Page 64 of The Shadow of Breninsol
She smirked as she thought he’d be rather upset if he knew she’d been getting in here for free.
The man bowed with a smile that she disliked. “Your Lordship.”
Eleanor felt herself freeze, not from the frosted breeze nipping through her cloak, but from the dread that washed over her.She’d almost forgotten who the man standing next to her was, along with his title. She hadn’t even addressed him as such, and she hadn’t curtsied or shown him any deferential treatment for his position in the nobility.
The man continued to address the marquis. Neither of the men had any idea about her internal trepidation. “Thank you very much. As always, we value your patronage, my lord. I hope you and your…lady enjoy the King’s Museum, my lord.” Eleanor didn’t miss the hesitation and the doubtful look the man gave her, uncertain of her status on the arm of this aristocrat.
Her lack of jewels was clear and her clothes looked positively beggarly compared to the marquis’s opulent outfit. It was enough to tell everyone who she wasn’t. Her cloak covered most of the worn bits of her dress, but exposed more skin than she felt comfortable showing before her first coffee of the day. The colour of her dress was more of a muted steel, but the hem was more of a murky grey, bordering on muddy brown, giving away its weathered stains.
“If you require a tour. I’d only be too happy to give you one personally, my lord,” the man continued.
At first, the circular brooch struck her as oddly shaped, then she thought it a pomegranate. Upon closer inspection, Eleanor recognised the shape. Where she’d envisioned a pomegranate crown atop the brooch, it was two hands clasped at the wrist, fingers raised.
“That won’t be necessary, curator.” The marquis’s clipped tone brought her back to the conversation as he hinted to the overbearing curator he was done.
“Very good, my lord,” the curator replied as he gave a low bow.
Leaving Eleanor to wonder how many times a person needed to use someone’s title in a sentence?
They entered the double-tiered domed foyer, filled with well-dressed people bustling around and queuing for entrance tickets. Eleanor didn’t want to look too closely at the gigantic shimmering multi-coloured chandelier. She was sure many mortal artists had tried and failed to recreate it. Every item that Melding crafted was unmatched in its uniqueness. Some suspected unstable magic between the Melding witches, but she knew the source was the merging of emotions. Maintaining the balance proved difficult, if not impossible. Melding between two witches was only something she had heard of as a witchling. It’d become so rare for two witches to join and let each other close to their magical heart, their inner spark, where the core of their magic lived. It required complete trust, and witches had spent the better part of a lifetime to achieve that. But there had been a time, long before her lifetime, where witches Melded, and produced the awe-inspiring beauty now displayed above her, regardless of whether the magic still lingered within it.
There were many similar objects housed in this museum. Witch artisans had crafted and created them, but over the years, people misidentified and mislabelled them. These items, once created for function, decoration, sound, and life, now lie lifeless and captive behind glass, where anyone can stare and dismiss them for a price that profits the king’s line.
Surprisingly, the marquis hadn’t closed the museum to the public, and their entrance into the museum had gone largely unnoticed. Until they continued to follow the curator with his head held high, confidently parading them past those waiting for tickets. If their blatant queue jumping wasn’t enough to attract attention, then the timely clicking of the marquis’s cane with his steps made heads turn in their direction.
Eleanor felt the weight of intense gazes, barely hiding the lust in their eyes for him, but spearing daggers at her, the woman on his arm. She knew she was being judged, and her shabby outfit reflected her worth. Again, her worth was being weighed before a crowd and she was sure she’d been found wanting.
As they progressed through the foyer, a rippling wave of hushed voices followed them. Undoubtedly, they were all trying to figure out who she was. It was clear whose arm she was touching. His reputation preceded him.
The Marquis of Laerus.
He looked like a man who knew exactly what he was capable of. His movements were sleek and graceful as he moved through the patrons, people stepping to the side to give them a wide berth.
Women gave them what Eleanor could only guess, from the sheer number of eyelashes fluttering, were their best seductive looks. Either that, or many had an eye irritation. She even caught the sight of some women pulling their dresses or bodices down, unbuttoning, or unlacing the tops of their outfits to reveal an ample amount of cleavage. Each hoping to catch the marquis’s attention and have a rags-to-riches story. If only these women knew, those stories weren’t real.
Eleanor let them see what they wanted and held her chin up, not allowing herself to be cowed by their glares, and not letting them see any weakness. She found ignoring others simpler than expected, immersed within the marquis’s sphere.
The curator gave them that strange smile and bowed deeply at the open doors that’d lead them into the museum’s galleries. “I hope you enjoy your visit with us, my lord.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Sculpture Hall
The marquis brought her into the King’s Hall Gallery, which had a steady stream of people milling around, fascinated equally with the paintings and the Marquis of Laerus. The long, tall room accommodated the series of huge paintings depicting the life of King Iacobus, the King’s grandfather. The Witch Hunter King. The paintings dwarfed the doors, which were twice a person’s height. King Iacobus’s life was supposedly depicted in various scenes and states of address: childhood, life as a king, and his ruling. Of course, all the paintings showed King Iacobus as a young, handsome, and virile man.
Eleanor was grateful she’d already been here. When she’d seen these paintings for the first time, she’d wanted to burn not just the room to the ground but the entire museum. It’d been one of the handful of times she’d wished for her magic once more, although she didn’t think she’d have stopped at reducing the museum to ashes, and thoughts like that scared her.
He led her to the first painting,The Destiny of King Iacobus, which showed a young, attractive nude man with golden hair resting on clouds surrounded by three beautiful and equally naked, unknown women. Or so the painting label stated. To Eleanor they bore a likeness of the Mothers that she’d seen in her studies as a witchling. In the top half of the painting, the bright sunlight surrounded the young attractive man while, underneath the cloud he was resting on, the stars shone brightly.
“This painting influenced a king having Favours,” the marquis read from the painting’s label. Eleanor scoffed under her breath, but the marquis continued. “As there’s more than one nakedfemalewith the king, it’s destined for the king’s line to require manyfemalesto slake a king’s sexual desires. To be chosen as a king’s Favour is to be touched by his Light.”
Eleanor remained quiet and moved ontoThe Birth of the Prince.It showed a woman with a robe draped over her, presenting a baby with a ring of gold around his little head to unknown men and women, also partially draped in fabric.
She didn’t want to hear whatever was written on the painting’s plaque again, but she wanted to break the silence between them, rather than contemplate the paintings in front of her.
Eleanor gave a light cough before she asked. “Have you decided which courtesan you’re going to make a Favour of, Your Lordship? Iris would be a good choice; she’d enjoy the dresses. Jasmine would enjoy keeping everyone in line for you, and Calla would always make you laugh.”
Eleanor continued listing the courtesans she knew as the silent marquis moved with her to the next painting.The Education of the Princeshowed a golden-haired adolescent, Iacobus, studying in daylight with piles of books around him. Some titles were decipherable, and his sword and shield rested in the darkened edges. A foreboding of things to come in the time of this king.
