They exchanged awkward glances with Sylvia.
‘Good heavens.’
Iris swore she hadn’t realized this was the Tran Art Gallery.
Sylvia Tran, a fairly well-known figure, and Cedric were already drawing the attention of the crowd.
It was widely known that she was blood kin to the Duke of Leonteheim.
“But I heard they barely even speak to each other.”
“That’s because Count Tran isn’t exactly on bad terms with the imperial family.”
“Oh, no. Someone said they were seen having quite close talks in the capital…”
Hearing the murmurs, Sylvia blinked once and gave Iris a knowing smile before passing by.
To anyone watching, they appeared like a distant, awkward family.
‘Should I leave?’
Iris hesitated awkwardly until someone tapped her arm.
She looked up to see Cedric calmly looking down at her.
“Aren’t you going?”
“Oh… are you alright?”
“What could be wrong?”
He shrugged nonchalantly and said,
“As long as you’re by my side, everything’s fine with me.”
Truly, whenever he appeared out of nowhere like this, Iris never knew how to respond.
Blushing as warmly as the coming spring, she silently placed her hand on Cedric’s arm.
Perhaps because Leonteheim had so few cultural spaces, the scene inside was extraordinary.
Nobles and commoners alike were gathered, forgetting rank or status, genuinely captivated and admiring the beautiful works crafted by someone’s skillful hand.
Iris was one of them.
Kaidirich was someone who looked down on art by nature.
‘Are you really going to excuse your lack of skill with that?’
When young Iris was staring at a painting.
‘You should be ashamed in front of your dead mother, just because of someone like you.’
After that, she’d been too busy to properly visit an art gallery.
“Shall we head over there?”
Noticing the lady’s excitement, Cedric started to move but was blocked by a group.
“Well, well, who do we have here?”
Cedric’s face, already furrowed when he met Sylvia, now twisted even more.
He ignored them as if even meeting their eyes was unpleasant.
But they paid no mind to Cedric’s coldness and continued their eager attention.
“Isn’t this the Duke of Leonteheim, who’s hardly seen these days?”
They looked elderly and gave off a sinister vibe.
Some seemed to have seen his face once or twice, but Iris couldn’t even recall their names.
“And the one behind him is…”
Right, she’d heard that Violet’s deceased son had finally married.
‘The second son of Valentine, I heard.’
They craned their necks trying to catch a glimpse of that reputed dullard, but Cedric always blocked their gazes with his body.
Eventually, they awkwardly looked away.
After all, it wasn’t the woman they were curious about.
They smiled with wary faces full of suspicion.
“You must be busy tending to Leonteheim. What brings you all the way here?”
“Yeah. Now you’re interested in Tran too, I suppose?”
Hearing their voices, Iris recalled their identity.
A branch family of the Tran Counts, likely distant cousins of Cedric.
They were desperate to push Sylvia aside.
Sneering disdainfully, Cedric said only one thing to the mocking group.
“Step aside.”
“...What?”
“You’re in the way. Step aside. Not just old, but deaf too?”
Cedric said plainly and shoved them aside with one hand.
They were stunned to be pushed by someone much younger.
Though furious, they dared not speak rashly.
‘Your cousins sure have big mouths.’
They resembled the late Crown Prince they had once seen.
They could not be unaware of the innate kingly aura Cedric carried.
‘But they’re just discarded royal trash.’
Though they didn’t say it aloud, their eyes flashed sharply, and they smirked inwardly.
‘Hopefully that brat won’t ruin today’s spectacle.’
Iris carefully observed their scheming faces, subtle and meticulous enough to go unnoticed.
At the same time upstairs,
“Count, have you arrived?”
Sylvia took off her magnifying glass after examining the records of displayed works.
Looking up, she saw the Tran branch nobles at the door, bowing with polite smiles.
Though pretending to be courteous, their obsequiousness was obvious.
Sylvia, however, showed no discomfort and rose from her seat.
“Speak properly. You’re the ones who came, not me.”
Her words had a sharp edge.
“I-I’m sorry for being late—”
“Do you think your apologies hold the same value as the time I’ve lost?”
They soon fell silent, having nothing more to say.
Sylvia simply shook her head. It wasn’t that she wished to clutch Tran’s reins forever.
There were times when she longed to entrust the clan to someone trustworthy and rest.
But seeing them now—
They are unworthy.
No matter when, those blinded by power and worldly desires would only bring shame upon the name of Tran.
Each time, the ache for Violet, already so deep, grew even more unbearable.
She was the true heir worthy of Tran’s legacy—not Sylvia herself.
“Go.”
But Sylvia was the head of her lineage.
She couldn’t linger in nostalgia forever—her life was but a fleeting moment.
Leaving the documents in the hands of Huttledum, the patriarch of the cadet branches, Sylvia gave no further glance and stepped outside.
To those hastily following, she issued sharp, precise orders with a cold expression.
“The artist’s paintings will stay. This is Leontheim. The concept is winter, fitting for this place.”
“Understood. I will inform them accordingly.”
“And—”
Her steps abruptly halted.
Her eyes were drawn to a secluded painting at the far end.
Huttledum, watching her closely, chuckled inwardly.
As expected.
No way she could ignore that painting.
Sylvia walked slowly toward it. It wasn’t in the records she had received.
And yet, it was a painting that should never have been here.
“This is…”
The piece that ought to hang here was the sculpture of a newly debuted artist from Leontheim.
But this painting was far too familiar.
“Sister, I like this artist.”
A previously unknown painter Violet had once passionately supported, the first to capture her heart.
Suddenly ceasing all work after Violet’s death, the artist vanished from the scene.
Since then, people called him the Unknown Montera—Montera meaning artist.
“This painting smells of sunlight.”
As Violet had once smiled, this artist’s signature was his brilliant depiction of summer’s radiant beauty.
Flowers, wind, sky—everything that evokes summer rendered exquisitely in vibrant, deep watercolors.
Sylvia loved this artist’s work—and hated it with equal intensity.
“Why summer of all seasons?”
Violet had died in summer.
That day, the sky was a thick oil painting blue, the clouds still damp and glistening.
The sun hung high, scorching the mansion below.
Late-season lilacs swayed in the breeze, accompanied by the chirping of insects.
They wept with Sylvia—summer, the season Violet loved most.
“Take it.”
“Excuse me? But… that’s the artist’s painting.”
“It’s fine. Bring it.”
Whenever a painting by that artist appeared on the market, Sylvia bought it, haunted by memories of her sister who had thrown away a beautiful life in such a brilliant summer.
Who knew how deeply the artist had to hide to continue creating?
Sometimes, the works would be lost, only to suddenly emerge in the world again.
Sylvia never imagined this sudden appearance would include this place.
“Why is this here?”
She tried to ask as calmly as possible, but her voice trembled.
Though it was usual to question the differences in the delivered works, there was no time for that now.
Trapped in sorrowful memories, Sylvia could barely see ahead.
Huttledum stepped forward with a satisfied smile.
“Do you like it?”
“Huttledum, did you acquire this?”
“Ha ha, yes. It was difficult. After all, the artist only painted summer-themed works.”
Exactly so.
This artist’s hallmark was twofold: vivid colors with minimal brushstrokes, and always summer as the season depicted.
“It must have been hard to obtain.”
Violet had sharp eyes.
The Unknown Montera had become famous overnight after that.
Artists typically become more renowned when they stop producing work and disappear.
This artist was no exception.
“And this is the only winter-themed piece.”
Huttledum was no great talent himself.
Normally, Sylvia would have questioned the paintings they procured.
“Why not paint the northern sea?”
Violet once said with a sulky face.
Sylvia smoothed her trembling black hair and asked,
“There’s no sea in the north, right?”
“No, sister! Castro showed it to me!”
“Still meeting that man?”
Violet quickly covered her mouth, as if realizing she’d made a mistake at Sylvia’s sharp outburst.
Chapter 84