The King's Artist

Ch 11: A Little Bit of Guilt

Adelaide wasn't very good at riding horseback, that was very clear by the death grip she had on the reins and the lofty, concentrated look on her face. Despite her lack of natural talent, however, she was managing to enjoy herself. The sway of the horse beneath her was exciting and calming at the same time. The horse's powerful muscles rippled from between her legs and the horse's mane tickled her hands as it brushed against her skin. The soothing air that brushed past her face was comforting and took away the surprising heat of the day.

Henry didn't seem to pay Adelaide much attention as they rode. His horse's strides were much further ahead than hers yet he was still talking animatedly about the landscape and the animals that they trotted past. The guards, of course, were more focused on protecting Henry and were circling him with little to no concern for Adelaide. This meant she was left mostly to herself. The only one who did remain by her side was the handsome guard Kayden, who Adelaide figured had been assigned specifically to her.

"So how exactly did you and Henry meet?" Kayden asked as their horses eased into a steady walk. Adelaide looked over at Kayden curiously as he spoke. He was the only guard she had heard address Henry so casually. Kayden took in Adelaide's confused and slightly stunned expression and laughed. "Henry and I grew up together. He's always been really strict about me calling him by his name. It's the same with you, I presume?"

Adelaide nodded and felt her heart sink a bit. She had been under the impression she was the only one who called Henry by his name rather than by his title. She felt a little less important now.

"My father used to serve Henry's father. They both ended up passing away the same year. He died from an illness, though. I was four at the time but I don't really remember him much. He was never really around," Kayden continued. He spoke in a nonchalant manner which intrigued Adelaide. She, herself, hated talking about her parents and revealing that she never got to know them. Kayden, however, seemed unbothered by the nature of their discussion. Maybe it was because he was older, but discussing his dead father seemed almost easy for him.

"You're very open," Adelaide commented. Kayden glanced at her and grinned sheepishly.

"I bear my feelings for everyone to see," he stared, laughing slightly. "Holding things in has never been my strong point. I've also never had to put up a facade," Kayden said looking at Henry's back. "In a way, I express the emotions Henry's not allowed to."

Adelaide followed Kayden's line of sight. Henry was still talking loudly to no one in particular. He was smiling but Adelaide, even from a distance, could tell his eyes were vacant. She had hoped the riding trip would have alleviated some of his tension, but she could tell it just had the opposite effect. Henry wanted freedom more than ever now. Having seen what the world outside the walls was like just made him long for it to be permanent rather than a temporary journey.

It was an uncomfortable silence for several moments before Adelaide realized she had never answered Kayden's question.

"I met Henry on the boat," Adelaide suddenly said, still staring at Henry. "I had snuck on a few hours prior and we coincidently met as you and the other guards hijacked the ship."

Kayden nodded his head as he glanced several times at Adelaide.

"I thought it was strange that you just suddenly appeared from below deck as we were docking," Kayden said with a smile. "You and Henry appear really close, though. If I didn't know better, I would have thought you two had known one another for years. You're more of a childhood friend than I am."

Adelaide smiled slightly at the comment but didn't continue the conversation. True, she and Henry were close. She, at his point, even considered him her best friend. But she felt guilty every time he called her Arthur. It felt as if she was lying to him constantly. She found herself wondering if their relationship would be the same if he knew she was a girl. Would he be angry at her for deceiving him? She feared his reaction to the truth.

She hastily shook the thought from her head. It wasn't something she enjoyed contemplating and she pushed aside the notion as quickly as it would come. Instead, she redirected her attention to her surroundings. She was supposed to be finding inspiration, a purpose to paint.

Eventually, Adelaide found herself getting lost in the movements of the horse and the passing scenery. Henry had stopped chatting away and had dropped back to ride alongside Adelaide. The stillness between them was calming and the quiet comfortable. She liked that they didn't need to constantly talk. Adelaide was never very good at carrying on long conversations anyway. 

She wasn't sure how much time passed before Henry called for a break alongside a steady stream. Each individual dismounted and allowed their horses to graze in the open field. Henry seated himself against the trunk of the only tree for miles and shut his eyes after sighing heavily. Adelaide accompanied him, settling underneath the canopy of leaves and catching glimpses of shimmering sunlight. She set her bag next to her but didn't remove any of its content. The guards positioned themselves in a wide circle around them, each facing away and at a distance where they couldn't be heard.

"Have you found any inspiration yet, Arthur?" Henry questioned still with his eyes shut. When Adelaide didn't answer, his eyes slowly opened and he took in her expression and the untouched bag. He sighed again and leaned forward onto his knees. "So I have a theory about why you've been unable to paint recently. Want to hear it?"

Adelaide cocked her head to the side but shrugged her shoulders.

"My theory is that it isn't that you can't paint, it's that you just won't," Henry stated in confidence. "You feel guilty for not using your father's supply and for having access to a bunch of new and fancy materials that he could only dream about when he was alive. But it's not like you can paint with your father's stuff either. That would mean you'd dwindle away the worth of the last connection you have to him. Eventually, everything he passed onto you would be useless and empty and you would have nothing left of him."

Adelaide stared hard at Henry as he finished speaking. His bluntness was annoying but so was his spot-on reasoning. She hadn't known it before, but the moment he verbalized her internal struggles, she knew he was right. It felt silly, but she didn't want to paint with things that weren't her father's. But she didn't want to use up the things her father had passed on to her either.

"So what do you suggest I do?" Adelaide asked softly. Henry gave her a sincere smile as he leaned backward.

"It's actually pretty simple," Henry said shutting his eyes again and putting his hands behind his head. "You get over yourself and paint. I'm sure your father would be disappointed with you if he knew you weren't taking advantage of all the wonderful things you've been given. No decent parent would be jealous of their child."

Adelaide's eyes stung with tears that she refused to let fall. She took a calming breath before removing a piece of parchment from her back and with it a bottle of black paint and a brush. While Henry dozed, Adelaide painted.

But rather than painting the gorgeous horses that stood nearby or the stretch of land interrupted only by a small stream or even the handsome Kayden, Adelaide drew Henry. With the fine tip of her brush, she sketched the curve of his lips, the angle of his jaw, and captured the careless way his hair fell around his face. When she was finished, she took in the portrait of a pretty and young boy who already had the air and burden of a man upon his shoulders.

When Henry asked to see the picture later when they returned to the castle, Adelaide had promptly and rather aggressively refused. For some reason, she found herself embarrassed by the detail in which she had drawn him. With a flushed face, she hurried off to her quarters and hid the picture beneath her pillow. She wasn't sure why, but she did.

And there the picture remained for the following year before being joined by another picture of Henry, who was now painted a year older. The years preceding that one went by in the same manner. Before long, Adelaide had a collection of six portraits of Henry, all secretly kept and each oddly precious to her.