Boy Who Cried Wolf 「1850s/ Victorian AU| Blinded Paul Weller × Reader 」

Chapter 17 [Paintings of Royalty]

Paul sat, meticulously painting the portrait of King Sting. The valet, Talbot, turned to you both, his voice trembling slightly. "Sir... his painting. You must deliver it. To his... his oh goodness. His Majesty..." Talbot stuttered, clearly terrified of the King. Everyone was. The King was a figure of fear, rumoured to be either insane or malicious. He had killed many, though only non-humans. His reputation was one of terror.

Paul smiled, though he couldn't see it. He went to change into his formal attire, a posh and elegant outfit of squid ink colour. He wore a black tailcoat, suit, jabot covering his neck, gloves, and warm riding boots. He helped you into Lady Deanna's old coat, as it was a cold autumn evening with leaves of orange and red blowing in the wind. You spun around the ballroom for a little dance before leaving, feeling both nervous and excited. You remembered Paul's warning that the King would kill anyone or anything non-human. Was he joking? Paul seemed scared, unsure of what the King might do.

You both boarded a carriage to Buckingham Palace, the King's loyal home. "Paul," you whispered. He hummed in response. "I'm a little scared..." you admitted. Paul turned to you, kissing your neck. "Don't be," he reassured you. You grabbed his shoulder, smiling softly. "O-oh Paul..." you murmured. Paul smiled, holding you close with one hand and the painting between his feet.

Talbot, Paul's valet, accompanied you both, his presence a reminder of Paul's status as a lord. As you walked around the house, Paul sighed softly, thinking of the painting. "Oh lord, he hasn't commissioned me in years... what will he think? King Sting?" he wondered aloud. You squeezed his hand. "I'm sure he'll love it, your lordship," you said reassuringly. Paul smiled, still on edge. "Thank you, darling," he replied.

The carriage ride was long and winding, taking at least two hours. Finally, you arrived at Buckingham Palace, its grandeur looming before you. The journey had been filled with anticipation and a touch of fear, but now you were here, ready to face whatever awaited inside.As you stepped out of the carriage, the cold autumn air nipped at your cheeks. The palace gates loomed tall and imposing, guarded by stern-faced soldiers. Talbot led the way, his steps hesitant but determined. Paul held the painting tightly, his knuckles white with tension.

Inside the palace, the opulence was overwhelming. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the walls were adorned with rich tapestries and portraits of past monarchs. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers. Servants scurried about, their eyes downcast, avoiding any direct gaze.

You were led through a series of grand halls until you reached the throne room. The doors were massive, carved with intricate designs of mythical creatures and battles long past. Talbot knocked, and the doors creaked open, revealing the throne room bathed in golden light.

King Sting sat on his throne, a figure of regal menace. His eyes were sharp, and his presence commanded the room. He wore a crown that glinted in the light, and his robes were of the finest silk, embroidered with symbols of power and authority. The room fell silent as you entered, all eyes on the painting Paul carried.

Paul stepped forward, his heart pounding. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice steady despite his fear. "I present to you the portrait you commissioned."

King Sting's gaze shifted to the painting, and for a moment, the room held its breath. The King rose from his throne, his movements deliberate and slow. He approached the painting, his eyes narrowing as he examined it.

The silence was deafening. You could feel the tension in the air, the fear and anticipation. Paul stood tall, his face a mask of calm, though you knew he was terrified inside.

Finally, King Sting spoke. "It is... magnificent," he declared, his voice echoing through the hall. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. Paul bowed deeply, his relief palpable."How was it painted?" the King inquired, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. Talbot quickly covered the wound on your cheek, but it was too late. Paul responded, "Blood..."
The King raised an eyebrow, his confusion evident. "Are you insane? What has that woman done to your head?" he demanded, his voice rising with incredulity. "Not very humanlike. Is it Paul? What are you really?"