Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

9 | The Apothecary's Apprentice

Y/N knew what the Prince's painting was of now (well, she thought she had a pretty good idea). The blocky shadows had merged together to form a very simple image. It featured, as far as Y/N could tell, the lower half of someone's face, and half of their shirt-covered chest. Their head was propped up on one hand, the other resting comfortably on the table marked by a simple brown line along the bottom edge of the canvas. The person's hands had a hint of blue just-about showing through the first layer of skin the prince had applied. Y/N guessed its probably a self-portrait of his hands stained blue with pigment as he makes the paint he's using.

Compared to his other painting Y/N had seen---the one of a bustling marketplace---this one was serene and uncomplicated. It had a simple elegance, a beauty that was just starting to make itself known. Y/N recalled the prince explaining that he paints what he finds beautiful, and this piece really illustrates that fact.

The vast majority of the populations probably wouldn't have the artist's eye required to see much in this picture. It was well executed, yes; obviously destined to be detailed and flawless, yes, but that is probably the limit of understanding achievable by the vast populace.

Y/N understood it, though; or, at least, she had her own thoughts about it. It is about making paint---or at least it will be, once it is complete. It's about creation, artistry, the whimsy of colour. Loki is trying to capture the magic of the process; something only a select group of people would understand.

-- ❈ --

The prince had started leaving an extra heap of money for Y/N each morning.

There would be the usual pile waiting for her atop the daily list of pigments she would be required to fetch from the market, but now there's another pile, too.

The prince explained that this was for Y/N to spend on snacks for their next painting session.

Y/N asked him, with eyes narrowed with suspicion, whether this was (excuse the pun) a half-baked attempt to ease his guilt. Y/N knew he still felt bad about keeping her so late the other night, and for adding paint-making to her workload, even if she'd explicitly said she enjoys it. The promise of snacks just seemed like his latest attempts to make paint-making more appealing. Which really wasn't necessary, Y/N had assured.

Y/N hadn't uncovered his insecurity using her excellent detective skills, no. The prince had actually just handed it to her outright on several occasions. He was concerned he was asking too much of her. Yes, he needs the paint, having help preparing it makes the whole process so much faster---and yet he's always checking Y/N is happy to stay, that she's happy to continue, that she's happy in general, really.

She'd wave him off each time, saying something along the lines of 'I'd rather make pretty colours than help Ylva pick the eyes out of potatoes' or 'Being covered in blue dust at the end of the day is much more appealing than being covered in cold mop-water and soap suds'. She'd then repeated her earlier statement/lie: that the servant's kitchens really do feed her enough, so snacks really are not required.

To this, the prince had said the nacks are more for him, because he suffers from low blood sugar so prefers to always have something to nibble on close at hand. Y/N knew this to be false; he looks as though he photosynthesises rather than eats. He probably doesn't even have blood, he's just filled with that pale sap that oozes out of trees when you snap off a branch. Or ocean water, transparent and sun-dappled. Or something. But what was she going to do? Argue with a prince? (Well, more than she already had). So she conceded.

"What kind of food would you like me to buy?" Y/N asked, grudgingly. She knew what the answer would be, and she didn't like the thought of using the royal family's money to please her own stomach. There must be a law about that, somewhere, she realised with a slightly sick feeling.