“Good. Proceed.”
“Excellent,” I said, putting more puce on the canvas, because if there was one thing the world needed more of, it was puce. “I am such a good painter.”
“Well,” the King said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“You should hire me to do all the royal paintings.”
“I could never ask of you such a thing. For all our sakes.”
“I should teach others how to paint.”
“The arts would weep at such a thought.”
“Oops,” I said.
“Oops?”
“So, hypothetically. Okay, that was a lie. It’s not hypothetical. I painted you to be as big as the Great White and you’re destroying Meridian City like a giant monster. My muse is obviously a surrealist and I must follow her into the artistic abyss.”
“Am I breathing fire?”
My eyes widened. “You could be. I have so much puce.”
“Make it so.”
He let me focus for a while, the sounds of the castle bright and loud around us. The throne room looked immaculate, banners hung and chandeliers polished. Many had thought the wedding would happen in the church, but apparently Ryan had refused, saying he didn’t follow any specific religion. I didn’t know what, if any, arguments had come from that, but it didn’t matter in the long run. One, I didn’t care (mostly). And two, the King had agreed to host the wedding in the throne room, followed by the biggest ball of the season. It would be a magical day for all those involved.
And unfortunately, I was a part of that magic.
I didn’t have to do much. My job was to stand up in front and look pretty next to Morgan and keep my mouth shut. The King would speak, and Randall would speak, and then the ceremony would happen and everyone would live happily ever after.
I might have put far more puce than was actually necessary.
The King must have seen my artistic outlet for what it was and asked, “Are you okay, Sam?”
“Of course,” I said.
“I’ve known you a long time.”
“You have,” I agreed.
“I know you very well. Better than most.”
“You do.”
“I’m glad you agree. So then maybe you can also agree that I can tell when you’re lying.”
“Drama king,” I muttered.
He turned to look at me.
“Stop moving!” I snapped at him. “You’ll ruin the painting and no one will forgive you because this is a masterpiece that will be treasured for generations.”
“Normally, I would only feel the need to encourage any pursuit you feel is necessary,” he said. “I don’t know that art is one of them.”
“You say that only because you haven’t seen this yet.”
“How many breasts do I have in your painting?”