The Duke’s Imposter Sister

Her hand was shaking but it didnt mean she wasnt confident. She learned to paint since she was six. Although she had never finished a portrait, she had used several canvases painting the human eye, in constant awe of the beauty in its shape and colors.

She recalled her lessons and started make a rough sketch. Shortly, Vianut brought his arms to his eyes to block the sun that shone upon him. Despite trembling all over, she requested exactly what she needed from Vianut.

The eyes.

He cocked a quizzical brow at her.

I need to see your eyes, she clarified.

He put his arm down a little too late, gazing at Gris as he did so. He repeated her words, marking sure he heard them right. My eyes?

Although slightly intimidated, Gris remained stubborn. I think the most important feature of a person is their eyes.

He asked why she thought so. She remembered the day the rebel forces intruded into the castle of Grandia.

On that day, she hid under a table and watched her people get murdered. She saw their pupils dilate as every one of them collapsed onto the floor.

From then on, Gris believed that in a persons eyes lay their soul, and so developed a habit of inspecting peoples eyes when she met them for the first time. She would purposely avoid people with elusive glances or those she couldnt read clearly.

Vianut belonged to the latter, and consequently, it was logical for her to avoid him. Yet there was something mysterious in his orbs that evoked curiosity from those that beheld them.

Perhaps this was the opportunity to truly investigate his soul, for whatever Vianut Byrenhag was. Gris looked at the sturdy man beyond the canvas in front of her and cryptically answered,

Eyes are the window to the soul

Startled at her unexpected answer, he lifted his gaze to the ceiling, dwelling on her words.

She really needed to make a start at drawing him. Taking her trembling hands, she mustered what courage she had and lifted a piece of charcoal to the canvas.

Vianut placed a cushion beneath his head and turned his face towards her. His blue eyes, where the strong ray of sun hit, scanned hers. Perhaps intrigued by her comment, he wanted to test it out on her too, for his gaze was now trailed on hers.

When she felt his eyes, she realized she had misspoken. Under his scrutiny, she was searched from head to toe. Her soul, a poor girl, a disposed princess sold to a brothel, felt wide exposed.

He was simply looking at her, yet Gris felt conscious as if her body parts were bare. As his elegant face and curious gaze bore into her without pause, she felt her shame grow tantamount.

The charcoal she firmly pressed against the canvas broke in half. Gris stared at the half of the charcoal held in her hand, barely pulling herself together when she started to sketch again.

Two men hovered in her mind. Vianut covered in blood and the other Vianut who adored butterflies.

The merit of imagination was that one can freely draw whatever they desire. Therefore, she imagined a man lying down in a garden on a warm summer day. Butterflies gathered around him, while he lazily watched them flutter above him.

As the warmth in her imagination spread to the tip of the charcoal, her hand sped up strolling around the canvas. Only the regular sound of charcoal rubbing against the canvas filled the room, but Vianut didnt seem bored by the lack of conversation.

Gris knew that as she was studying the details of his face, and he was doing the same. Whenever she would be overwhelmed by his gaze, she reminded herself of the man in her imagination to calm down.

In no time, Gris finished sketching and picked up a paintbrush. She squeezed blue paint out of its tube and diluted it in water. Then, she looked directly into the pair of blue eyes that she had been avoiding all day.

Thanks to the bright sunlight, she could observe the full depth of his eyes, including the iris. It was as clear as a deserted seaside. And unfortunately, that was all that she could find. Any warmth, kindness, happiness, even anger or sadness were nowhere in his orbs.

Gris could finally understand the problem of a man who stood above everything; he was born with everything, thus did not desire anything. Since he had enough in his hands, he didnt feel any sense of gratification when gaining something. His only mission would be to protect the things he already had.

That was why his soul appeared unclear. He was neither good nor evil, as he did not desire anything.

Feeling slight pity, Gris started to paint over the sketches. She wanted to blow in a bit of warmth into his soul, out of sympathy.

Now an irregular sound of brushing replaced the room. Then, there was a knock on the door. Finally, Frenze must have found Stephan.

Its Stephan. Im going in.

Entering the room, Stephan frantically tried to read the room with a pale face. When his eyes met Vianuts, he remained calm outside and acted as he was surprised to meet him.

Ah, you were here, sir.

Vianut slowly heaved himself onto the sofa. He didnt seem happy to be interrupted by Stephan.

So far, Gris only had assumptions about their relationship but had never seen them together before. They somewhat looked alike, proving they were of the same blood, but their ambiances were completely different.

If Stephan was a white pet wolf grown indoors with love, Vianut was a black wild wolf grown outdoors, alone. Its likely because Vianut was a larger man with black hair. While Gris dropped her head after watching the two, Stephan smiled generously.

I bumped into Frenze by chance. I heard you requested Yuliana for a portrait.

A voice significantly lower than Stephans was heard. That is right, Uncle

Stephan nodded to show he was envious of the two siblings sharing quality time. He then took his steps in front of the canvas.

She didnt recognize her own sketch. The canvas was full of blurry and imprecise lines of charcoal. Vianuts face was exaggerated. However, the shape of the head was vague while there was a speck of color at the eyes.

Gris knew it was futile from the moment she held the charcoal. How could she draw a man who was already a piece of art?

But it didnt help her drawing look any less embarrassing. Stephan must have agreed, thus blocked the painting with his body.

Believe it or not, Yuliana is still looking for an activity to her aptitude. Its only been a month since her return, so she still needs practice in painting.

His voice sounded calm, but she knew he was extremely disconcerted. He didnt expect Vianut, who was always busy with official businesses, to be asking her for a portrait.

You may be offended, so how about she brings it to you after she is finished?

Despite saying this in a relaxed tone, he scowled at Gris. Vianut looked at her eyes fill with disappointment and walked to the canvas.

His elegant eyes started to scan the piece without hesitation. He first saw the black background and then the coarse wobbly lines which resembled a figuration of terror. Lastly, he saw the one eye that was colored in.

Surprisingly, he did not show disgust as Gris expected but instead stared at the blue hue.

He seemed to read and sympathize with the fear, confusion, and anguish she felt while drawing him. Gris was afraid her heartbeat was too loud but soon found calm as a weird current filled the air between them.

Gris huffed short breaths between her teeth. Then, a strangely soft voice tickled her ears.

Youre in it too.

He was talking to her. Gris flinched as she looked up at him.

Im sorry?

Vianut stared into the blue eyes on the canvas with amusement.

In the painting.

When she followed his long lashes pointing the painting, she saw the retina which she expressed transparently. Inside it was a figure in a yellow dress sitting on a chair, accompanied by a white blob beside.

Once aware that it was herself and Teer, Gris shook tremendously with confusion. All she did was draw and paint what reflected off her eyes. She may have added a bit of warmth out of pity, but it had become a portrait of him affectionately staring at her and Teer.

Her heart started to race again.

I didnt intend it, Gris blurted out. I was thoughtlessly drawing what I saw

Stephan studied the situation with a serious face but shortly let out a light-hearted laugh.

This is surely something. All of your portraits portray you as a fearless monarch, sir. If I were you, I would love Yulianas painting.

He was indeed very cunning. Stephan was trying to sugarcoat the painting into a plausible portrait.

Vianut turned to look at Stephan after understanding his returned sister did not have the brilliant painting skills as his mother. Then, he stared at him with suspicion of his overprotective behavior towards his sister.

Youre acting like my father.

It was unclear what he was trying to say. Stephans eyes, which smiled kindly, started to twitch at Vianuts words.

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