Come and Cry at My Funeral - Chapter 208
Even the Emperor himself seemed ready to ride out as soon as the snow melted, restrained only by the his grandson. Sending him a portrait of his granddaughter might quiet things for a while.
But beyond that reason, Izar wanted to keep a portrait of Freesia for himself.
‘In the worst-case scenario… I’ll need something to remember you by.’
If you really are terminally ill, if I fail to find a solution, and if I ultimately lose you forever…
He wanted to prepare for the worst.
Saying such things aloud felt like they might make his fears a reality, so he couldn’t bring himself to voice them.
“A portrait to hang in the hall would be appropriate, as other couples have done before us—”
“I don’t want one.”
“……”
Freesia shuddered sharply, cutting him off. An awkward, heavy silence fell between them.
But as Izar fell quiet, Freesia bit her tongue in regret.
That had been a mistake.
‘I showed my distaste too strongly.’
She couldn’t quite explain it, but she felt an overwhelming aversion to sharing space with Izar for an extended period right now.
Still, the messenger who had arrived from the palace would undoubtedly report everything that happened with her to the Emperor.
‘If that happens, the Emperor might start meddling again, urging a separation.’
What happened that day needed to be dismissed as nothing more than the irritation of a pregnant woman whose nerves were frayed to their limits.
Freesia forced an awkward smile and carefully gauged Izar’s expression.
“Since becoming pregnant, my face has gotten so much worse. It wouldn’t be right to leave such an image behind…”
“What are you talking about? You’re…”
Izar frowned in discomfort, realizing he had never once given her a sincere compliment.
‘I’ve told her I love her, yet I’ve never said anything sweet. How ridiculous.’
Would his words even matter now? Freesia clearly despised everything about him.
Still, after a moment of hesitation, he spoke.
“You’ve always caught my eye.”
“…What?”
“Even before the day you fell into the lake. Long before that.”
Revealing the origin of his feelings was harder than apologizing or even confessing his love.
“You once asked me if I remembered the day you fell into the lake.”
“I did…”
“I remember. I had been watching you long before that day.”
“Excuse me?”
He vividly recalled the day he ran himself ragged searching for the missing shepherd girl.
His father had told him to look at the girl with the honey-colored hair, as if to use her as a tool for self-pity. Seeing someone worse off would make Izar appreciate his own luck, he’d said.
At the time, Izar had assumed the feelings he experienced while observing her from a distance were superiority. Even if he was bitten by a monster, he thought, at least he was better off than such a helpless creature.
But now he understood his emotions were something else entirely.
“You were always beautiful—so much so I wanted to keep you forever.”
“……”
Freesia stared at him blankly, her face devoid of emotion. She wanted to respond with some witty, mocking retort, but no words came out as her lips parted slightly.
In the end, she could only avert her gaze, exasperated.
“You don’t have to force compliments just for the sake of a portrait.”
“You accuse me of deception, but when I tell the truth, it’s ‘forced’?”
“…Fine, I understand.”
Freesia made a deliberate effort not to glance at the scar beneath Izar’s left eye.
“Just call the painter already…”
Fine. One painting to match that scar, and that would be enough.
But as if finding amusement in her resignation, the baby moved again, with a flutter like a tiny splash.
Freesia placed a hand over her belly, as if to pinch the baby’s cheek in reprimand. Both Izar and the baby were insufferable.
***
Looking back, Freesia hadn’t left a single portrait behind in her previous life.
After her marriage, as a neglected wife, no one suggested she be recorded. When she became pregnant, her ‘husband’ was frequently absent due to sporadic uprisings.
It was only natural that their first portrait session was fraught with difficulty.
Their mutual tension, heightened sensitivity, and awkward closeness only made matters worse.
The painter cleared his throat nervously as he adjusted their poses.
The couple seemed far too formal, with a noticeable distance between them.
“Perhaps a bit more warmth? You’re too stiff.”
“It’s meant to hang in the hall, so a dignified feel is appropriate, don’t you think?”
Freesia tried to suppress her irritation as she spoke. What more was needed beyond the wife seated with the husband standing behind her?
But the painter, oblivious to her sentiment, gestured energetically as he explained.
“You’ve only been married a year, so a closer, more intimate pose would be better. Later, I could even include the baby in His Grace’s arms—”
Unable to bear it any longer, Freesia nodded hastily, signaling him to finalize the pose.
Izar, too, placed his hand slowly on her left shoulder.
Like a newlywed couple thrilled to be expecting their first child in their first year of marriage.
A portrait of a couple, together for the first and perhaps the last time.
