Chapter 62: The First Canvas Revealed
Chapter 61: The First Canvas Revealed
Lyria’s POV
Excitement rippled through the assembled crowd.
At least, that was what it seemed like to me.
From my position, I could not hear every murmur distinctly, but the general atmosphere had shifted the moment the bell rang. The quiet tension that had filled the air during the competition had now given way to eager anticipation.
Nobles leaned toward one another in quiet conversation.
Fans fluttered.
Gentlemen adjusted cuffs and cravats.
Everyone waited to see what the suitors had produced.
I folded my arms loosely across my middle as I observed them, my gaze moving slowly across the rows of easels where the candidates now stood beside their finished works.
Some appeared confident.
Others looked rather less so.
And a few—such as the Duke of Blackmere—appeared almost entirely indifferent to the proceedings.
The footman who had earlier announced the competition now stepped forward once more. He positioned himself before the royal dais.
"My lords and ladies," he announced with practiced formality. "The allotted time for the first competition has now concluded."
The murmur of conversation faded at once.
"In accordance with Her Majesty’s instructions," he continued, "each candidate shall now present his work before Her Royal Highness the Princess Jacinta and offer an explanation of the meaning behind his creation."
A faint rustle moved through the gathering.
Even the nobles seemed eager now.
"The first candidate to present his work," he declared, "shall be His Grace, Duke Alistair Thorncrest of Highmoor."
A small stir passed through the crowd.
Several heads turned toward the tall figure standing near the middle of the row of easels.
Duke Thorncrest smiled.
It was a smile that suggested he had been waiting precisely for this moment.
A servant stepped forward immediately, lifting the canvas carefully from the easel. He held it upright with both hands as the duke began walking toward the royal dais with measured elegance.
Even from where I stood, I could see the confidence in his stride.
He stopped several feet before the raised platform upon which the King, Queen, and Princess sat.
The servant remained beside him, holding the painting firmly.
The king leaned slightly forward upon his seat.
"Position the canvas so the assembly may see it clearly," he instructed the servant.
"At once, Your Majesty."
The servant adjusted his stance and lifted the painting slightly higher, turning it outward so that the nobles gathered within the courtyard could observe it.
That adjustment worked very much in my favour.
Though I had already glimpsed Thorncrest’s work during the competition, I could now see it properly.
And I must admit, it was beautiful.
The painting depicted the night sky.
Deep shades of indigo and silver blended together in elegant strokes across the canvas, forming a vast celestial scene. Stars glittered across the painted sky in delicate clusters.
And at the center of it all hung the moon.
But the moon was not merely a sphere of pale light.
It was the face of a woman.
Her features were soft and serene.
Her eyes were closed as though she slept peacefully within the sky itself, while the stars drifted around her like gentle companions drawn to her quiet presence.
It was, artistically speaking, quite impressive.
Even from a distance, I could see the careful blending of colour and the attention given to the details of the stars.
Though if one examined it closely, there were areas that might have benefited from refinement.
The shading near the outer edge of the moon lacked subtlety.
And the positioning of several stars seemed rather arbitrary.
But the general concept...
Well.
That was what captured the audience.
A soft murmur of admiration rose from the assembled nobles.
Fans fluttered more rapidly now.
Someone near the dais whispered an audible, "How lovely."
The queen regarded the painting with clear interest.
"Well, Your Grace," she said pleasantly, "I see you have produced something most striking indeed."
Duke Thorncrest bowed his head slightly.
"You are gracious, Your Majesty."
The queen gestured lightly toward the canvas.
"Pray enlighten us. What vision have you sought to portray?"
The duke cleared his throat softly and turned just enough that both the royal family and the gathered nobles could hear him.
"It is known throughout the Empire," he began, "that Her Royal Highness is the Moon spoken of within the ancient prophecy."
A few approving nods appeared among the crowd.
"And we—those who have come here as candidates for her hand—are the stars drawn inevitably into her orbit."
He extended a hand toward the canvas.
"Thus I have painted the skies themselves."
His voice carried smoothly across the courtyard.
"The moon, serene and radiant at the center... while the stars gather around her."
He paused slightly before continuing.
"To me, the Princess represents a presence so gentle and luminous that all who behold her feel themselves drawn closer."
"A peaceful beauty," he concluded, "whose mere existence draws the stars of the Empire toward her—even as she rests."
I processed the speech with the private detachment I applied to most things.
It was well delivered.
It was also, I thought, almost entirely a retelling of the prophecy dressed in slightly warmer language. He had painted the prophecy and described the prophecy and presented the prophecy back to the people who had built their entire monarchy upon the prophecy, and they were responding to it as though it were a personal insight.
I almost gagged.
Though I will concede that Jacinta did not appear to share my reservations.
She was smiling with the unguarded, genuine delight of someone receiving exactly what they had hoped for, her hands folded neatly in her lap and her eyes bright with the particular pleasure of a woman being told, in front of an audience and through the scrying mirrors to the entire kingdom, that she was the peaceful, luminous, irresistible centre of everything.
Her cheeks had flushed a rather becoming shade of pink, and she was smiling with unmistakable pleasure.
"Your Grace," she said warmly, "I thank you for such a thoughtful depiction."
She tilted her head slightly as she regarded the canvas.
"It is indeed very beautiful."
The duke bowed again, looking quite pleased with himself.
"I am honored that Your Highness finds it so."
With that, the servant carefully lowered the painting.
Another attendant stepped forward to carry it away.
Thorncrest inclined his head once more toward the royal family before turning and returning to his place among the other candidates.
The footman consulted his scroll once more.
"The next candidate to present his work," he announced clearly, "is His Grace, Duke Lucian Aurelgrave of Eastmere."
That name produced a different kind of reaction from the crowd.
A quieter one.
Lucian stepped forward with his usual unhurried grace.
He did not appear particularly concerned about the attention now focused upon him.
The previous servant approached and lifted his painting from the easel.
Lucian walked toward the dais without any of Thorncrest’s theatrical flair.
The servant reached the dais beside him and turned the canvas outward so that the assembly might see it.
From where I stood, I leaned forward slightly.
I needed to hear what his painting was about because Lucian’s painting was in competition for the most beautiful painting at this competition.
It was extraordinary.
It depicted a garden.
Not the carefully symmetrical gardens one might find in the grounds of noble estates, but something far more natural and alive.
Soft golden light filtered through the painted trees.
Flowers bloomed in quiet abundance along winding paths.
At the center of the scene was a woman sitting peacefully, a lake in front of her.
She wore a flowing gown of pale gold that shimmered beneath the painted sunlight.
Animals gathered gently around her.
A deer stood near one hand. Small birds perched along the branches above her.
A fox lingered nearby within the grass. Wolves of various colours surrounded her.
