He nodded slowly. “My father’s father and his father before him all lived in the refugee camp. In a small green cottage.”
“It overlooks the glade,” she said, her eyes lighting up in recognition. “With the two rocking chairs on its porch.”
He smiled, nodding. He continued telling her about how Clara had spotted a painting he had sold to someone in the refugee camp. When she learned he was human, she didn’t seem to care.
“And you decided to sell your paintings,” Evelina said, a smile on her face. “I’m glad.”
Lawrence’s eyes widened, startling and sitting up, but she pressed him gently down.
“I know you’re R.R. I promise not to tell.”
His eyes softened, his body relaxing. “I almost told Clara no when she first asked. She lets me use the back of the shop so I don’t have to be seen. We pretend I’m just the courier in case anybody…”
He didn’t have to say it. There were plenty of fae who would shun his work if they knew it was created by a human. Some might even burn it.
“I’m sorry for the way fae have treated you,” she said honestly.
“I’ve never been one to have friends.” He shrugged, trying to look unbothered. But she could see the pain in his eyes. The loneliness.
It was the kind of loneliness no one should have to experience.She hated the way the realm was still divided, the way the curse left a permanent reminder of the land being broken into two.
“Well, now you have a one.” She smiled and so did he.
Slowly, Lawrence came to the palace more and more. He and Evelina spent months together in the gallery room and he would bring a painting or two each time.
The room was empty save for the paintings on the walls and a lounge chaise in the center. She would come and sit in here, staring at the paintings of the realm’s landscapes for hours.
Lawrence stood with his back to her, looking at the section of R.R. paintings she had hung up.
“I painted this one in a meadow by the southern coast,” he said quietly.
“I love your landscapes,” said Evelina. “But have you ever considered portraits?”
He paused, considering. She was almost certain he was going to deny her, but then he said, “For a friend, I’m open to suggestions.”
Evelina beamed. “Then be my official royal portraitist.”
At this, he looked at her, his eyes wide. “Is that even a real position?”
She laughed. “No, but that’s the benefit of being queen.” Her smile faded when she realized he didn’t believe her.
“I…can’t,” he said. “The fae would never accept?—”
“I accept you, Lawrence. The realm will one day do the same,” she said gently. His eyes softened, a hopeful look in them. “So, what do you say?”
He nodded, his gaze determined. “It would be my honor.”
Seventy-Five
Evelina
The entire palace was quiet,even though the sun was high in the sky. It would typically be bustling with life by now. But that was how each celebration before the trial went: a twenty-four-hour long party, resulting in fae sleeping the entire next day, only to wake up just in time to either take the trial or anxiously await the return of someone they knew taking it.
It was the reason Evelina was able to escape to the Radix Room tonight. She brought the painting standing guard at the entrance a crystalized rock she had found in Astern. Only those who brought a gift to her would be let into the room with the Mother Tree. Evelina had been doing it for so long that she knew just the kind of trinkets the painting would like.
“This is from beside the Syreni castle,” she whispered, holding it out.
The woman in the painting opened an eye and peeked out. The painting shifted as the woman leaned forward and plucked the rock from Evelina’s hand. She settled back into place and clutched the rock to her chest.
