Portrait of An Arrogant Master - Chapter 165

The attendant, unable to block the Elder Madam’s path, fidgeted nervously and followed her from behind.

Benedict’s bedroom was a complete mess. Liquor bottles were scattered haphazardly, with a few broken ones lying in pieces on the floor. The curtains were drawn so tightly that no light could escape, and the bed was completely obscured by a draped cloth.

Ottilie pinched her nose at the musty smell, then shot a sharp look at the attendant.

“What have you been doing, leaving it in such a state?”

“Well, His Highness ordered it left as is…”

“You should’ve cleaned it up! What if His Highness hurts himself on the glass?”

“I’m sorry! I’ll clean it up right now!”

“Tch. Do it later. Leave for now, I have something to discuss with His Highness.”

“Yes, Madam…”

With that, all the attendants left the room. Ottilie carefully stepped around the shards of glass and pulled back the curtains. As the room was illuminated, the chaos inside became even more clear.

With a sigh, she lifted the drapes.

“Your Highness, it’s morning.”

Expecting Benedict to be asleep from drunkenness, Ottilie was surprised to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning against the headboard with a vacant look in his eyes.

Despite the sudden flood of light into the room, he didn’t react. He sat slumped, devoid of any vitality, almost as if he were a lifeless corpse.

“Queen Croix would be so pleased to see you like this.”

Croix was Benedict’s mother’s name. Ottilie had helped Croix, a commoner sculptor, adjust to life in the royal court during her time in the Ciseina royal family, and they had developed a deep bond.

It was because of this connection that the transaction between Obelit and Ciseina had become more than a formality.

“Even if you’re not feeling well, you must still eat.”

Benedict’s vacant gaze slowly shifted toward Ottilie as she mentioned his mother’s name. In just a few days, he had lost a significant amount of weight.

“Has Duke Krygen returned…?”

“The carriage has arrived, but the Duke is handling other matters and will arrive tomorrow.”

“I see…”

Benedict’s heart sank deeper. He must have been lovesick. It was unbearable to watch.

“Have you developed feelings for that painter?”

“….”

Benedict didn’t respond, but his eyes, filled with pain, and his tightly pressed lips were enough to confirm the truth.

“I heard from the guests. They saw you and Miss Horton leave the garden during the banquet. But why did Rubens and that young lady leave in the carriage?”

“…When Duke Krygen returns, you can ask him directly. It’s not something I can explain.”

Even while his face showed signs of a man who had just lost his woman, Benedict was still trying to maintain his loyalty to Rubens. Ottilie found his actions foolish.

“I want to help.”

Benedict’s eyelids, which had been lowered in sadness, slowly lifted.

“I feel like Duke Krygen’s intentions toward Miss Horton are… unusual.”

“Do you know Miss Macy too, Elder Madam?”

“I don’t know her personally. However, I did have a conversation with Rubens about the painter before.”

Ottilie remembered that day clearly. It was the day she was excitedly heading to Rubens’s office, thinking she had found a promising female artist.

“What do you think of this?”

She showed Rubens Macy’s painting, which had been submitted to the royal competition. Rubens immediately stiffened and asked whose work it was.

“Macy Horton.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. At the time, she had assumed it was because of the trouble the Horton siblings had caused at the Duke’s estate.

“What did you do with the painting you slashed?”

“I discarded it.”

“I had hoped to see it here, what a shame.”

“It was a painting with clear intent to insult, so I destroyed it. What is it you wish to know? I will tell you.”

Once someone had gotten on Rubens’s bad side, it was difficult to change his mind, so she assumed he hated her work thoroughly.

“It’s not just about being able to paint figures; it’s about painting them well.”

“A painter of this caliber wouldn’t struggle with figures—”

“They were terrible.”

Ottilie had thought that no one could be that bad at portraits, but since her grandson so clearly hated it, she had no intention of pushing her to win.

The most important thing to her was family.

But, before going to bed, the painting would often pop into her mind. When that happened, Ottilie would wake up and look at it again.

In the forest of the dawn light, there was a sense of loneliness and sadness. It felt as if the sorrow she had buried deep inside was being unearthed.