As quickly as everything had gone when Erik was gone, things slowed to a crawl when he returned.
Lady Giry and Christine had already been through most of the castle, so the lessons were more relaxed. They focused more and more on the mannerisms of the court. Meg played her part in that, becoming kings, dukes, knights, ladies and duchesses for Christine to practice on.
There were still fitting to be done, as painful as they were. Christine wasn't entirely sure if they pricked her with their needles on purpose, they always apologized so earnestly, and yet it happened so often that Christine wondered.
Two weeks after his return, Erik requested one of the painters in court to make a portrait of her. Sitting for hours motionless was almost worse than fittings, save that there was no one to prick her skin.
The painter, a kind man who spoke with a heavy German accent, was supposedly the courts best. He praised her face, saying that he had not painted so fine a portrait in quite some time.
Christine was gratified to think that he thought her beautiful, though it might have just been because of her station. She had seen ugly woman called beautiful when they had large dowerys, or titles to hide behind. It wasn't that she thought herself ugly, but simply that the artists words might be inspired by something other than her beauty. After all, he had painted Meg, and she was very beautiful. Half the men in the castle were after her for her hand in marriage.
She had thought that it would be as simple as sitting in front of him as he painted her. But there were many steps she had not accounted for. They must paint the same time every day so that he might have the same light to work from. He required the perfect background to portray her in front of. It took an hour of walking round the castle for him to find the perfect spot to paint her. Finally he decided in her bedroom, just outside the window. He examined the sun and the windows and decided that for an hour after she ate would do just fine.
So for an hour after breaking her fast Christine was helped into her finest dress by Meg and sat on a stool in front of her window.
While he painted, the german painter did not speak. Only muttering under his breath as he mixed and worked. Most of it was in German, Christine had learned a little from the germans that had come to the hotel, but she never caught more than. "Hell blau? Nein, mer grun. Ach- zu dunkel. Weiss weiss weiss." And he would dab more white into his mixing palette and mix furiously.
Thus her early mornings were taken up.
In the evenings, Erik had begun requesting her presence. In the hours before dinner they played chess.
Christine had learned to play, but she knew nothing of strategy or plans. As such she was beaten more often than not. Still, the idle chatter they had while each made their moves was pleasant. Occasionally he would explain some move to her, it's mechanics and the plans that laid behind it. It was all very interesting.
Once, as she was telling him of one of the tales her father told her, she asked him what tales he had learned when he was young.
He had looked up at her, his golden eyes startled, hand frozen in the motion of picking up a pawn. He set it in its place and said very coldly, "I learned no tales when I was young."
Christine looked up at him. "What did you learn then? Did your parents sooth you with homer your first day in your cradle?" She teased while gazing over the board, trying to think of her next move. "Come now, I know nothing of your childhood. Pray tell."
He did not answer, and stood very forcefully to walk to the window on the opposite side of the room. His hands, his slender large hands turned to fists of tendons and skin.
Christine stood as well, abandoning the game to walk to his side. "I did not mean to offend." She said as gently as she could.
"I know." His turned to look to her and snapped. "Not all are so fortunate as to have loving parents to tell them stories at night." He spun on his heels and sauntered out the room.
It was strange, Christine did not see him at dinner that day. He did not seem to have the patience for watching everyone else eat that day.
She stopped his manservant in the hallway after dinner and asked after his master.
The man, she believed his name was Jules, merely shook his head. "He will not come out."
Christine pursed her lips. "Has he requested food?" She asked.
"None, your Grace." He said.
She hesitated. "When did he last eat?"
He swallowed, his eyes trailing to the floor. "Two days past." He admitted. "At least, that was when he last requested it from me. He does not eat much-" He said hurriedly at the look of horror on Christine's face. "He never has, in all the time that I have served him."
"Thank you. That will be all."
Jules went down the hallway, looking relieved at being released from his interrogation.
Armed with this information Christine went to the kitchens, now cleaning the leftover food. She thought she spotted the cook who had thieved in the back. At the sight of Christine, she glared at her.
Not at all deterred, Christine went to the cook and asked for a plate of leftovers, with a cup of wine his grace.
Quickly they filled a tray, so much that Christine ordered some removed, but thanked their generosity. She carried it across the courtyard and up into their suite, ignoring the strange looks she received from those in the halls.
She came outside Erik's door, balanced the tray on one hand and knocked. When there was no reply, she knocked harder. "Erik, it's Christine." She called, gripping the tray with both hands.
The door flew open, his mask askew. His eyes flitted first to her, and then to the leaden tray in her arms. He opened the door wider, and let her in.
As soon as the door closed Christine set the tray on the nearest desk and turned to him, her hands on her hips. "I meant no harm in my comments, I came to apologize."
"And the food?" He gestured to the tray.
Christine smiled. "You haven't eaten in two days, or so says Jules." She considered making a comment on how his diet might be affecting his thin frame, but decided against it.
He sighed heavily and tapped his mask.
Christine stopped a stool in the corner of the room and ran over and sat in it, facing the wall resolutely.
"That is your solution?" He said, aghast.
"I shan't be turning round, I assure you." Christine said primly, sitting as tall as she could manage.
She heard a chair scrape against the stone floor and a creak as he sat.
"I am sorry for my actions." His voice said. "Forgive me, I prefer not to think of my childhood."
Christine smiled. "You are forgiven. I shall try not to mention it."
She listened to him eat, carefully examining the wall in front of her in the meantime. He finished quickly, almost too quickly, pushing his chair back he told her, "I am finished."
Christine spun in her chair and stood, strolling next to the seated Erik to examine what he had eaten. A piece of bread was missing, the apple half gone, the cup of wine was empty, very little else. Christine gave him a look the meant that she was not impressed with his efforts.
"I am the Duke of the Black Lands, and I will eat how much I please." He said, giving way of reply.
Christine pursed her lips but smiled. She leaned down to kiss the top of his head before taking the tray. "As you wish, your Grace.
They continued playing chess the next day, she was careful never to mention his childhood. After that night though, she did start the habit of asking his manservant if Erik had eaten that day, and if he hadn't she would gather a few things from the kitchen and carry it up to his room. She would take her place in the corner while he ate with his mask removed, and chat lightly. When he was finished, she would take the dishes, kiss the top of his head and leave.
One day, before she could leave the room, he asked lightly. "Would you like to take a picnic down by the beach tomorrow? I have enough paperwork done that I might take a day off."
Christine turned, the corners of her mouth lifting just a little. "Yes, I think I would like it very much."
His golden eyes sparkled. "We will leave at dawn."
Translation for the German painter- "Light blue? No, more green. Oops, too dark, white white white."
Also, to the guest reviewer who was all panicky about being too late about this story, it is NOT too late. I am STILL updating. I WILL finish this story, one way or another.
Reviews make authors happy. :)
