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“They’re very pretty,” I compliment.
“Of course they are. They’re you,” he says, as if it’s obvious.
A flush of warmth travels from my neck down to my spine. I move to the workstation near the window. Selection of crayons, cans of paint, and charcoals rest at the heart of the table.
“Would you like to try?” he asks, his dark eyes unblinking.
This man is my captor. I should be terrified, running, and screaming. But I never got the chance to explore what I wanted after Aerin crowned me as queen. I nod at the offer before I can stop myself.
The paintbrush feels awkward in my hand the moment I take it. I feel stupid for even wanting to do this, but Svenn has already filled the palette with all sorts of colors for me. It would be a waste if I didn’t use them.
I frown at the wall. “There’s no space left…”
“Just paint over mine,” he replies, noticing my uncertainty.
The thought of ruining his wondrous paintings makes me cringe. I circulate the room from end to end, reluctant to spoil any of them. I finally pick a spot where it’s mostly filled with an illustration of my silver hair.
“I don’t even know how to start,” I murmur to myself.
“Whatever comes to mind.” His voice gentles.
I picture Kiiska and Ksatka swimming free in the ocean, dancing with fishes, octopi, and whales. I decide to draw a leatherback sea turtle.
The bird of the ocean.
A symbol of freedom.
I don’t want to give Svenn any impression that I like staying here as his prisoner. But it’s hard fighting a smile that’s already finding its way to my lips when I dab that first color on the wall. I become more confident with each passing stroke.
This is fun.
For a moment, I’m not someone stuck with a heavy burden on my shoulder, for a moment I do not have to lie and pretend.
I’m simply Nel who likes to paint.
It’s easy to forget where I am and who I am when I’m with Svenn. I allow myself to enjoy this moment for what it is.
Before my legs begin to cramp, I realized my evil captor has planted a stool behind me. My heart squeezes at the gesture but I hope my face doesn’t show how touched I am. I happily settle on it to continue my painting.
I pour my heart and soul into the design, but something goes terribly wrong…
The more I try to correct the shape of the turtle’s head, the more hideous it gets. Maybe I shouldn’t have mixed the dark paint with the other colors because it’s taking over my entire palette now.
I stare back at my creation in horror. It was going so well in the beginning. But now it simply looks like a stickman with a bobbly head.
Svenn approaches me and freezes in front of the wall. His once beautiful masterpiece is completely ruined now. My fingers quiver when I remember that one time Blaire got whipped because she failed to draw a proper lotus flower in the Arawynn temple.
I consider apologizing, but Svenn was the one who told me to paint on the wall. I lower the brush and wait for the lashing.
“Is that me?” he suddenly asks.
My heart stiffens at the question.
How in the world did he arrive at that conclusion? I cast another glance at my sea turtle. It does look like a demented homunculus after my multiple alterations.
A mischievous grin finds its way to my lips. I give my atrocious artwork two dots of red for his scarlet eyes. “Yes, it is.”
It’s a little mean, but this evil tyrant has kidnapped me to this abandoned castle, told me he would do wicked things to me, and burned my dress. This is the least I can do to get back at him. A mischievous grin tugs my lips.
