The euphoria of surpassing Ambrose lasted exactly until Elian checked his wallet.
[Current LP: 175][Target Item: Fertility Blocker (500 LP)]
"Three hundred and twenty-five to go," Elian muttered, following Cassian down the grand staircase. "I need a side hustle. Does this world have OnlyFans? OnlyValets?"
"Stop muttering," Cassian said, not looking back. "It is distracting."
They stepped out into the Royal Gardens. It was a beautiful day—birds singing, sun shining, and a massive easel set up in the middle of the rose garden.
Standing next to the easel was Rowena.
She looked immaculate in a gown of deep emerald green that clashed violently with the roses but matched her ambition perfectly. Beside her stood a man with a beret and a mustache so waxed it defied gravity.
[System Alert: Player 2 has initiated 'The Royal Portrait'.][Objective: Cement public image as the 'Official Couple'. Success Rate: 85%.]
"Cassian!" Rowena called out, waving a gloved hand. "You're late. Master Picollo has been waiting to capture the 'Morning Light'."
Cassian stopped. He looked at the easel. He looked at the painter. He looked like he would rather fight a dragon naked.
"I did not agree to this," Cassian said.
"It is for the Solstice banners," Rowena insisted, walking over and looping her arm through his. " The people need to see their Prince. And his... advisors. Strength and Beauty united."
She posed, tilting her head toward his shoulder.
'Strength and Beauty?' Elian thought, gagging internally. 'More like Strength and a Headache.'
[Quest Alert: Sabotage the Romantic Subtext.][Reward: 50 LP.][Bonus: If Rowena is cropped out of the final painting, +20 LP.]
'Seventy points? Say less.'
"Master Picollo," Elian announced, stepping into the frame. "A visionary! I have heard of your work. The way you capture... chins. Magnificent."
The painter bristled. "I capture souls!"
"Right, souls," Elian nodded. "But looking at the Prince right now... his soul looks cramped."
He gestured to where Rowena was clinging to Cassian's bicep like a barnacle.
"The composition is off," Elian declared, walking around them like a director. "It's too... cluttered. The Prince is a figure of solitary power. Having someone hanging off him makes him look... supported. Weak, even."
Rowena's smile froze. "I am not 'hanging', Valet. I am complementing."
"It looks like he's helping you cross the street," Elian observed.
Cassian snorted. He quickly covered it with a cough, but he pulled his arm away from Rowena.
"The valet has a point," Cassian said, stepping away from her. "I should stand alone. For the... integrity of the composition."
"But the Solstice is about union!" Rowena argued.
"Then paint a bridge," Elian suggested.
"Silence!" Rowena snapped. She turned to the painter. "Master Picollo, pose him. Make him look majestic."
Picollo fluttered forward. "Yes, yes! Chin up, Your Highness! Shoulders back! Look at the horizon! Look at the future!"
Cassian stood stiffly, staring at a hedge. He looked like a mannequin.
"No, no, no!" Picollo wailed. "It is lifeless! Where is the fire? Where is the passion?"
"He's bored," Elian said. "He needs motivation."
Elian stepped into the 'set'. He walked right up to Cassian.
"Excuse me, Master Picollo," Elian said. "Technical adjustment."
He reached out and placed his hands on Cassian's waist.
Rowena gasped. "Un-hand him!"
"Uniform check," Elian lied. He tugged the tunic down, smoothing the fabric over Cassian's hips. He let his hands linger on the solid curve of the Prince's waist.
[Contact: +10 Seconds.]
"Your Highness," Elian whispered, leaning in close so only Cassian could hear. "You look like you're waiting for a firing squad."
"I wish I were," Cassian muttered, looking down at Elian. His eyes had lost that glazed, bored look. They were sharp, focused on Elian's face.
"Just look at me," Elian whispered. "Forget the painter. Forget the Princess. Just look at me and think about..."
He paused, his hands sliding up Cassian's chest to adjust the cravat. He smoothed the silk over the Prince's collarbone, his thumbs pressing into the hollow of his throat.
"...think about that towel," Elian murmured darkly.
Cassian's pupils dilated. His breath hitched. A flush crept up his neck.
"You are a menace," Cassian growled softly.
"I'm a muse," Elian corrected.
He stepped back, but not far. He stood right behind the painter, just out of the frame, crossing his arms and biting his lip.
"Now!" Elian shouted. "Paint him!"
Cassian didn't look at the horizon. He didn't look at the future. He looked directly at Elian.
His expression was intense, heated, and possessive. It was the look of a wolf spotting a rabbit it intended to devour.
"Magnificent!" Picollo screamed, slashing his brush across the canvas. "That gaze! That hunger! It is the look of a conqueror surveying his new lands!"
Rowena frowned, looking between the painting and the Prince. She stepped into the frame again. "Paint me next to him! Quickly!"
"I cannot!" Picollo cried. "The energy! It is too singular! Adding a second figure would disrupt the... the vibration!"
"Vibration?" Rowena screeched. "I am paying you!"
"Art cannot be bought, madam!" Picollo declared, painting furiously. "Art is felt!"
Elian stood in the background, winking at Cassian.
Cassian held the pose, his eyes locked on Elian. He looked like he wanted to murder the valet, or bed him, or both.
[System Notification: Quest Complete! +70 LP.][Current LP: 245.]
'Halfway there,' Elian thought, watching the brush strokes capture Cassian's lust-filled glare. 'And Rowena isn't even a smudge in the background.'
After an hour, Cassian broke the pose. He rolled his shoulders and walked over to Elian, ignoring Rowena entirely.
"Are we done?" Cassian asked.
"Masterpiece secured, Sire," Elian said, handing him a water skin.
"Good," Cassian said. "Because if I had to stand there for one more minute without strangling that painter, I would have declared war on the arts."
He drank, his eyes tracking Elian's movement as the valet wiped a smudge of dirt from his own sleeve.
"You are good at distraction," Cassian noted.
"I am good at focus, Sire," Elian corrected. "I just change what you focus on."
Rowena stomped over, looking at the canvas. It was just Cassian. A brooding, intense, solitary Cassian.
"This is unacceptable," she hissed. "It was supposed to be a unity portrait!"
"It is unity," Elian chirped. "Unity of the Prince and his... vibes."
Rowena turned on him. "You little—"
"Careful, Princess," Cassian cut in, his voice cool. "Elian saved the commission. Picollo was about to quit."
He placed a hand on Elian's shoulder. [Contact: +5 Seconds.]
"Come, Elian," Cassian said. "I have a Council meeting. I need you to... adjust the chairs."
"Yes, Your Highness."
As they walked away, leaving a furious Rowena in the rose garden, Elian checked the leaderboard.
1. Rowena: 24 (-2 for Public Failure) 2. Ambrose: 173. Elian: 13 (+1 for Being a 'Muse')
He was closing in.
"Elian," Cassian said quietly as they entered the palace.
"Yes, Sire?"
"What did you mean about the towel?"
Elian froze. 'Crap. I poked the bear.'
"Nothing, Sire. Just... laundry logistics."
Cassian hummed. A low, vibrating sound. "Liar. Tonight, you will explain exactly what you meant. In detail."
Elian gulped.
[Time Until Death: 66 Hours, 30 Minutes.]
He had bought time. But he might have sold his dignity to get it.
'Worth it,' Elian decided.