Chapter 63
Murray’s kind smile made Iella smile faintly through teary eyes as she shook her head.
“It’s okay. It’s only natural for His Highness to be angry. It’s my fault.”
Though she couldn’t say she understood Prince Franz completely, she knew well enough that this anger stemmed purely from her mistake. If it could ease his anger even a little, she was willing to endure it.
The carriage was already out of sight. Turning her steps with effort, Iella couldn’t help but glance back several times with regret.
Remembering the scornful face and the sharp words he had thrown at her made her chest ache.
Would His Highness even know? That even a single flicker of that gaze made her heart flutter.
Rumors spread quickly, and as a result, Iella became not only the talk of the social world but the most famous person in all of Villn.
The very idea that Prince Franz’s first official portrait since reaching adulthood would be painted by a woman stirred irresistible curiosity.
Since the Rose Festival picnic, people had noticed something unusual about the prince’s demeanor, and now speculation flooded the papers—was Lady Clarence truly his next companion?
Some grumbled about “the end of times, letting a woman do such things,” while others more rationally acknowledged that perhaps the prince’s appreciation for talent explained this unconventional decision.
But society gossip always saw what it wanted to see, heard only what it wanted to hear. A fairy-tale story between the two fueled people’s imaginations, making the rumors grow wings and fly farther and higher.
The most outlandish—and yet persistently whispered—rumor was of the two marrying.
“Could Lady Clarence end up as the princess?”
“And why not? Better her than some ridiculous actress or singer. Besides, she’s the daughter of a viscount.”
“Not to mention she’s beautiful too.”
“At first I thought it was the second daughter.”
“You mean the one crowned as the season’s flower of society?”
“I heard the line of suitors for her stretches endlessly.”
“Well, the second daughter will wed well, and the first daughter will too.”
Royal marriages were never a matter of simple affection, and yet people buzzed with excitement over this unprecedented situation.
Franz was not unaware of the rumors. But he paid them no mind at all—the one who had to bear them was Iella.
He would personally appear at the Academy to pick her up, or join her on Manchester Street without a care for curious stares, doing whatever he pleased.
For Iella, enduring such constant encounters was exhausting. Yet she could hardly demand that he stop acknowledging her. At some point, she simply accepted reality.
Still, whenever Franz approached with his trademark shamelessness in front of a crowd, she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. That was simply beyond her ability to handle.
Like now.
She recognized him by scent alone. The distinct fragrance that clung only to him rode the breeze as he drew nearer. Soon, his voice followed.
“Iella.”
She let out a self-mocking sigh at her pitiful state.
What was she, a pet dog? Recognizing someone by scent before sight—anyone watching might think she had been waiting for him.
Her resigned gaze made one of Franz’s eyebrows twitch.
Of late, Iella sighed every time she saw him, scraping at his nerves. It felt like she was wordlessly saying, “Here we go again.”
A fire smoldered in his chest, but he feigned nonchalance, shrugging his shoulders.
“Finished?”
“Yes. Just a moment.”
Iella rolled up the sheet of paper, tied it with a ribbon, and handed it to the lady sitting before her.
“You’ve worked hard. Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
The lady, cheeks flushed, sneaked a glance at Franz before leaving.
“What work? You’re the one doing all the work, not them.”
“Just sitting still is harder than you think. Besides, I’m earning money.”
Iella lifted the 100 dena she had received.
It was less than she charged the nobility, but far more rewarding than the money she once made secretly sketching. Most importantly, it was honest money.
These days, Iella spent both weekends and free weekdays on Manchester Street, offering portrait sketches.
At first, people only stared at her oddly, curious but unwilling to approach. Even the artists beside her ignored her completely.
Naturally, everyone at home—except for Lady Linton—opposed her. Laura Clarence even complained that painting the prince’s portrait had filled her sister’s head with delusions. But Iella remained resolute, heading out to the street.
With no clients, she would spend the day sketching Manchester Street itself, then trudge home. Everything changed, however, when an unexpected visitor came.
“May I sit here?”
Startled by the sudden voice, she looked up to see Marco Londiaz standing before her. She had been so absorbed in her work she hadn’t noticed when he arrived.
Everyone on the street turned to stare. The already unusual Iella, and before her a tall, handsome man with sleek black hair and striking features—it was impossible not to look.
“Eh? Y-Yes, of course!”
Flustered, Iella managed a clumsy greeting.
“But what brings you here?”
“I heard the rumors. They say Lady Clarence is quite the artist.”
“I didn’t expect Lord Londiaz to be the sort to lend ear to rumors.”
“Just because I don’t spread them doesn’t mean I don’t hear them. This is the seat, yes?”
Without waiting for her reply, Marco sat down.
Though the chair wasn’t small, his tall, broad frame made it look almost comical. Iella nearly burst out laughing.
“Please take good care of me, Miss Artist.”
He sat perfectly still, smiling warmly, eyes fixed on her, indifferent to the crowd’s stares.
They said friends resembled each other—how true.
No wonder. Even their behavior is alike.
Far from pleased, Iella felt only discomfort. Especially since he was one of the three F4 members she had once sketched in secret, their sudden meeting weighed heavily on her.
She took a deep breath, calming her restless heart, and focused. Sitting at the easel, her gaze sharpened as she studied Marco.
Scratch, scratch—the pencil moved fluidly across the page. Only recently she had sketched in secret, and now she could do so openly. It was almost unbelievable.
Someday, she wished for the chance to apologize for those secret drawings.
When the portrait was finished and Marco asked the price, she faltered. It was her first real client—she had no idea what to charge.
“I don’t know how much to ask yet.”
“Name a high price. I can pay.”
“Um… maybe 100 dena?”
She thought to match the going rate of other street artists.
“I’ve heard you like money, but compared to your talent, your business sense is lacking. Here, take this. It seems fair enough.”
He handed her 500 dena. Startled, Iella tried to refuse.
“Thank you for the compliment, but that’s far too much.”
“If the work pleases me, then paying generously is only natural. You’ve earned it.”
And it didn’t end there. The next day, Richard Morris came for a portrait. The day after, Andrew Morris followed. Each visit shocked Iella.
She thought she’d grown used to Franz’s sudden appearances, but she had been wrong.
And she soon realized—their visits were because of the prince. Was his anger finally gone? She couldn’t tell.
“Only 100 dena, and you call that something.”
Still displeased by Iella’s work on Manchester Street, Franz muttered under his breath.
From that tone, she could tell his anger still lingered. Always snapping at her when they met—why keep coming, then? She couldn’t understand him.
Yet she also knew the increase in customers owed much to Franz’s influence. So she didn’t argue. Quietly, she began packing up her easel and stool.
To Franz, her silence felt like being ignored. Usually, she was quick to talk back, but lately she said nothing, just endured.
It seemed as if she had nothing more to say to him, which only stoked his frustration. His suppressed anger would flare up, only to die away again when he saw the restless flicker in her eyes, as though she longed to speak. Then came an odd, bitter calm. He didn’t know why his emotions were so unruly these days.
And so the cycle repeated itself. Days dull, tiresome, and endless.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“I’m packing up, can’t you see?”
At Franz’s curt glance, the attendant behind him immediately stepped forward to finish clearing her things.
