“I know.”
“The former Marquis Lucius knew perfectly well that his omega wouldn’t live long, and yet he imprinted anyway—then died following them before even a hundred years passed. Thanks to that, young Andre Lucius inherited the marquisate. I can’t stand the thought of you ending up like that. I couldn’t bear it, not even in death.”
“The only way to control the creature’s pheromones so other things don’t get drawn to him is imprinting. As for lifespan… it’ll be fine as long as Chaika lives long. If we keep a physician by his side at all times and take good care of his health, it should improve.”
“Ha—! You’re the one who said just a few months ago that even the scent of omega pheromones made you want to throw up. You swore you’d never impregnate an omega, and said imprinting was something only lunatics did. People can change, sure, but there are limits. You’d have to be out of your mind—why are you suddenly willing to go that far?”
“Because he’s mine.”
Mihail said it flatly, without preamble or explanation. Ilya raked a hand roughly through his hair, clearly frustrated.
“Yes. Fine. You’re right. It’s only been a few months. Just a few months since I met him, and yet simply having that creature around makes everything feel perfect—complete. No matter what happens, he has to be mine, and he will be mine. Someday, you’ll meet someone too, and you’ll feel it then.”
“Mihail!”
Unable to hold back, Ilya shouted a warning. Mihail merely curled his lips upward in a smile. Ilya took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Once Mihail made up his mind, changing it was nearly impossible. That was simply his nature. For now, at the very least, he had to stop the imprinting.
“…Then at least have a child first, just like you said. Produce an heir, and after that, decide again whether to imprint or not.”
Mihail nodded, as though that had been his plan all along. Ilya’s expression softened, as if he could finally breathe a little easier. Refilling his wine cup with a weary face, Ilya suddenly spoke as though something had just occurred to him.
“Oh, right. Come to think of it, the Emperor sent another envoy today.”
Mihail’s brow creased.
“With the rumors spreading all over the country about how you dote on an omega named Chaika and practically carry him around in your arms, there’s no way the Emperor wouldn’t know. He sent an envoy with a court painter, ordering that a portrait of Chaika be painted and sent.”
“Sounds like he’s bored out of his mind. Guess the Emperor has nothing better to do.”
Mihail muttered irritably.
“What can you do? He’s still the Emperor. We’ll have to do as he says.”
Ilya shrugged.
It took nearly two weeks for the bruises on his face and abdomen to fade completely. They slowly shifted in color—from red to purple, from purple to green, and finally from green to a dull yellow—as they drained away, allowing something closer to his original appearance to emerge. The burst blood vessels in his eyes disappeared as well, leaving them clear once more.
Outwardly, the injuries healed like that, but inside was a different matter. Though much improved compared to the beginning, Chaika was still terrified of being alone. In particular, if Mihail wasn’t by his side, he grew anxious and restless, unable to settle himself. On occasions when Mihail had to meet people alone in places like the audience chamber, he would leave Ilya in his stead. Even then, Chaika would chew on his fingernails incessantly, asking every few minutes when Mihail would be back.
With Chaika clinging to him like that, one might have expected Mihail to find it irritating—but there wasn’t a hint of such a reaction. If anything, he was openly satisfied by how desperately Chaika tried to remain by his side. Ilya grumbled that no matter how much a person changed, changing that much was just ridiculous.
“Uh, Count. Could you please… do something about it today?”
The court painter sent by the Emperor clung to Ilya’s side, his expression desperate. It had already been well over ten days since the painter arrived at Castiya Castle bearing the imperial command. Ordered to paint Chaika, he had tried every possible way to meet him and complete the portrait, but it had proven anything but easy. For the first ten days or so, Chaika’s face had been in such a state that painting him was out of the question. And now, even though the bruises had nearly faded and he’d mostly recovered, the situation had not progressed at all.
The biggest reason the portrait couldn’t be completed was Chaika himself. Upon hearing that a portrait of him was to be painted, Chaika panicked and fled this way and that. To be precise, “fled” wasn’t quite accurate—he hid behind Mihail’s back and refused to even show his face. If Chaika avoided him that much, it would’ve taken only a single word from Mihail, telling him to sit still quietly, to solve the problem. But Mihail, who loathed the Emperor and anything related to imperial orders, merely found Chaika’s frantic attempts to escape adorable.
As a court painter entrusted with a solemn imperial command, he had to return with Chaika’s portrait no matter what. He first begged Mihail, then Chaika, then the butler—only to be rebuffed by all three. In the end, the last person he clung to was Ilya.
“Why is he so desperately avoiding it? It’s just a portrait! Did you at least try asking him like I requested?”
The painter asked, his face full of entreaty. Ilya stroked his chin, mulling over Chaika’s answer. Then he snickered softly as he relayed it.
“He says that when he was young, someone told him that if you have your portrait painted, your soul gets stolen into the picture.”
“What? That’s absolutely absurd—!”
The painter cried out, looking as though he couldn’t believe his ears. Watching him, Ilya laughed even harder.
“My lord, please don’t just laugh. I’m begging you—do something. In this country, there isn’t a single noble who hasn’t had their portrait painted. To defy an imperial command over something so ridiculous? If His Majesty asks why it’s taking so long, what am I supposed to report?”
The painter lamented, nearly in tears. Whether the painter was distressed or not made no difference to Ilya; he simply found Chaika’s excuse amusing.
“Chaika’s extremely naïve and timid by nature, so no amount of persuasion will work. And there’s only one person who can persuade him… the problem is that person happens to be Duke Mihail Castiya.”
“…Count….”
The painter’s shoulders slumped completely. Duke Mihail Castiya’s infamy was legendary—after being rejected once, there was no way he could muster the courage to beg him again to allow Chaika to be painted.
“Well, it’s not like that means you should look like a man who’s already been handed his death warrant….”
Ilya snickered, patting the painter’s shoulder.
“It’s no different from having a death warrant, though. If I return without properly carrying out the imperial command, His Majesty will surely punish me severely.”
Hmm—. Drawing in a breath, Ilya put on a show of thinking for a moment. The painter gazed at him with desperate eyes.
“Please, I beg you. I’ll never forget this favor.”
At the words I’ll never forget this favor, a smile crept onto Ilya’s lips.
“If you put it that way, I suppose I have no choice but to come up with something. In return, though, you’ll have to grant me one request as well.”
“Anything. Just say the word. If it’s within my ability, I’ll do it.”
The painter snapped at the bait without hesitation. Ilya nodded, patting his shoulder.
“Good. Then it’s settled. My request is this—paint a portrait of my lover who lives outside the outer walls. Ever since he heard a court painter had come, he’s been pestering me endlessly about wanting one. I can’t hold out any longer.”
Apparently, the request was far better than he’d feared, because the painter’s face brightened immediately. For a court painter, producing one more portrait of a woman was no great task.
“Yes, of course. I’ll do my utmost to paint her beautifully.”
Answering energetically, the painter then leaned in with a conspiratorial expression.
“Then… this method you mentioned is…?”
When the painter asked, Ilya slipped an arm around his shoulders and spoke in a low voice, as though whispering a secret.
“Since getting official permission is clearly a lost cause, just secretly observe Chaika whenever he’s moving about and sketch his face as much as possible. Sketch the clothes he wears and his accessories, too. Make several sketches of backgrounds suitable for a portrait. With your level of skill, you should be able to paint him as though he were sitting right in front of you, just from those sketches.”
“…Hooh….”
“After all, His Majesty’s order was simply to paint Chaika’s portrait—not to receive permission, seat him formally, and paint him that way. As long as you bring back a proper portrait, that’s all that matters.”
With that, Ilya gave the painter a quick wink and withdrew his arm.
“Don’t forget about painting my lover’s portrait.”
Waving his hand, Ilya walked off. The painter pondered for a moment, then nodded to himself before grabbing a passing servant and grilling them thoroughly about the Duke’s and Chaika’s daily routines.
From that day on, for several days, the painter began trailing Mihail and Chaika like a tick. Naturally, he carried no sketching tools—he followed them empty-handed. Except when the two were in places like the office, bedroom, or study, he never left their heels for even a moment. Mihail paid no attention to the painter’s presence, while Chaika remained wary at first, but upon confirming that the man merely followed without doing anything, he gradually let his guard down.
Most of the time, Chaika was either cradled in Mihail’s arms, walking at his side, or sitting on his lap. Mihail never let Chaika out of his sight for even a moment, and Chaika likewise never strayed from Mihail’s side.
The painter observed these scenes closely, then returned to his room each evening and sketched through the night, recalling what he had seen that day. Since the two were always together, the resulting sketches inevitably captured them both. According to the plan, he was supposed to draw only Chaika, yet somehow, it never turned out that way.
The court painter had met the Dominant Alpha Emperor and the Dominant Omega Empress many times, and had even painted their portraits. The more exceptional one’s innate abilities were, the more beautiful their appearance tended to be. The Emperor and Empress, therefore, possessed beauty of the highest order—so extraordinary they scarcely felt human. Though the painter did not believe the rumors that they were descendants of divine beings, there was one reason those tales existed that he could fully understand and accept.
