Court Painter

| 14

"It's hard to say," Arden finally answers. "I loved being at home and I love my family but they all fit so well together and I am just a piece that doesn't quite lay flat next to the rest." Arden hesitates. "Other than father, but he learned to fit in I suppose. He was my real comfort really. He's the reason I love painting."

In spite of the settling darkness, Arden can feel Mayven watching her, moonlight catches on the glimpse of his ocean-like eyes. "So you left to discover where you do fit?"

Arden shakes her head. "I believe if the Queen had not found me, I might've been there forever. I wasn't trying to leave. Indra would've been the one to leave. She was so...perfect. She is probably to be married soon and Mother was disgraced by my lack of interest in the men I was introduced to."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Well, what was wrong with the men?"

Arden clasps her hands together nervously. "Honestly, I think I am broken. I don't want to be ruled every day of my life. My sisters and Mother were so very good at just keeping house and feeing the family. I want so much more than that and I know I shouldn't."

Mayven laughs a little before unexpectedly taking Arden's hand, sending a shrill of electricity between their fingertips. "I don't think you're broken. You're just meant for greater things than making dinner for a man every day of your life."

Struggling to respond, Arden can hardly focus beyond his strong hand over hers. Miraculously, she manages to gently slip her hand away from his and speak. "Perhaps that's what my heart tells me, but the world tells me I am to fit a mold. They will enforce that upon me."

"Not if you don't let them." Mayven speaks, seemingly unmoved by her rejection of his touch,

"I can't simply refuse to comply," Arden says. "I want to be a historical painter and yet that right is reserved for men."

Mayven is silenced momentarily before he bellows out in laughter. "I have no doubt that your historical paintings would be far superior to the masters. However, I tremendously enjoy the idea of a single woman sitting in a room full of men while she paints the details of a bare man."

Arden's cheeks flush. "And yet a single woman can sit bare for a man to be painted and it is thought nothing of."

Mayven shrugs, his black hair catching the moon's eye. "You're quite right." He stands, offering her a hand to help her upright. An offer she accepts. Once more, their hands connect, his firm grip pulling her up and closer to him. Too close. Arden would argue that the lack of distance between their bodies is improper but something tugging within her chest conflicts those feelings of impropriety. How can such an alluring feeling be so bad? How can she feel so drawn to a man she hardly knows while she's spent her whole life rejecting men she had oftentimes known since childhood? Everything about this man seems to understand her heart and her mind. The way his eyes asses hers, staring deeply into them, not daring to travel elsewhere on her body. The way he tries to understand what she says and what she feels and how he so effortlessly shares his own mind and heart. Arden might be convinced that he was trying to take advantage of her were it not for the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he seemed to have no intention of even breathing near her without her permission.

Her breathing steepens, feeling shallow and caught against her heartbeat. A pleasant yet sickly feeling twists in her stomach, enhanced by the suddenly tight-feeling corset. His head holds her's still, gently urging her to come a step closer. Arden complies, her eyes studying the shadows of his face in the night. 

"I am glad you've come, Mistress Vigee," Mayven whispers.

"When we are alone," She answeres. "Would you call me Arden?"

A moment of silence passes as his hand moves from hers to her waist. "Arden," He says. "May I kiss you?"

Arden's breath finally gives way, escaping in a sigh of tension. Her mind feels restricted, functioning and processing slower than usual. All she can focus on is the way his figure fades into darkness like in her father's paintings, only certain features revealed, others completely concealed in tenebrism. His strong hand pressed gently into her back, inviting her to press herself to him, but not forcing. It's all up to her and somewhere within her, Arden wants to accept. She wants to say 'yes.' She wants to feel his lips upon hers. 

"I've never..." She stops herself, feeling childish in a moment.

"You've never been kissed?"

Arden shakes her head. "I have not."

"Do you want me to?" His voice is low, drowning in a desire to feel her as well, a desire to pull this new and confusing woman into him. His need to know her every thought, every belief, every opinion drives him crazy and he's only known her a few days. 

After seconds of contemplating and doubting and trying to talk herself out of it, Arden finally nods. "Kiss me."