The sunset was already falling by the time the conversation with the butler ended. From what I heard, Sieghart would also be busy until late with the knights’ training.

Natasha enjoyed an early dinner and returned to her room. She intended to quickly get the annoying task out of the way.

First, she cut the drawing paper to fit the size of a handkerchief. She prepared plenty of pieces, as she needed to narrow down design candidates and practice.

She sharpened the pencil’s lead with a knife. When the graphite core was sufficiently exposed, she took a sheet of paper.

‘What pattern should I draw?’

With no good ideas coming to mind, she kept fidgeting with the pencil on the innocent paper. Each time she tapped the pencil with her finger, black powder settled on the drawing paper like a foreign substance.

‘I can’t just draw something carelessly either.’

As it was a gift representing the Asthart family, it would attract some public attention. If she embroidered a half-hearted or sloppy design, it would be like throwing bait to those waiting for an opportunity to criticize her.

‘The ducal family’s crest? No, too common. Then maybe something more abstract, like the moon? Hmm, this is too cliché as well. The sword, symbol of a knight… Oh no, it would overlap with the sword for which the embroidery is intended.’

While lost in thought, moving the pencil at random, it happened.

Suddenly coming to her senses and looking ahead, she noticed what she had been unconsciously drawing. The handsome face formed by rough lines bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain man.

‘You can’t embroider Sieghart, you fool.’

The unconscious mind was truly frightening.

There was a time when she had drawn the man’s face to death, and it was still ingrained in her hand. It was remarkable, considering even her body had returned to the past.

Thick lines roughly depicted the subject’s sharp jaw, thick neck, and sturdy shoulders. The lines flowing seamlessly within accentuated the man’s intense features. Despite being drawn unconsciously, even the interplay of light and shadow was perfect.

Natasha, staring intently at the drawing, leaned back in her chair. In a posture uncharacteristic of her, she welcomed unbidden thoughts.

One day, Cayena brought news that the ducal family was looking for an artist to paint Sieghart’s portrait.

“…A portrait?”

“Yes, I heard they’re looking for a skilled artist to paint His Grace the Duke’s portrait?”

“Oh, could I! Could I possibly do it?”

At those words, Natasha eagerly insisted that she wanted to do it. She was attracted to the role as she would be able to see Sieghart while painting the portrait.

“Oh, my lady…?”

“Yes, I really want to do it. Is there any way I could give it a try?”

Of course, while she was quite accomplished in painting, that was only among amateurs; her skills fell far short compared to professionals.

After pondering for a moment, Cayena suggested practicing painting the Duke’s portrait for a few days and then sending the paintings to the ducal family under an anonymous name. She encouraged Natasha, saying that if they liked her paintings, they would hire her as the artist.

Clinging to a sliver of hope, Natasha spent all day painting. Recalling her beloved’s face she had seen long ago, she painted dozens of pictures day and night without rest.

A few days after applying as a portrait artist under a fictitious name, Cayena rushed to her room with the welcome news that the ducal family had hired her.

“My lady! The ducal family said they want to hire you as the portrait artist!”

“Really?”

“Yes! They did ask how you knew His Grace’s face in such detail, but I glossed over that part, hehe. Anyway, is a week from now alright?”

“Of course!”

Cayena playfully added that effort was indeed the best solution, and suggested Natasha put in this much effort for her husband from now on.

So a week later, the two met in an empty room.

Hiding her original features with heavy makeup and covering her face with a veil, she stopped in front of a prepared white cloth. The large cloth blocked them from observing each other’s faces in detail.

To the ducal family, she introduced herself as a widow and claimed that for the next year, she could not face the face of any man other than her deceased husband.

Though they seemed to think it was an odd belief, they appeared to understand her unfortunate circumstances and readily accommodated her unusual requests.

His colors peeked through the white cloth here and there. The man, showing not the slightest interest in his counterpart, seemed unaware that the artist was his incompetent wife.

“Then I’ll begin the painting now.”

Lowering her voice, she picked up a pencil and started sketching the basic outlines.

Scratch, scratch. The ticklish sound filled the quiet silence.

“How amusing.”

It was when Natasha was busily moving her pencil, deeply focused.

The other’s cool voice was heard.

At the sudden words calling it amusing, Natasha became nervous. She wondered if the perceptive man was suspecting the suspicious artist.

‘Surely Sieghart hasn’t discovered my identity?’

Natasha had deliberately hidden her identity to create a situation that wouldn’t be uncomfortable for either of them. She wanted to see her husband who wouldn’t meet her, but had no other way. Even if she revealed now that she was the artist, it was obvious Sieghart wouldn’t be pleased.

He would find her obsessive preparations strange. He might even kick her out, saying she had no right to paint his portrait.

Gulping, Natasha asked slowly.

“…What do you mean?”

“It’s quite odd that you claim to paint a portrait without even properly observing me. I wonder if you can really paint it well.”

“This is a precious opportunity, so I wanted to apply even in these circumstances. And yes, I can paint well. Please trust me.”

“Well, I suppose I should trust you since you say your skills are excellent.”

Afterwards, as the other brushed it off with a light laugh, she quietly sighed in relief. After concluding the conversation by saying she would continue, she focused on the painting.

“How long will it take until the portrait is finished?”

When the woman’s hand movements slowed slightly, he asked.

“It will take longer than usual artists. Probably about half a day…”

The person in question answered somewhat timidly, knowing it was an unreasonable request.

“That’s longer than I expected.”

“It takes time to observe you properly since I can’t see you fully. I ask for your understanding.”

“You’re quite a troublesome artist. No family but the ducal house would hire you.”

His words clearly showed his personality.

Natasha had a reasonable suspicion that the indifference he showed her might have been just the tip of the iceberg. He was more rude and arrogant than she had thought.

But she still liked it. Because even that was part of Sieghart Asthart whom Natasha loved.

Whenever the wind blew gently, the white cloth fluttered. The man’s form, rippling like waves about to surge, was beautiful in its own way. For some reason, her heart ached. Was it because the long-awaited sight of her beloved was as beautiful as expected?

So, her gazing blankly at the white cloth was due to such aftereffects. It wouldn’t be wrong to say Sieghart had a part in it too.

While making such assumptions on her own, this time she softly captured in her eyes his features visible through the gaps in the cloth.

The cloth dipped towards Natasha’s side, then after a while, it rippled towards the opposite side. Occasionally, the Duke’s shoes would become visible, and Natasha secretly stole glances at the small face projected above them.

By the time the sun had half descended, the sketch was complete. Squeeeze, came the sound of squeezing out paint.

“Can you discern colors well? Not to mention the cloth between us, colors will appear faded when dusk falls.”

The curious man attempted conversation after a long while. His words were strangely thorny.

Translating into formal speech, it would be something like, ‘Why must we paint the portrait in such a cumbersome place rather than an enclosed space?’

When communicating with the ducal family, she had added the condition of working in a place with large windows. It was because she felt that without borrowing nature’s power, the sound of her languidly beating heart and tense breaths might reach him.

“It’s fine.”

“You really are a troublesome artist.”

“It seems you are not pleased with my working method, Your Grace. Then why did you choose me as the artist for your portrait?”

It was true. The one actually responsible for hiring Natasha, with her demanding conditions and suspicious identity, was Sieghart Asthart himself.

Whether it was difficult to answer or he had nothing to say, no further words were heard. Knowing the man’s long-standing habit, Natasha did not press him unnecessarily.

Then at some point, the man’s shoes visible through the cloth began to show subtle changes, rising and falling at regular intervals. His posture had also become oddly skewed.

She thought about pointing out the man’s posture, but kept it to herself. She focused on mixing paints to create basic colors. First was the skin.

Skin slightly darker than mine.

Though perhaps completely fair at birth, skin slightly darkened by various training. A color a bit darker than Natasha’s.

Lips slightly paler than mine.

Lively, but less bright than hers and with a hint of flesh tone.

Hair the opposite of mine.

Pitch black, elegant rather than flashy in color.

Various colors were on the palette.

‘Compared to me…’

The brush placing paint on the towel suddenly stopped.

There was space left to paint the eyes.

‘A little… darker…’

She needed to mix red with deep blue and black.