Chapter 01
The elegant Rococo-style building of the Royal Academy glowed with resplendent grace as the setting sun bathed its façade in hues of violet and gold.
At the far end of the central corridor in the main hall—now gently washed in the tranquil light of the late afternoon—an art room door creaked open. A moment later, a small face cautiously peeked through the narrow gap. The girl’s movement was subtle, as if she were trying not to disturb the stillness.
Her makeup-free face, partially hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, revealed sharply defined features. Her delicate crimson lips stood in striking contrast to her pale complexion—beautiful, but oddly out of place.
As expected, the corridor was empty.
‘Of course, no one would still be here at this hour.’
That was precisely why Iella Clarence favored this time of day.
The Academy was nearly deserted by now, save for a handful of students or professors working in the upper-level research rooms. The once-bustling lobby had grown quiet. The clamor of midday had softened into a hushed calm, and with it, the worry of being seen disappeared.
Iella adjusted her hat again, pulling it lower over her face, and stepped out of the art room. In one hand, she carried a canvas nearly the size of her torso.
Click, clack.
Her heels echoed along the empty corridor, the sound magnified by the stillness. As she quietly slipped out through the front entrance and made her way to the carriage yard, she found two carriages stationed in the open grounds, basking in the fading light.
Just then, the curtain of one carriage stirred, and a pale hand emerged to beckon her—“Over here!”—with an unmistakable urgency.
Iella scanned her surroundings once more before moving toward the carriage. Though her movements weren’t overtly cautious, her graceful steps and upright posture exuded an innate nobility.
Click. The carriage door opened, then softly closed behind her.
“Welcome.”
Two ladies seated inside greeted her warmly. The carriage grew slightly cramped with Iella’s arrival, but not unbearably so.
“You’re early.”
The appointed meeting was still five minutes away. Ladies of society were known to treat lateness as a virtue, so Iella had expected the usual delay. But once again, her assumption proved incorrect.
In fact, ever since this discreet and meticulous business had begun, not a single client had shown up late.
“Is that… the piece?”
The woman seated nearest to her whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. Her eyes were fixed on the wrapped item in Iella’s hands.
Next to her sat another lady—one Iella recognized—pretending at composure, though the curiosity brimming in her eyes betrayed her.
“Yes. It’s yours now.”
With calm, measured words, Iella handed the canvas over. It was neatly wrapped, secured with a ribbon tied in an elegant bow.
“Oh my… Is this really…?”
The woman was nearly breathless, overcome as though she were beholding a sacred relic rather than a painting.
Iella, long desensitized to such reactions, nonetheless allowed herself a smile this once. It was a rare expression—her usually impassive face transformed, for a fleeting moment, into something undeniably beautiful.
Of course, it was fleeting. Iella was not one for smiles. Her reserved nature made such moments all the more rare—and perhaps, all the more poignant.
“Would you like to verify it?”
“No, there’s no need. Your skill speaks for itself. In fact, I’ve been so excited since placing the commission that I could barely sleep last night. This painting will be a great comfort when I return home.”
There was something heartening about voices filled with anticipation, wonder, and hope. And even though Iella profited from these emotions, she couldn’t entirely dismiss their sincerity.
From debutantes to eligible young ladies—and even married women—they sparked excitement across all ages. But for Iella, not a single flicker of thrill remained.
According to what Iella had heard, this particular client was due to be married in two months. Not, of course, to the man depicted in the portrait.
She understood. A sliver of light in an otherwise grim marital life—who could blame them? In a way, it even made her proud.
“I hope it meets your expectations.”
“It certainly does. Here are the 300 denas, as promised.”
The woman replied in a hushed tone as she carefully handed over a thick bundle of bills. Iella accepted the payment with a composed smile.
This was the second moment when Iella Clarence smiled—receiving her rightful reward during a secret exchange in a quiet, secluded place.
She liked these moments. There was satisfaction in work that suited her nature—made even better when accompanied by tangible reward. It was the perfect balance of supply and demand, a harmony of mutual benefit.
What greater joy could there be?
“Clare— I mean, let me introduce our new client.”
The woman stumbled, catching herself before saying Iella’s name aloud. It was an unspoken rule of these transactions—names were never exchanged, even if everyone in high society already knew each other.
After the brief introduction, Iella nodded in greeting toward the new woman.
“Well then, I’ll leave you two to talk.”
The woman who made the introduction quickly excused herself, eager to return to her own carriage. She was clearly impatient to see her completed painting and scurried away with brisk steps.
Once inside, she tore open the wrapping without hesitation. Her eyes sparkled, as though she were laying eyes on a divine being.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. They say your portraits are so lifelike, it’s as if the real person is standing in front of them.”
Though her voice was a whisper—out of respect for their surroundings—her tone carried elegance. She smiled gracefully and introduced herself as Ellen of House Givermann, a noblewoman from one of the Empire’s most influential families.
Indeed, she was said to be the rival of Louisa, Iella’s younger sister, who had recently been crowned the “flower of the social season.”
“The pleasure is mine. I’m grateful for your trust. You and your companion’s compliments mean a great deal.”
Iella returned the greeting with a poised smile.
She couldn’t help but feel a sense of reward when she saw those radiant expressions. It made all her effort worthwhile.
She recalled the summer three years prior, when it had all begun. It started at a tea party hosted by her mother, the Viscountess Laura Clarence. A young lady from House Holland had taken note of several family portraits displayed in their private salon.
“Your artwork is wonderful.”
“Oh, it’s just a hobby. But thank you, Lady Holland.”
“Please, call me Kate. Honestly, your talent shouldn’t be hidden away like this.”
“You flatter me.”
“No, truly. I have a small favor to ask… could we speak privately in the garden?”
Kate had asked Iella to paint a portrait—not of herself, but of someone else entirely. At the time, Iella had no idea how far things would spiral from that single request. She assumed it would be a one-time favor.
But whispers began circulating among the ladies of society, and soon, one request became two. Then more.
At first, Iella refused, not sure how to price her efforts. But Kate had encouraged her to charge what she was worth, persuading her with both kindness and logic.
As demand grew, so did the compensation. Even now, Iella often felt like it was all a dream. But the one constant had been the unbreakable unity of the women involved. Their discretion was absolute. That was what made all of this possible—and what Iella considered her greatest stroke of luck.
“I would like to commission a portrait of this man.”
Ellen handed over a neatly folded piece of paper. As Iella unfolded and read the note, her face stiffened. The gentle curve of her lips disappeared, pressed into a hard line.
She stared at the note for a long moment before folding it back up and returning it.
“I don’t accept commissions of that subject. You must know that.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Then there’s no point in continuing this conversation, is there?”
“Six hundred denas.”
Ellen interrupted smoothly.
Iella stopped, halfway out the door.
It wasn’t just the amount—it was the insistence. Why go to such lengths for this?
“I appreciate your high opinion of my work. But I’m afraid I must decline.”
She had declined this subject many times before.
Prince Franz Princeton.
The second son of the current King.
The younger brother of the Crown Prince.
The adored rogue of the royal family.
The darling of the capital.
Only court-appointed painters were permitted to paint members of the royal family. Creating a portrait of the Prince carried enormous risk—and for someone like Iella, whose entire livelihood depended on secrecy, the risk was unacceptable.
To put it plainly—she would not, could not, and had no intention of ever accepting a commission of him.
No matter the price.
