Young Immortals

Three: Painter

I'm on my hands and knees, cleaning the main hall with a sponge and a bucket of soapy water, when a tubby, green-skinned male approaches me. On my knees, we're eye level, but he'd be no taller than my waist if I stood.

He looks me up and down. "So you're the princess' portrait painter."

I smile and lift my satchel full of art supplies, pretending to miss the judgement in his eyes. "Isobel Pérez, nice to meet you."

"I'm Hunkletoad, one of the resident artisans." Then he hands me a set of keys for the art studio. I quickly accept. I'm only doing preliminary sketching today, but I'd never turn down free supplies. "Walk with me."

As we walk down the halls, he takes three strides for every one of mine. "So do you have any experience painting?"

"A bit. I was about to do an apprenticeship, until the mask happened."

"Well that's good. Royal portraits are usually given to the RAs who trained and hustled for years to earn a spot painting for court, so it's nice that you didn't just stumble into one just by befriending the princess."

"Very nice," I agree without missing the beat–such is the life of a copper. Our limited vocabulary doesn't include the word no, unless it's immediately followed by problem. "Even if my humble talents fall short of what's required, it's an incredible honor to even try painting the princess."

Hunkletoad stops dead in his tracks and levels me with a stunned look. I stop walking, too, and glance over my shoulder, wondering if he's looking at someone else. When I turn back to Hunkletoad, he's staring at the ceiling, as if he is checking the urge to strangle somebody.

"You will not be painting Princess Aerwyna," Hunkletoad says. "Mortal eyes and hands can never capture a fae's beauty. Any attempts of doing so are slander of the highest order. A terrible insult when done to most fae. Treason when done to royalty."

I miss a step, nearly falling on my face.

"What?" Hunkletoad says. "You've never heard of that rule?"

"I have." That's why I always draw Devlin in secret. "But I didn't think it would apply to a portrait painter."

"Yes. You must obscure the princess' body from view, leaving only her clothes and the background intact."

"But," I repeat slowly. "I am painting her portrait."

"Well if the job is too much for you, there's no shame in giving it to someone else."

He reaches for the key. I jerk away, quick like a cat. At his affronted look, I offer him a pleasant smile. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

We exit the palace and enter the gardens. Roughly a field away, Aerwyna awaits me under a gazebo. In the mortal realm, princesses cause a scandal by flashing an inch of ankle. They'd be cast out like a leper if they wore her outfit. 

Her long pale legs emerge from the slit of her tunic, and her neckline plunges across her breasts to gather at her navel. In other words, she couldn't have made my job more difficult if she tried.

Hunkletoad sucks in the side of his cheek as if he is trying not to laugh. "Well, good luck then. I'll be in the studio in case you change your mind."

We part ways, him to the palace and me to Aerwyna. She smiles and waves as I approach. I dip into a curtsy. "Here alright?" she says.

"I was thinking the gazebo, if that suits you, Your Highness." Near the sparring grounds. Near Devlin.

Aerwyna gestures to me. "Lead the way."