The King's Artist

Ch 3: Adelaide and Arthur

Adelaide was already regretting her decision to wait on the boat. Or was it called a ship? Adelaide shook her head in annoyance as she contemplated the differences of certain wording. The chill seeping from the sea was beginning to feel like death and clawed painfully at Adelaide's bones. Her joints ached as if she was already fifth and her jaw felt like it would break with the force of chattering. Her breath materialized in front of her dramatically and not even an hour had passed before she came to regret her decision.

Leaning her head back against the barrels that she current hid beside, she focused on the swaying of the ship rather than the sickening cold. She also began imagining the life that awaited her in Brittany. With the pretense of being male behind her, it seemed like a simple task of selling her artwork. She'd finally be able to put her father's supplies to actual use.

Despite never knowing him, Adelaide had grown up hearing stories from Marian's mother, Martha, about her biological father. It was revealed to Adelaide when she was still very young that he too shared love and infatuation for art that was notorious throughout the village. He was also well known for blowing his money on art supplies and infuriating Adelaide's mother in the process. Whether it was pencils or brushes, ink or paint, canvases or paper, he'd buy it without a second thought.

The only catch was that he wasn't actually very talented.

Many would interpret his artwork as abstract. The villagers especially began seeing it as a symbol of his emotions and ideology when they couldn't figure out what the painting or drawing was actually supposed to be. Martha had once told Adelaide a story where her father had attempted to draw an image of the sea meeting the sky in harmony. A simple scenic picture. Many, however, ended up interpreting it as a chaotic capture of sadness and melancholy that conveyed the painter's grief and sorrow. This, somehow, developed into a rumor that Adelaide's mother was causing her father endless suffering and the only way for him to voice it was to paint it. Even Marian's mother wasn't sure how the rumor started, but it didn't paint Adelaide's mother in very good light which, realistically, angered her.

Another rumor following that incident arose when Adelaide's father painted Adelaide's mother in a portrait. However, the lines ended up blending together too well, and the colors didn't match and disappeared into the background. The painting looked like a blotchy and blurry monster rather than a pretty girl in love. As a result, the villagers interpreted that the picture was another cry for help and that the painter's wife was really a horrible person torturing her husband.

Adelaide had stared at Martha in shock and confusion when she first heard the story.

"Why would they think that?" She'd asked bewildered. Martha had laughed loudly and filled with nostalgia.

"It was mainly because your father always spoke so highly of himself and his talent. He'd tell anyone in earshot that he was a genius and bound to become famous," Marian's mother grinned further at the memory of him. "Being the uneducated fishing village we are, none of u doubted his self-proclaimed talent, and so in order to appear smarter and more knowledgeable of the arts, many pretended to see things that weren't even there."

"That's still a lot to go through to satisfy one man's delusion," Adelaide had responded. "Someone should have just told him he was bad and that he should stop."

"Your father was very charming, Adelaide, " Martha said patting her head. Adelaide was only four years old at the time, but she had squirmed away from the contact in embarrassment at her lack of comprehension of Martha's words. "Everyone in the village loved him and the hard work he put into everything he did. We liked seeing him happy, and art made him happy, so if he said he was talented, we were going to believe that he was."

Adelaide considered Martha's words.

"Then why did everyone start rumors that he was unhappy with my mother?" She finally questioned. Martha laughed again and rocked back in her chair.

"Because while your father was adored, your mother wasn't, " Martha said as gently as possible. "she was known for her irrational behavior and short temper. Despite that, though, your father loved her and she him. I would like to think that they were both very happy together before they got sick."

Adelaide nodded her head as slow tears weld up in her eyes. The loneliness of never getting to know them was beginning to creep up on her as the realization that she'd never share anything with them was weighing down upon her. Martha seemed to sense and gathered Adelaide into her arms while stroking her hair.

"They may not be around anymore, Adelaide, but you carry a lot of them with you, " Martha said quietly. Adelaide looked up inquisitive with her large eyes making Martha smile wider. "For one, you were named after your mother. You also look exactly like her: blonde hair, blue eyes, as pretty as a doll. And two, you share your father's love for art. You're a bit better than him, though."

Adelaide laughed at the remark. Suddenly she still though as she realized something.

"I don't know my father's name, " Adelaide said horrified. Martha calmed her quickly though.

Just as the memory of Martha was about to speak her father's name, Adelaide was ripped from her daydream and back into the storage container of the ship. A loud commotion from outside had stirred the atmosphere, and heavy footstep and shouting were ringing through the air. Swords clashing against one another echoed in the distance as the ship began to sway with movement as it was detached from the harbor. Adelaide felt confusion pierce through her fear as she tried to read the situation. The ship wasn't supposed to leave until morning, but it was setting sail in the middle of the night. There was also the matter of the shouting above and clear turbulence of the crew.

Before she could think of hiding again, heavy footsteps descended the steps of the ship in a hurry to stand directly in front of Adelaide who was ridged in fear. The party was three men and a boy around Adelaide's age. One of the men was drenched in sweat while another was bleeding on his arm and face. The third had such a deadly gaze Adelaide didn't even want to make eye contact. As a result, her eyes landed on the boy. His mossy, brown hair was raggedy and knotted and hung just short of his shoulders. His eyes were wide with alarm, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

At the sight of Adelaide, the three men immediately moved in front of the boy raising their swords as they did. A squeak escaped Adelaide as she backed into one of the barrels, nearly falling over in the process.

"Who are you?" One man barked at her.

"Just a stowaway, " Adelaide said instantly. It didn't really seem like an excellent situation to try and lie. Her words caused the boy to sigh in what she thought of relief. He waved the three men away, and, despite their initial hesitation, they listened.

"You look to be about my age, " the boy said with a charming smiling as he stretched his hand out in greeting. Adelaide started at it warily. "I haven't met another boy my age in a long time, " his laugh was relaxing. "My name is Henry."

Adelaide's eyes went a little wide. She was half insulted that he thought she was a boy and half ecstatic her disguise worked. Hesitantly, she took his hand in hers and shook it.

"I'm Arthur, " she said with unfounded confidence. After living fourteen years under her mothers' name, it only seemed fitting to take her fathers now.