Chapter 40
Rebecca gave a slight nod, and Kanna quietly opened the door.
Rebecca greeted her guest with a chilling smile spread across her lips.
“Welcome, Rodrigo.”
The room was dimly lit by flickering candlelight.
In the heavy atmosphere, Rodrigo stood staring blankly at her.
Gone was the saintly image he had seen of her in the daytime. Now, dressed in a seductive black gown that revealed glimpses of her skin, Rebecca rattled the handcuffs she wore as though flaunting them.
Her decadent, dangerous aura made Rodrigo flinch.
The back of his neck prickled.
“So… have you decided who you’ll pledge your loyalty to?”
“I…”
The rattling of a hunting dog’s chain echoed faintly by her ear.
Barinica’s secret studio was located in one of the Emperor’s secluded villas deep within the forest.
It was a vast mansion, lush with greenery and blessed with beautiful scenery, yet it was so remote that one had to ride a carriage for quite some time before reaching even the smallest village.
Zeppelin, after watching Barinica paint for a while, stepped outside to take a walk in the garden.
The moment he crossed the threshold, three burly guards followed close behind.
“I’m only going for a walk. Stop bothering me.”
But despite Zeppelin’s threatening glare, the guards didn’t so much as blink and repeated the same words.
“It is His Majesty’s command.”
‘Damn it.’
They called themselves guards, but in truth, they were little more than watchmen sent to keep him under surveillance.
They followed him even when he ate, even when he went to the restroom.
There was nothing—absolutely nothing—he could do here in peace.
He had thought he’d been sent to watch over the painter, but in reality, it was he who felt like the prisoner.
‘Did I… offend His Majesty somehow?’
Zeppelin carefully retraced the imperial decrees he had bent or evaded in the past.
There was nothing serious enough to get caught for, and even if he had been found out, none of it should have caused much trouble.
To him, Emperor Zahidra had always seemed a kindly old man, the sort who, even if he suffered a loss, would avoid troublesome matters—little more than a relic tucked away in the back room.
And that was more or less the image of Zahidra that the world at large knew: a harmless façade crafted carefully to put the temples at ease.
But the older nobles, those who remembered Zahidra in his days as a crown prince, knew better. They knew the true intent behind the mask, and they tread cautiously.
Zeppelin, however, cared little for others beyond himself.
He judged people on first impressions and rarely looked deeper—a weakness Zakim had long understood about him.
Zakim had planned to slowly educate Zeppelin about the Emperor’s and the high nobles’ dark truths once he married and inherited the viscountcy.
But before that could happen, Zeppelin had cast Zakim into ruin.
It was only fitting, then, that Zeppelin remained forever ignorant of Zahidra’s true nature—a consequence he had brought upon himself.
Unable to discern Zahidra’s true intentions toward him, Zeppelin grumbled in frustration.
“This is no different from exile.”
Under the sharp gazes of the guards, Zeppelin returned to the mansion and collapsed onto the bed in the room adjoining Barinica’s studio.
He absently opened and closed the locket that held Rebecca’s picture, until suddenly a wave of longing overcame him and he shut his eyes tight.
Though Rebecca had recovered her health, he had not held her even once.
He had to give her a daughter soon, before he grew too old.
Only then would his perfect kingdom, his grand plan, be complete.
With an impatient face, Zeppelin sat, then selected a suitably sized spare canvas and placed it on the easel.
He began sketching furiously, if only to make the hours pass faster.
Though he was talented, his obsession with perfection meant his drawings nearly always ended up in the incinerator.
“Are you drawing your wife?”
Zeppelin was filling Rebecca’s eyes with a deep shade of blue when a deep, resonant voice interrupted him.
Barinica, in a paint-stained apron, stroked his rough beard as he looked critically at Zeppelin’s work.
Under the painter’s sharp, appraising gaze, Zeppelin felt an odd sense of shame and hurriedly hid the canvas.
“I wasn’t drawing it for anyone to see.”
“A picture unseen is no different from dead. Hmm… I’d say, Count, you have remarkable talent in this area.”
“Compared to your works, it’s trash. I’m not one for easy praise, but your pieces have always impressed me. I even own a few.”
“That is an honor. But never call a drawing filled with love trash. Even a child’s doodle can be art.”
“Love, in my drawings, you say… But how did you know I was painting Rebecca?”
Barinica chuckled, as though mocking Zeppelin’s guarded stare.
“What artist doesn’t know the Countess of Devonshire? Do you realize how many painters dreamed of having her as their muse since she was a child? Come to think of it…”
Barinica suddenly leaned in close, scrutinizing every feature of Zeppelin’s face.
Startled, Zeppelin stumbled backward.
“W-what are you doing?”
“You and your wife resemble each other greatly. A face as beautiful as yours is enough to make any painter envious.”
There were those who had complimented him before, but so bluntly? Zeppelin frowned, embarrassed.
“Even the wrinkle in your brow is perfectly proportioned. And your eyes—clear and bright as the summer sea. Your nose, let’s see… straight and tall without a flaw…”
“Enough!”
Zeppelin slapped away Barinica’s hand as though it were desecrating a statue.
Barinica tilted his head in mild curiosity at Zeppelin’s outburst.
“Are you not a lover of art, Count? To behold and to touch beauty is an artist’s instinct. Why does it shock you so?”
“I am no artwork! What insolence is this?!”
Seeing Zeppelin’s fury was not to be taken lightly, Barinica stepped back.
“Very well. But grant me a request. I’ve endured being locked away in this place, painting endlessly. Surely, I deserve one thing in return.”
Zeppelin still huffed with anger, muttering to himself.
If not for the Emperor’s command, he would have silenced this man long ago…
“Be my muse.”
“…What?”
“Would you not wish to be the subject of a masterpiece for the ages?”
“You mean to make me the model for some blasphemous painting? Do you take me for a fool?”
“How many would recognize that the figure was you, Count? Besides, I don’t paint exact likenesses. I prefer to transform what I see.”
“That’s true. Your works always had that uncanny twist—that was their charm.”
“Then you agree?”
Barinica’s sly smile made Zeppelin pause.
Truthfully, the offer tempted him.
Barinica was one of the painters he had admired most.
He glanced at the canvas Barinica was working on now. Even with its radical message, the work was undeniably a masterpiece—one that future generations would speak of for centuries.
And to be immortalized in such a piece?
Zeppelin already longed to have his beauty displayed before the world.
Barinica’s proposal was intoxicating.
After a moment’s hesitation, Zeppelin gave in to his desire.
The Emperor had said the work would be released anonymously.
So even if people thought the subject resembled him, he could always deny it.
“If it’s only for a short while…”
Feigning reluctance, Zeppelin stepped into Barinica’s studio.
Barinica smiled knowingly, as though he had expected this outcome from the start.
“So even when it was done to him in the same way, he felt nothing? That man.”
Julian muttered as he neatly folded Barinica’s letter.
“Well, regret won’t change anything now.”
He picked up his quill and began writing a reply to Barinica.
He promised that once matters were settled, Barinica and his fiancée would be allowed to live abroad.
Julian had told Barinica only a fraction of what Zeppelin had done and instructed him to treat Zeppelin the same way.
Barinica had agreed, swearing he would do anything to get his fiancée back.
Julian wanted Zeppelin confined, forced to taste even a fraction of the suffering Rebecca had endured.
If Zeppelin showed even a hint of remorse, Rebecca might finally live a little more freely.
But according to Barinica, Zeppelin hadn’t repented at all—instead, he had flown into a rage, only to greedily accept the offer of becoming Barinica’s muse.
‘Useless. Beyond redemption.’
Julian sealed the letter with red wax, the drops falling like blood.
Pressing a plain seal into it, he summoned Croa.
“You called for me?”
“Deliver this to Barinica. And place more eyes on Zeppelin. Make it so stifling he can hardly breathe.”
“As you command.”
Croa departed quietly.
Julian lifted a glass of chilled wine and moved to the window.
The wind outside howled, as though a storm was about to break. The curtains whipped violently in the gusts.
“Rebecca… what are you doing now?”
He gazed at the dark, cloud-filled forest and whispered.
In his mind, he pictured her room from his last visit.
Perhaps she was seated at her ornate vanity, brushing her soft golden hair.
Or buried in her plush bed, drifting into an early evening nap.
Or maybe… maybe she sat by the window, gazing at the same sky as he was.
In his imagination, Rebecca’s deep, wistful eyes turned directly toward him.
Julian.
Her eyes curved into a gentle smile, and her clear, melodic voice called his name.
Again, that faint ache stirred near his heart.
