Chapter 02
Secret Commission
“This matter will be kept secret, just like before. I won’t share the painting with anyone. Only I will know about it. Though he may be a beloved figure to the public, I don’t want to share him with anyone. That’s how I feel.”
“Everyone says that.”
I don’t believe it.
I swallowed the last words and continued.
“With that kind of money, you could buy several paintings on Manchester Street.”
Manchester Street, lined with art dealers, was known for selling various artworks of the current king, former monarchs, and royal family members. Life-sized canvas portraits could be bought for around 300 dena—about a commoner’s monthly living expenses.
“I don’t deal with that sort of cheap kitsch,” Allen said with a sneer of disdain.
No matter how finely crafted, a fake was still a fake. So what? What am I supposed to do about it?
Suppressing her frustration, Iella exhaled a deep sigh, feigning sympathy.
“I’ve told you before—I can’t do it.”
“You will.”
“…?”
Iella looked at Allen with a puzzled expression. Her eyes flickered for a moment as a dreadful thought crossed her mind.
“You’re not… threatening me, are you?”
“Threatening? Well… if you insist on refusing my request, then yes, I suppose it could be considered that. What do you think will happen if rumors spread that a young lady has been secretly painting portraits and selling them for money? Think you’ll still be welcome in society? Or even allowed to remain in the capital?”
And that wasn’t the worst of it. Even at the Academy, where expulsion was rare, she might be made an exception.
Iella’s emerald-gray eyes hardened as she stared silently at Allen.
“There’s no evidence.”
“People don’t care about facts. You know that.”
Allen was right. Once something became a scandal, the truth no longer mattered. Baseless rumors could easily take root and become accepted as fact.
Even if it would be difficult to prove she had been secretly painting for money, just having her name mentioned in such a rumor would be enough to tarnish her reputation.
But that wasn’t what bothered her. Her own name didn’t matter. What pained her was the thought of sullying her family’s honor—and of her work, done out of pure passion, becoming the subject of ridicule.
“…”
“I’ll pay you 300 dena up front. Another 300 when the painting is complete. If, by any chance, a leak occurs and the blame falls on me, I’ll pay you 2,000 dena in damages. And if the matter becomes public, I’ll claim I bought the painting from a Manchester Street artist. Since you won’t be the one to leak anything, all the responsibility will be mine.”
“There’s no need to go this far. Why are you doing this?”
Why, indeed? Why go to such lengths?
But seeing the look in Allen’s eyes, she realized resistance was pointless. With a voice half-resigned, she asked. Allen finally smiled, satisfied.
“I want to become the mistress of Grenville Palace.”
Grenville stood about six kilometers west of the capital, Bilne, boasting vast forests and sweeping green landscapes. At its heart stood Humphrey’s Hill, a majestic peak offering a panoramic view of the capital.
From atop that hill, Bilne’s view was said to take one’s breath away. And nestled within that hill was Grenville Palace—an architectural masterpiece complete with sculpted gardens and magnificent fountains. Just standing in front of the palace, one could feel they had stepped into a living painting.
Grenville, encircled by serene landscaped gardens, was one of Lapland’s true jewels. And it was home to Prince Franz.
So she means to become the prince’s bride?
Allen thrust out her chest as if she already bore a royal title, her expression glowing with pride.
Watching her, Iella couldn’t help but wonder: Is it really okay to speak of something so lofty in front of someone like me?
They barely knew each other. They had no real relationship beyond a few casual greetings.
Iella regarded Allen with new caution.
Allen Zibermann, future princess?
She was undeniably beautiful, and her elegant posture made even the slightest movement seem refined. Still, something had changed. Just minutes ago, her words and demeanor had seemed noble—but now they felt affected, rehearsed.
Perhaps it was the threat that made her see things differently. Iella forced herself to remain composed.
“Oh, and one more thing—if I may?”
Normally, Iella would have answered cheerfully, ‘Of course. Go ahead.’ But after everything, she responded reluctantly, after a brief pause.
“…What is it?”
“When he looks at me in the painting, I want his blue eyes to be filled with affection—like his heart is fluttering.”
What kind of ridiculous request was that?
Iella barely managed to keep from laughing.
“…Excuse me?”
Her voice wavered in disbelief. That was, by far, the most absurd thing she had ever heard.
“Is that… difficult?”
Eyes never lie. The same was true for paintings.
Iella’s portraits were known for their lifelike quality, as if the person themselves had been trapped within the frame. But this—this was beyond her.
She had never once fallen in love. Nor did she have any interest in doing so. She wouldn’t even know how to replicate such a “look of love” in someone else’s eyes.
If Allen had asked for a fantastical embellishment instead, Iella would’ve gladly complied.
“That may be a little difficult. To be honest… unlike the others, I’ve never spoken with him. I just paint what I see. Nothing more.”
The Royal Academy and its associated university were prestigious institutions in Lapland. Simply graduating granted one immense social capital. It was a rite of passage for not only heirs, but all noble and semi-noble youth alike.
But Iella found it all frustrating. To her, the Academy felt more like an extended debutante program—a place where young noblewomen trained to become suitable brides for men of status.
The Academy and university shared the same campus, though the boys and girls were housed separately. Iella appreciated that, but the segregation itself was still a form of discrimination. If she had known, she wouldn’t have let her parents trick her into enrolling.
In truth, the Academy was nothing more than a social arena—a place for future rulers to begin building their networks and cementing ties.
While Iella kept to herself, maintaining average grades and fading into the background, they stood out with little effort. Their mere presence was enough to turn heads. They were intelligent, influential, and impossibly charismatic.
People called them the “F4”—short for “Fabulous Four.” Like something out of a storybook, and there were four of them. Male or female, it didn’t matter. The term stuck.
Prince Franz, of course, was among them. So were Marco Londiaz, heir to a marquessate, and the twin sons of Duke Morris—Andrew and Richard. Iella had encountered them once or twice, mostly at the balls she’d attended against her will.
She had used those brief glimpses to paint them. But the prince? She had never once met him face to face.
And now she was expected to paint his eyes brimming with love? It was absurd.
She couldn’t even be sure what color his eyes were. Whether blue or azure—it didn’t matter to her. Not one bit.
“What do you mean you’ve never met him?!”
Allen raised her voice sharply.
“Shhh. Keep it down.”
Iella pressed a finger to her lips, whispering.
She had seen Prince Franz—from a great distance. Just enough to make out a silhouette. Was his eye color really so important?
“I mean… I’ve never looked into his blue eyes directly. That’s all.”
She had no memory of ever even brushing past him.
Now that she thought of it, someone—maybe Lauren—had mentioned his blue eyes once. She didn’t recall the context, or even the conversation properly. But perhaps the story had stuck somewhere in her mind.
“He’s royalty. Just painting him is already a risk. But now you want me to add that kind of expression? If that’s the case, I’ll have to withdraw from the commission altogether.”
“…You’re right. I was asking too much. But there’s still time—plenty of social gatherings until July. I’m sure you’ll have the chance to see him up close. I’ll be counting on you.”
Allen’s eyes sparkled as she chuckled lightly.
Iella still couldn’t understand her. If Allen truly intended to become mistress of Grenville Palace, surely she could see the prince in person whenever she wanted. Why go through such trouble for a portrait?
What a piece of work…
Anger surged in Iella’s chest, but she crushed it before it could reach the surface.
