CHAPTER 054
Unfortunately, another miracle… did not happen.
The emperor’s brows furrowed slightly as he received the results of the second contest.
“The winner is Lady Grace of the Grand Duchy of Lesang.”
Seeing no reaction from the emperor, whose eyes remained closed, Kyle, the aide, continued.
“Today's theme was still life, drawing the flowers and fruits in the vase on the table. It was a very advantageous contest for Lady Grace, who has been tutored by the renowned master, Professor Belfoi, for years.”
The emperor, deep in thought, continued to tap his long fingers on the table without speaking.
Kyle, exchanging a look with Antonio, the second secretary, saw him hesitate before he spoke.
“The ladies’ works will be displayed in the hallway of the Imperial Palace’s second gallery for a day tomorrow. However… well, the aide and I saw the ladies’ works as they were being moved from the contest hall… um…”
Antonio sought help from Kyle with his eyes, but Kyle deliberately turned away.
Taking a deep breath, Antonio closed his eyes and said,
“We are concerned that Lady Arabelle’s work is very different from the others.”
Saying it was “very different” was an understatement… Arabelle’s work was incomparable to the others, who had been trained by famous artists since childhood.
Honestly, when Kyle and Antonio first saw Arabelle’s work, they couldn’t imagine that she had drawn the flowers and fruits on the table. Kyle thought she had drawn a dragon breathing fire, and Antonio thought she had drawn a snake swallowing a frog.
The judges were clearly shocked as well. If her work were displayed alongside the others, it would be an embarrassment.
The emperor, who had been quietly tapping his fingers on the table, opened his eyes, revealing his ruby-red irises.
“I understand. Let’s go.”
“To the contest hall? But there’s no one there now; wouldn’t it be better to go to the gallery where the preparations are underway?”
As the emperor stood, Kyle asked, only to be met with a cold response.
“I meant to the audience chamber, Aide Kyle. Isn’t it time to meet the delegations from the Western continent regarding the trade route dispute? The crown prince of the Kingdom of Cardelu, Marcus, is a formidable opponent. If he continues to refuse to bow to the Empire, he must never be allowed to ascend the throne. Do you understand?”
Facing the emperor’s chilling red eyes, Kyle and Antonio finally snapped back to their senses and hurriedly followed him out.
***
After a grueling day that began at dawn, the emperor called for an emergency meeting close to midnight, a meeting that wasn’t on his schedule.
The measured sound of footsteps echoed in the entrance of the west gallery of the Imperial Palace.
A dozen men and women, dressed in haste as they had just been called from their beds, bowed before the approaching emperor. Among them were Professor Belfoi and the greatest artists representing the empire’s art scene.
The emperor’s presence, illuminated by the chandelier, was both dignified and beautiful, exuding the strength of a wild male. His noble ruby-like eyes, which could also seem drenched in the scent of blood, lazily smiled at them. His red lips, lifting at one corner, cast an alluring shadow in the light and darkness.
Dressed down from his formal uniform to more comfortable daily clothes, his outfit highlighted his sleek and superior physique. The delicate muscles under his thin tunic shirt moved seductively, and his firm thighs stood dynamically just by being there.
The emperor of the eerie night exuded a dangerous and decadent air, causing the master artists to swallow dryly, lamenting the absence of their brushes and canvases.
Sensing their inner thoughts, the emperor smiled gently and raised one hand slightly. At his signal, canvases half the size of a door, along with charcoals, brushes, and paints, were swiftly set up before the artists.
As the bewildered artists stared at the emperor, he spoke.
“I realize now that I have never permitted my portrait to be painted.”
Indeed, Maxwell had always found posing for a portrait a waste of time when he could be training with knights instead. Moreover, he couldn’t stand the idea of anyone “daring” to evaluate his portrait.
Despite the persistent pleas from the royal historians and every master artist, he had remained unmoved.
“I have not understood your hearts until now. So tonight, I will allow you to paint my portrait.”
With an arrogant gaze, Maxwell struck the most basic pose for a royal full-body portrait.
Unable to believe their ears, the artists stood with their mouths agape as Kyle approached and whispered,
“Pick up your charcoals.”
Still in a daze, the master artists picked up their charcoal sticks.
As the emperor leisurely unbuttoned the top three buttons of his tunic shirt, he spoke seductively,
“This is the first and last chance. Begin.”
The intense scent of masculinity was almost dizzying, and the emperor’s smile jolted the artists awake, making them eager to capture his image on canvas. The emperor, with no shame or awkwardness, fully revealed his beauty.
How they had managed without this opportunity was beyond them. The emperor actively struck various poses for the artists.
By dawn, as the morning sun began to rise, numerous portraits of the emperor in different outfits and poses, from busts to full-body portraits, were perfectly recreated on canvas.
The artists, having poured their souls into their work, wiped the sweat from their brows and laid down their brushes.
As the dozen masterpieces created overnight shone brilliantly in the rising sunlight, tears of joy welled up in their eyes.
***
The morning after the second contest, eleven impeccably dressed empress candidates arrived at the entrance of the west gallery of the Imperial Palace, escorted by their maids.
Already, a crowd of royalty and high-ranking nobles invited to the event was lined up at the entrance, waiting to enter.
The eyes of the nobles gathered to view the candidates' works sparkled with excitement. It wasn’t due to the anticipation of seeing excellent works of art. Their attention was focused on deciding whose work to criticize and devalue, ready to spread gossip in the social circles.
Frankly, except for Grace and a few other ladies who had been educated under master artists for years, the skills of the others were bound to be mediocre. Now, they were eagerly looking for the most lacking piece, not the best one, so they could tear it apart and chatter about it in their social gatherings.
Grace, positioned at the entrance, wore a smug smile. Though it was a bit late, she was finally proving her worth.
Her lips twisted as she looked down at the smallest, most petite woman standing at the back of the candidates. The thought of that girl being humiliated filled her with a thrilling sense of pleasure.
Poor painting skills wouldn't just result in embarrassment. The empress was the face of the empire’s culture and art. One of her responsibilities was to discover and promote new artists and host the era's greatest masters and masterpieces, and these cultural activities were significant for the empire's pride and economy in the kingdom.
The rustic girl who couldn’t even compose a still life would become a laughingstock in social circles and, even if she became empress, would constantly be questioned about her qualifications, unable to assert herself. Like the 19th and 22nd empresses who had been humiliated for their poor artistic skills at competitive exhibitions.
Grace smiled confidently as she made eye contact with Grand Duchess Caroline, who approached the gallery entrance. Natalia, the Dowager Empress, walking with Caroline, also wore a satisfied smile.
Grace's victory in the second contest was a painful but excellent opportunity. As soon as today's special event ended, people would leave the palace, claiming Arabelle was unqualified, completely forgetting the previous contest's results. Caroline and Grace had mobilized all their connections to ensure this outcome.
As the Grand Duchess and Dowager Empress exchanged sly glances,
“Please enter.”
At the polite voice, the heavy copper doors of the gallery swung open.
The eyes of dozens entering the gallery corridor to witness the downfall of a candidate widened and shook in amazement. None of them even glanced at the works of the eleven candidates.
More precisely, they didn’t notice the candidates' work at all. Every gaze was drawn to the twelve masterpieces of the empire's greatest artists.
The subject of the artworks was one man: Emperor Maxwell, who had never allowed his portrait to be painted before.
The emperor's portraits, depicted by the current top artists, were stunningly beautiful and evoked profound emotions.
Each candidate's work was displayed beside a masterpiece, and overshadowed by these grand pieces, they lost any presence they might have had.
Moreover, compared to the notebook-sized canvases the ladies had used, the masters' works, about half the size of a door, nearly five times larger, completely overwhelmed theirs.
Grace's work, displayed next to her master Belfoi’s life’s masterpiece, looked embarrassingly crude and childish.
No one in the gallery even glanced at the work of the eleventh candidate. The viewers were too busy engraving the image of the emperor's semi-nude full-body portrait in their minds to pay attention to anything else.
The ladies sighed between their lips as they looked at the emperor, who seemed to have descended from the heavens, reclining provocatively with only his lower half covered in leopard skin.
Even the Dowager Empress forgot to search for Arabelle's work, her breath quickening as she gazed at the emperor's broad, firm chest, intricately connected biceps, and the powerful deltoid muscles depicted in the full-body portrait.
By the end of the day's special event, no one talked about the candidates' work. None remembered them.
***
"Move this piece to Lady Arabelle’s annex and hang it on the wall opposite her bed."
In the empty gallery corridor in the late afternoon, the emperor pointed to a piece with his chin.
It was the semi-nude full-body portrait of the emperor displayed next to Arabelle's work.
"Hang Lady Arabelle’s work in my audience chamber."
The emperor smiled with pride at Arabelle’s painting before heading to his office.
Kyle, who seemed to have something to say, watched the emperor’s retreating figure and pulled up the corner of his mouth.
"I promised Lady Arabelle I wouldn’t help her in the contest. Today’s event was after the contest ended, so I haven’t broken my promise."
Kyle, unable to voice his question, "Would Lady Arabelle see it that way…?" hurriedly followed the emperor’s long strides down the corridor.
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