Paint is a type of magic, all of its own. One day I hope to be able to do it justice. In the meantime, exploring its potential is wonderful.
I pick up the thin brush I’m experimenting with. I want to try more blues. Maybe I can do a sky as my first proper picture? That would be lovely. I’ve always enjoyed watching the clouds.
Behind me, the door to the art studio quietly opens. Tendrils of Selwyn’s magic flutter across my skin. Soft and warm.
My pulse quickens. I put the brush down, turn to face my husband, and drop into a curtsy.
Selwyn frowns. “There is no need for formalities between us.”
“Sorry,” I drop my head. Damn it, I thought a bit of formality might ease things between us. Seems I was wrong, as usual.
He says nothing. Instead, he drifts silently across the room. I sense the movement far more than I hear it. He walks like a predator, all silent grace.
I keep my gaze firmly on my toes. I have no idea what he wants from me. In general, as well as at this precise moment. I have no clue as to how to behave. The best I cando is to be as unobtrusive as possible. Quiet and biddable. It was what I was taught.
I’ve been fretting about his outburst in the stone circle. I still can’t make head nor tail of it. The only thing I understand is that I am a terrible consort. So, I need to try harder. Be better. Do better.
“Paint me.”
Selwyn is reclining on the chaise longue.
My mouth drops open, and my eyebrows rise. Paint him? Oh my, what a request. This is the very last thing I was expecting.
He flashes me a wolfish grin, and my stomach does something strange. He knows exactly how much he has flustered me, and he likes it. Which makes me like it too. I want nothing more than to please him.
I take a deep breath. “May I draw you instead? I’m much better with pencils.”
Selwyn’s grin intensifies. “It would be an honour to be drawn by you again.”
Heat races along my cheeks. I’d forgotten that he saw the slightly porny picture I drew of him before our wedding. I’m so glad he doesn’t seem the least bit offended by it.
I nod jerkily and then fumble through taking the canvas down and putting a large sketchbook on the easel instead. Selwyn waits patiently while I scramble around finding my pencils.
I suck in another deep breath. I’m as ready as I will ever be. It’s time to begin.
I look at Selwyn sitting decadently on the chaise longue as if he hasn’t a care in the world. He is a frightening enigma. My husband. Mage to my vessel. The only personI have ever been intimate with. But if I put all of that aside, and view him purely as an art subject… he is stunning.
His long brown hair has a rich, burnished chestnut gleam to it. His limbs are long and shapely. He is wearing a billowing white shirt and ornate waistcoat again. His trousers are expertly tailored and show the definition of his thighs. His knee-high boots are somehow very princely.
The clothes are great, but it is definitely the man within them that is truly striking. I really don’t think I’m capable of capturing his essence. The sheer presence of him.
I can draw the antlers. The pointed ears. The high cheekbones and the cat-slited pupils. I even think I can do his eyes. But I can’t drawhim.This piece of paper will never hold what it feels like to stand before him.
The pencil moves across the paper. I want to try. Having him right here, is going to be far better than drawing him from memory.
A near-silence falls. Graphite across parchment is the only sound.
“How did you learn to draw?” Selwyn says.
“I just kept experimenting. Lots of trial and error,” I say. “Mostly error.” My mind feels calm, as it often does when I am drawing.
“You didn’t have any lessons?” Selwyn sounds surprised.
I squint as I focus on the curve of his jaw. “No. Vessels don’t need to know how to draw.”
“What do vessels need to know?”
I snort. “How to be obedient and how to gracefully spread their legs.”
