My Husband Lives Inside a Painting Chapter 37

***

 

Thirty minutes had passed since Claude went upstairs.

Two servants had accompanied him, while another two were keeping an eye on me.

Taking advantage of a moment when they weren’t looking, I quietly slipped the paper out of my sleeve.

It was a small postcard that fit in the palm of my hand. On it was a picture of an empty sandy beach. The red sunset spread across the gentle waves, scattering shimmering reflections over the water.

…I did the right thing, didn’t I?

Truthfully, I still wasn’t sure.

Whether this really was the right thing to do.

“You want to bring people into a painting?”

“Yes. There might be more than one person.”

“It’s certainly a reliable way to move people without being discovered.”

“……”

“Orb, if you do that, they’ll discover your ability.”

When I told Camille I wanted to paint a beach and move people inside it, he firmly shook his head.

“If you insist, paint a pitch-black space. If you want to pass it off as having briefly lost consciousness before waking up, that would be the safest option.”

He was right.

But in the end, I painted the sea.

There was only one reason I chose to take that risk.

I don’t want to push people who were trapped in darkness into another kind of darkness.

…Yes.

It was an incredibly foolish and sentimental reason.

But as time passed, anxiety began to creep up on me.

Glancing at the postcard clutched in my hand beneath the table, I quietly bit my lip.

It should be about time…

Fortunately, Claude returned before long, looking cheerful.

“My Lady, I’ve found it.”

In his hand was a sparkling ring he’d prepared beforehand.

“Is this the one?”

As soon as Claude approached, I asked in a voice only he could hear.

“Did you complete everything I asked you to do?”

“Yes. But I knocked out a few more people on the way back. How much longer do I have to keep this up?”

“……”

At his words, I quietly lowered my gaze to the postcard again.

At that very moment—

The change I’d been desperately waiting for took place inside the painting.

It worked!

I stood up without hesitation.

As Claude and I crossed the reception room to leave, the servants guarding the door hurriedly stepped in front of us.

“W-Where are you going? Were you planning to go to the listening room—”

“Don’t worry. I was just about to leave.”

“Pardon?”

“I would have liked to wait until he returned, but I don’t think it would be right to inconvenience you any further. I’ll pay another visit.”

“Ah, in that case…”

Leaving the servants behind as they breathed sighs of relief, I was just about to exit the residence when a commotion erupted from the stairs above.

An elderly servant came rushing down, drenched in cold sweat, and hurriedly reached out to stop us.

“Please, wait!”

But Claude blocked the hand reaching for my arm.

“Why don’t you just say what you want instead of grabbing her?”

“Grr…”

The elderly servant had arrived with several knights in tow. He hesitated briefly under the pressure of Claude’s presence, then asked in a strained voice,

“I just checked the master’s room.”

“And?”

“But he wasn’t inside.”

“……”

“What have you done to our master?”

I narrowed my eyes. As expected, this man was sharp.

But even the keenest instincts wouldn’t be enough to stop us, who had joined forces with a demon.

“What are you talking about?”

I smiled brightly and spoke in a gentle voice. The servant’s shoulders visibly flinched.

“We haven’t even gone near the marquess’s bedroom today.”

The game was already over.

I left the residence in plain view and headed for the carriage. In my hand was the postcard I’d been holding all day.

You don’t need a canvas to paint a picture. You can paint on anything.

Two postcards, each depicting an identical sea.

Inside them, the hem of Anne-Marie’s dress fluttered in the breeze.

 

***

 

Pagoda slowly tried to piece together his memories.

I can clearly remember holding Lady Ortega in my arms…

…So how had he ended up hanging upside down from a tree?

As he focused on the throbbing pain at the back of his head, his memories gradually returned.

On the bed, the duchess had suddenly turned on him. She’d thrown him down with tremendous strength, then struck him hard on the head.

While his vision blurred and he was unable to resist, she’d dragged him out by the hair. The moment they reached an open area behind the residence, she’d hung him upside down from a tree.

…That wasn’t a dream?

Pagoda could barely comprehend what was happening to him.

He was so bewildered that he hadn’t even found it strange that he hadn’t encountered a single servant while being dragged outside.

Meanwhile, as blood continued rushing to his head, he finally couldn’t take it any longer and parted his lips.

“L-Lady Ortega. What have I done wrong…?”

The duchess stopped digging and looked up, as though she’d been waiting for him to wake.

“Oh, you’re awake?”

“…Pardon?”

“You asked what you did wrong? There’s more than one crime I could name.”

Her tone had changed in a peculiar way, and Pagoda sensed that things had gone terribly wrong.

Before it was too late, he forced himself to ask again, despite his fear.

“What crime have I committed to deserve this?”

“Shall I start with your involvement in illegal adoptions?”

“……H-How did you—”

“Don’t ask me how I found out. You were the one who graciously showed me around your listening room, weren’t you, Marquess?”

Pagoda’s face turned deathly pale.

She figured out what the little room was for!

When people become fixated on one thing, they often go blind to everything else.

At first, they try to hide what they know is wrong. But at some point, they even forget that what they’re doing is wrong in the first place.

Damn it. I went too far. What am I supposed to do now?

But he couldn’t suppress his rising indignation, and so he decided to argue back.

“…So you betrayed me over just one child?”

“One child?”

“That bastard Gail persuaded me to try it just once, saying it was my last chance! But what’s the big deal?!”

“Sure. I suppose you’d rather keep denying it to the bitter end.”

But the situation was growing increasingly unfavorable for him.

A hole large enough to comfortably fit an adult had already been dug in front of Lady Ortega.

“Phew. That should do.”

Straightening her back, she wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Th-That’s impossible…

Where on earth had she been hiding such monstrous strength? Even seeing it with his own eyes, he couldn’t believe the utterly unreal sight before him.

“Surely you don’t think that’s all there is to it?”

She suddenly turned her head and asked, narrowing her eyes.

“…Pardon?”

“Hey, has your brain already turned to mush? You know perfectly well what crimes you’ve committed.”

“What on earth are you—”

“Second, the crime of murdering my husband.”

A chilly breeze stirred her hair.

“You killed my husband, didn’t you, Pagoda Buthier?”

From Pagoda’s perspective, the woman standing upside down with a shovel in one hand no longer looked human.

What did she just say?

Pagoda’s throat bobbed as he stared into her red eyes.

It wasn’t because she’d hit the mark. It was simply that he couldn’t understand what she was saying.

Then, just as the duchess raised her shovel high, he suddenly snapped out of his daze and shouted in desperation.

“W-Wait, wait! There’s been some kind of misunderstanding!”

The shovel, raised high above his head, stopped precariously in midair.

“I… I didn’t kill Camille!”

His voice rang out so loudly it seemed ready to tear apart.

When the ringing in his ears finally subsided, the corners of the duchess’s mouth curved into a smile.

“How am I supposed to believe that? If you don’t tell me everything you know, I’ll consider you the culprit and kill you.”

“Grr…”

It felt as though he’d fallen into a trap, but Pagoda had no choice. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“I saw him! I saw the person who killed Camille!”

“…Oh, really?”

The woman who’d stood before him like the Grim Reaper finally lowered her weapon.

Then she crouched in front of him, resting her chin on her hand as though granting him one last act of mercy.

“Tell me in more detail. What do you remember seeing that day?”

The duchess pressed the tip of her index finger firmly against the center of Pagoda’s forehead. His face flushed with humiliation.

Apparently pleased by his reaction, a faint smile spread across her lips.

“If I like your answer, I might even make an exception and let you live.”

“L-Let me live? …Huh.”

Pagoda shuddered involuntarily at the cold touch of her hand brushing beneath his chin.

Even though the blood rushing to his head had pushed him to his limits, the sight of those seductive eyes—unlike anything he’d ever seen before—seemed to wash away his pain.

But… is this really the Lady Ortega I know?