Chapter 32
Prim set down the art supplies she had brought and glanced nervously at him.
“Why?”
Rain raised an eyebrow.
“…You really are going to focus today, right?”
“Yes.”
Rain nodded lightly. He seemed sincere, but Prim resented that nod.
I’m not even skilled enough to teach anyone…
She felt like crying. Blaming her utterly talentless hands, Prim picked up the brush.
The story goes back to a few days earlier.
An imperial order had arrived—Rain was to move his residence to the Imperial Palace. Everyone at Velles Palace had rejoiced and bustled about packing.
Prim had tried to help her close maid friends. Moving everything from one palace to another was no small task.
But Rain had suddenly stopped her with an unexpected request.
“Teach me how to paint.”
Paint?
She had been absolutely shocked when she first heard those words.
It wasn’t just that Prim herself was far from skilled—Rain, back when he was in the palace, had been mocked and scolded endlessly for not even being able to tell colors apart.
There was no way he could like painting. That’s probably why, in the original story, he killed “Prim” first of all.
And now he wants me to teach him painting?
She had asked him again and again if he was serious, but Rain was firm.
In the end, Prim had no choice but to bring her art tools.
It didn’t take long for her to realize that this was actually a test of her “abilities.”
“Let’s start with colors, shall we?”
Rain nodded, and Prim squeezed out a bit of paint.
“This is blue. We call it ‘blue.’ Like the ocean, or the sky. Oh, and your eyes too, Lord Raincis—they’re blue.”
She mixed the pigment with her brush, and the color lightened. Then, she began to paint on the small canvas she had brought.
After a few layers, the hue became softer. She mixed in another color for comparison and kept brushing, before turning to him.
“Like this…”
But she stopped mid-sentence.
Rain wasn’t looking at the canvas.
His blue eyes were fixed—on her.
Cold sweat broke out on her back.
Did he already see through my lack of skill with just one brushstroke?
She suddenly remembered Elina’s horrified face when she had once seen Prim’s painting.
Prim’s clumsy brush stopped.
“Why’d you stop?”
Rain asked, brow raised. Prim forced a smile through her nervous sweat.
“Um, maybe we should stop here for today’s lesson…”
“Why?”
“It’s just that… you don’t seem very focused, and also—”
“I am focused.”
“…”
“…Is it because I can’t tell colors apart?”
Rain’s voice sounded quiet and lonely.
“No! Not at all!”
Prim shook her head violently, denying it.
“I’ll keep going! I’ll paint!”
“Really?”
With a smile that pretty, how could she possibly say no?
Tears pricked at her eyes, but she forced herself to keep painting. And that reluctant determination had carried on—up to today.
Prim wanted to be honest.
Yes, she was a painter who couldn’t paint to save her life—it was absurd, really. But still…
Couldn’t you just tell me I’m terrible instead of staring like that?
That gaze was bad for his eyes—and even worse for her self-esteem.
She swallowed the words that rose to her throat.
Rain had been looking at her like that for several days now—never at the canvas, always at her.
Finally, she turned, hesitating. Sure enough, his gaze wasn’t on the painting.
Awkwardly, Prim smiled.
“Your Highness, I feel like I’m just painting alone. It doesn’t seem like I’m teaching you at all.”
“It’s helping me study better.”
“…Then how about we paint together?”
“I don’t really know how… I’d rather you show me again.”
“…”
“Don’t want to?”
How could she say no to that pitiful face?
Should I just tell him the truth? That I can’t paint worth a damn?
Prim seriously considered it.
Then she remembered all the lies she had told so far.
…Maybe it was time to get used to “eating mustard with tears in her eyes.”
Her expression hardened into a look of false confidence.
“Well then, you’ll need to pay attention. In art, once you lose your touch, it’s hard to get it back. Understood?”
“Yes. I’ll focus.”
Rain replied quietly. Prim hid her trembling heart and began to paint again.
Her movements grew smoother. Lips pressed in concentration. With each brushstroke, color bloomed on the blank white canvas.
Rain slowly reached out.
Her red hair brushed against his fingers—it was still so soft.
Though it hadn’t been long, Rain found these moments the most precious. No interruptions. No duties. Just her, painting freely, surrounded by color.
He learned colors from the shades she created—from her hands.
He gazed at her for a long while. The moment felt warm and peaceful, like something out of a dream.
That day, Prim was again carefully watering a pot of forget-me-nots.
“…”
Rain watched with an annoyed expression.
“You like that flower that much?”
“Yes. I love it.”
“…”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the flowerpot.
Would it kill her to look at me while talking?
She was the one who’d told him to make eye contact when speaking—yet she never did it with him.
Rain glared at the innocent forget-me-nots. The pot had clearly been a gift from one of the gardeners.
His voice came out petulant.
“Is it that precious to you?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Hm?”
Finally, Prim looked at him. Rain’s face was full of irritation and wounded pride.
Did something upset him today?
Tilting her head, Prim answered gently,
“These flowers look like your eye color, Your Highness. I thought of you the moment I saw them.”
“…”
Rain’s mouth snapped shut.
Seeing that, Prim’s lips curled up slyly.
Maybe this works better than I thought.
She continued sweetly,
“I mean, I think about you all day anyway.”
“…Nonsense.”
“Oh, but it’s true! Don’t you believe me?”
She teased, handing him the pot with a playful grin. Rain hesitated, then slowly accepted it.
“I haven’t been taking care of it properly these days,” Prim said. “I thought I’d have to replant new ones if it wilted, but it’s been growing so well. Isn’t it amazing?”
Rain’s eyes narrowed.
“How can you just throw it away if it wilts?”
“But if the color fades so much I can’t even see it…”
“…Don’t throw this one away. No—you can’t.”
He looked down at the pot in his hands, fingers brushing over the blue petals. The tips of his ears reddened.
He liked the flower, clearly.
Prim sighed in relief, but then her eyes caught an empty vase.
Where did the roses go…?
Just as she was wondering that—
“What are you doing?”
Rain came up beside her. Prim quickly shook her head.
“Nothing, just… looking.”
Through the window, she saw the garden outside. For a winter day, it was bright and sunny.
The gardeners were busy tidying the grounds. Among them was McGerdin—the one who had given her the forget-me-nots.
“What are you looking at…”
Rain’s gaze followed hers, and his face slowly darkened.
“…That again.”
That?
Prim blinked in confusion.
Rain glared between the gardeners and the flowerpots, clearly displeased.
After muttering under his breath, he sighed deeply—and lowered his head onto Prim’s shoulder.
Prim flinched in surprise.
“Your Highness?”
“…”
“Are you feeling unwell…?”
“When I’m like this,” Rain murmured quietly,
“It hurts my eyes less. So… just for a moment.”
“…”
She couldn’t argue with that. Prim closed her mouth and stayed still.
She was weak to him—whenever he so much as pretended to be in pain, she’d panic and hover anxiously.
Rain decided to use that to his advantage.
Otherwise, he couldn’t get close to her at all.
That cursed four-year age gap made him act childishly—but he didn’t care.
After all, Prim had promised to follow him to the Imperial Palace.
Just one more year and a half. Once that hellish time passed, he’d be an adult.
Thinking that made his impatience fade a little.
…Though there were still far too many obstacles in his way.
“…Next week,” he murmured suddenly.
By “next week,” he meant the day they would return to the Imperial Palace.
Prim nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her and spoke softly,
“You’re right. Time flies. It’s already autumn.”
“When we go back to the palace…”
Rain trailed off. Prim waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more.
Her heart sank.
How must he feel, returning to the place that had abandoned him? His heart must be rotting from the inside out.
Looking at this boy leaning on her like a wounded puppy, Prim felt a pang of pity.
Without thinking, she reached out and gently patted his head.
“…”
Rain’s eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly pulled her hand back.
“Oh—sorry! I didn’t mean—”
But before she could finish, Rain grabbed her hand. His cold fingers twined around her warm ones.
“Do it again.”
“But…”
“Please. Your hands… they’re warm. I like it.”
Under his steady gaze, Prim hesitated.
She was the one who’d started it—but still, a commoner touching a prince’s head?
Rain read her hesitation and pressed softly once more.
“Hmm?”
“But still…”
“Can’t you?”
Rain blinked slowly, his expression plaintive and vulnerable.
