The plan was set. Sir Paintsworth promised to oversee my painting of the King and Queen, and the royal sitting was arranged. Naturally, the King was not thrilled about it.
"What foolishness is this, Charlotte?" he growled as he took his seat. "I don't have time for portraits. I have a kingdom to run."
I smiled sweetly. "Oh, but Father, just a few hours, I assure you. You are a figure of strength, after all. The people need to know that!"
He grumbled under his breath but allowed me to start. The Queen, however, was much more enthusiastic.
"I love this idea, my dear," the Queen said, her eyes sparkling with delight as she took her place beside the King. "You've always had an eye for detail."
I smiled, showing them my canvas in front of me, brushes ready, already envisioning the ideal portrait in my head. I had a vision. I knew exactly how I should portray them. The King, upright, his stance authoritative; the Queen, beside him, poised and elegant, her hand resting near his as if to reaffirm their togetherness without being overt.
As I painted, I caught occasional glimpses of the King and Queen. The King, despite his grumbling, was remarkably steady. His scowling face softened ever so slightly as I painted, though I had a feeling he didn't particularly enjoy the experience.
The Queen, on the other hand, smiled at me warmly, her eyes brimming with pride and encouragement. "You're really very talented, Charlotte," she said, watching me work.
I painted steadily, the rhythmic motion of the brush soothing me. The King's angular features and the Queen's statuesque figure slowly took shape on the canvas, their likenesses forming under my skilled hand.
A Slight Twist
As the days passed, I continued working on improving the portrait. Sir Paintsworth, happy to watch me at work, occasionally provided criticism that was more theatrical than useful, but he left me alone enough for me to take full control of the composition.
Then came the finishing touch—the inclusion of a familiar face in the portrait.
"Whiskers!" I called to my constant feline friend, who was reclining indolently in the background. "Come here, sweetie."
With a nimble bound, Whiskers leapt onto the royal couch, curling up near the Queen's feet. I smiled. It was only proper that my loyal companion be immortalized alongside the King and Queen.
I added the final details, taking care to paint the small things that would bring the scene to life—the Queen's soft gown, the King's puffy cuffs, the glow that enveloped them both. But it was Whiskers, in his characteristic lazy position, that truly stole the show. His fur was so silky and puffy, and I took great care to render every hair to perfection.
The Final Portrait
A few days later, the portrait was complete. Sir Paintsworth stood behind me, arms crossed, admiring my work. The King and Queen were there too, though I could tell they were much more relaxed now that the session had ended.
The portrait depicted the King and Queen seated together, strong yet gentle, their unity evident in the way their hands almost touched—symbolizing their combined strength. And Whiskers, ever the faithful companion, curled up beside the Queen, comfortably at home amidst royal splendor.
The King examined the painting, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles as he regarded his likeness. "Well, I'll be," he grumbled. "I don't look half-bad, do I?"
The Queen, on the other hand, regarded the portrait with pride, her smile gentle and approving. "Charlotte, you've done a wonderful job. This... this is truly us."
Sir Paintsworth, standing behind me, nodded dramatically. "A masterpiece! The light, the composition, the spirit! It's all you, Your Highness."
I turned to him with a smile. "Well, I couldn't have done it without your... guidance."
And as I gazed at the completed portrait of the King and Queen, with Whiskers nestled between them, I felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. Not just because I had painted them—but because I had captured something deeper. A moment in time when royalty was as much about love and unity as it was about duty and strength.
Standing there, a gentle smile spreading across my face, I realized that maybe painting wasn't just about colors and brushstrokes. It was about preserving moments—making what was truly important eternal.
And that, dear reader, was something I could live with.