In the Open Cage

Chapter 5

Why? Misa narrowed her eyes and stared at the man before her, taking in his noble features. His straight nose, his almond eyes, his rounded jaw. She wasn't going to deny that he was handsome, that he would likely be able to woo any woman he came across, and he certainly carried himself well enough that he straddled the line between arrogance and confidence.

But a pretty face wasn't enough to earn a luxury such as a paintroom by itself. So why? Why did a mere attendant, a mere servant of the royal council, have a leisure room to himself? And why did he hold so much power over a princess?

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice smooth, cold, and laced with the arrogance Misa had come to despise. "I thought I made it clear that witches were not to leave their designated area."

"The princess ordered me to follow her here," Misa said.

Annoyance flashed in his eyes. "Sarala took my paints again, did she? I see you've brought them back."

It was none of Misa's business. She knew she should have dropped what she had in her arms and left the room to go back to her chambers the moment she saw him, but...

Misa glanced at the ruined painting in her arms. Tattered and covered in dirt, Misa wasn't sure how well the picture had been turning out before those boys destroyed it. But, did it matter? It seemed to her that Perrin was standing in the way of a princess and something she loved, and Misa just couldn't leave when she knew what that felt like.

"Why don't you allow her to paint?" Misa asked. "Let her enjoy her passion. Why are you guarding these supplies like gold from a common thief?"

"That's none of your concern." Peron set down a paintbrush, and it was only then that Misa realised he had been painting. He wore an apron that had been splattered by years of paint, though he had managed to keep his face clean.

Her eyes roved behind him, and her breath caught when she saw a vibrant replica of the courtyard within the canvas. Despite her dislike for the man, Misa wished to get a closer look. She supposed she could separate the artist from the arrogant attendant.

"Like what you see?" Perrin's lips had curled into a smile.

Misa couldn't lie. Not about art. She itched to move forward, to shove him out of the way to drink in the colours. How had he created such perfection? Those shapes and colours—she could feel the courtyard the way he did. The gentle hiss of water from the fountain, the deep greens and yellows and pinks of the flowers, and something else.

Misa was fighting. Her pride against her passion. She inched forward. She hadn't felt this conflicted with herself since Royle. Perhaps, just one moment of weakness wouldn't hurt. Misa set down the canvas and paints on a table. She cautiously approached the attendant, ignoring the smirk, the glint of vanity in his eyes.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Misa swallowed, trying to keep any contempt from her voice. As much as she hated to admit it, this rude man before her had gained her respect as an artist. She pointed behind him.

Perrin raised a brow and glanced at his work. "That? Why, I've been mentored by the best painter in the world. This is nothing."

Misa squashed her envy, her annoyance. The best painter in the world. Did he mean...surely not.

"Gerputin Tirs-hian mentored you?" Misa breathed. Gerputin, the painter Misa had admired for so long, might have stood where she stood now. She couldn't believe it. And Perrin was his student? How could someone like Perrin learn from someone like Gerputin? Unless...

Misa covered her mouth, taking a step back. How had she not been able to piece it together before? The fear the princess had of him, his privileged artroom, his apprenticeship to Gerputin. Perrin was no mere servant. He had connections to the royal council. Perhaps a friend or even...a son.