“Promise.”

Under Aaron’s intense desire, Delia felt breathless, crushed.

As Delia, gasping for air, barely managed to utter a sound, “Okay.”

Before Aaron attempted to draw another picture.

Before Aaron tried to snatch the portrait he drew.

It seemed she had to hand the portrait to him.

“I will draw the portrait.”

At Delia’s reluctantly given consent, Aaron gently curved his eyes and smiled.

“Good choice.”

Whispering softly, Aaron kissed the lips that were almost touching.

Aaron moistened his lips, which had become even redder, by gently sucking on her lower lip, creating a gap.

He delved into the space, searching for what he desired, through slow movements that brushed against wet membranes.

Between the slow movements, a faint moan melted and flowed.

The sounds of their exchanged breaths became stickier.

Before sending it, he wanted to feel more.

The crying sound, like a baby kitten bursting into tears every time it shook.

The wet, blurred blue eyes.

The sweet fragrance permeating the swollen breath.

All those things that could never be captured in a portrait.

He wanted to feel them more deeply.

At the moment when Aaron’s movements, overtaken by intense desire, were about to intensify further.

Crack.

A sharp cracking sound penetrated between them.

Tick, tock.

The sound of four horses galloping with glossy manes fluttering echoed.

A carriage engraved with the symbol of the royal family stopped in front of the Picherin workshop.

The sound of the carriage door opening in the eerily silent workshop was unusually loud.

Through the open door, the hem of a delicate dress was lengthily draped.

Assisted by a maid, the queen, who got off the carriage, glanced around the dormant workshop.

The eerie air, saturated with silence, tingled on her skin like feathers.

However, the queen didn’t stop.

Gripping the dress more tightly, she stepped forward.

The queen’s shoe descended onto the flower Delia had stepped on a while ago.

The fragrance of crushed flowers wafted through the air.

The queen’s footsteps, traversing the workshop’s garden, were blocked not long after by someone.

“Ha-ha. Greetings, the Queen of Iorenti.”

Colin’s awkward greeting resonated loudly through the workshop’s garden.

Dyke, who was busy repairing broken marble pieces, also followed suit with a greeting.

“Greetings to the Queen of Iorenti.”

The gaze of Queen Eleanor, who received their greetings, sank deeply.

The person Queen Eleanor faced was, as she had sufficiently anticipated but still hoped otherwise, the Imperial soldiers.

Moreover, they were the closest aides of the commander.

The queen’s voice, questioning, automatically sharpened.

“Why are you two here?”

The queen looked around as she asked.

Did they threaten the workshop people to expel them?

Fury filled Queen Eleanor’s eyes as she glared at Colin and Dyke.
“Your Majesty, I had no idea that the beautiful queen herself would visit here.”

Colin’s cheeky response made the queen’s voice sharp.

“I inquired about the reason for my visit, not the reason for your procession.”

Dyke answered the queen’s question.

“We are here under the command of the commander, representing the Stileitz and Iorenti nations.”

While explaining, Dyke glanced briefly at Meredis, who was standing behind the queen with a resentful expression, as if he had already been caught.

As Dyke’s voice, understanding the situation, gradually faded as if it would disappear.

“For peace…”

“For the peace of both nations, what do the Imperial soldiers have to do in the Iorenti workshop?”

“Oh, that.”

Just as Colin and Dyke were anxiously searching for an answer, a voice like salvation echoed behind them.

“Mother.”

Delia, who had rushed out of the Picherin workshop building, stood in front of the queen.

Whether it was because of the rush or because she was caught doing something else.

Delia breathed heavily.

“What happened here?”

“I should be the one asking that.”

The queen controlled her surging emotions and gripped the hem of her dress.

“Why are you here? You detest coming to the workshop.”

“Oh. I have something to think about.”

The queen silently observed Delia.

She spoke with a thin voice, like a child caught doing something wrong.

“Why did you come all the way here to think about it?”

“I was contemplating whether to draw a portrait.”

“A portrait? Why are you suddenly interested in portraits when you’ve always refused until now?”

“Well, probably because I’ve been through difficult times, and my heart feels uneasy.”

Delia twirled a strand of hair that hung loose, empty of guilt and filled with regret.

She didn’t want to worry her mother.

She wished she could endure a little more even if she wanted to see him.

If only she could see him briefly and then return.

It was her own fault for getting lost in the comforting warmth he provided, forgetting about time.

Delia, immersed in regret, avoided the queen’s gaze by lowering her eyes.

“If that’s the case, you should have told me. I would have brought a skilled artist to you.”