sweet and honest. For a moment, she forgot how cruel the world could be, and she smiled at the boy.

"Hello, my little darling! My little angel!" The duchess bent down and reached to the child with her palms facing the ceiling.

The nanny noticed the duchess and curtsied, but didn't do much else. Andreo reacted much differently. He dismounted his noble little steed, grinned so widely and innocently that it almost hurt to see it, dug his fingers into his skirt, and ran over to his mother. The duchess lifted him as she stood up, nuzzling and cuddling, murmuring nonsense words with a high pitched voice.

Then, the duchess gently pressed the boy's cheek to her bosom, and she smiled at Rosanda. "This is my little Andreo." Her fingers patted his head, and she said to him, "This is Miss Lunai. She's going to make a pretty painting of you. Then we'll hang the painting on a wall. Do you like that idea?"

Andreo shrugged, keeping his face lowered.

The duchess continued to boast of her child's accomplishments, while Rosanda nodded and smiled. "He's a sensitive child," said the lady of the land, stroking Andreo's head. "He pets and dresses his little dolls as if they were people. He really does care for them. He also gives his little rocking horse orderly respites so he can give him water. Of course, Andreo uses empty cups for this purpose, but that's quite well, isn't it?" The duchess giggled and bounced the child in her arms, as many parents do when holding a child for a time.

"He's very lovely, indeed, Your Grace." Rosanda adjusted her glasses and admired Andreo's happy, if distant expression. He wasn't looking at anyone in particular. Maybe he wanted to go back to the rocking horse?

No, he wasn't looking at the rocking horse.

Rosanda assumed he was lost in his own thoughts.

"He's also quite sturdy, just like his father! He runs so quickly, and he will climb anything he can to reach his destination. I imagine it won't be long until he's breeched."

Rosanda's nose wrinkled with empathetic delight. "I'm sure that His Grace will be overjoyed on that day." Most fathers would be.

The duchess placed the boy back onto the floor. Then she knelt down to his level and spoke to him. "Andreo?" The boy was looking roughly at his mother's chest. "Andreo, look at Mama." Andreo's gray eyes rose only slightly, perhaps pointing at his mother's throat. The duchess gently gripped one of his hands. "Papa will be here soon. He told me so."

Andreo made a soft little noise in his throat, and he smiled again.

The duchess continued. "You'll have to be very well behaved, Mousie. Papa loves you very much, and he'd hate to be disappointed."

The boy shook his arms about himself, twisting his torso back and forth. He still didn't look at his mother's face, but he kept smiling.

"Such a good child." The duchess smiled, and then she got back to her feet and smoothed out her skirts. "Well, Miss Lunai, I assume you want to have a rest. Have you eaten breakfast?"

"Yes, Madam."

"That's well, then. I'll escort you to your room. Would mind tutoring me a bit after lunch?" Her smile was expertly painted.

"That would be fine," Rosanda said, watching the little boy walk away from his mother. He petted the face of his rocking horse.

***

Duchess Adurant was actually a very humble student. She never looked down her nose at Rosanda. She didn't question Rosanda's instructions. She didn't even lose her patience when she struggled with new concepts.

After a time, though, the duchess said she was missing Andreo, and she wanted to go see him. "Would you like to come with me?" she asked as she washed her hands in a bowl held by a handmaiden.

"It would be my pleasure," Rosanda replied, thinking the little boy was adorable and there wouldn't be any harm in watching him play.

Once they were at the nursery, the nanny told them that the duke had taken the boy outside. Duchess Adurant's reaction was both sweet and irritating. She waved her fists in the air and squealed, "He'll freeze to death! What is that man thinking!"

And so, Rosanda, the two handmaidens that seemed to go wherever their mistress went, and the mistress herself, all put on their thickest cloaks, gloves, muffs, and boots. Then they searched the quiet world outside for the master and his child. They found the two males under a bare tree, gathering snow into some sort of hill.