It had been heard of all over the country; stories blooming at the first appointment of a nobles right-hand man, or the honour of being taken into the palace for the journaling of a day in the life of a member of the royal families attendees- if you were lucky enough, you’d even meet a personal knight.

Yalin was one such man.

Somehow, word had passed that he’d made some excellent paintings, this lead to that, and it had landed him in the palace a few days later as the kings personal court painter! Who would have known?

On the first day, Yalin was lead through many winding halls lined in fine marble and stonework so old one could catch a whiff of the bloody ages whilst passing by; still it shone in proud and mighty brilliance.

It almost made him want to imagine what the king would look like. Wide and bulky, with a great beard? Mysterious and robed a thousand times over, so much so that it made him look well-fed?

Well, he certainly did not disappoint. He impressed Yalin _greatly_, in fact. Just not in the way he was expecting.

When the tall double doors to the kings chambers whined open, the sight that greeted him was that of a long-haired man hunched over his desk in absolute concentration; to such a degree that he seemed to have lost his sense of hearing.

One of the servants that had guided Yalin stepped forward to whisper something to the king. He appeared slightly bothered.

Now that Yalin looked, his rather lightweight choice of robes gave way to a fairly lean body and surprisingly relaxed shoulders.

His posture was… well, less than adequate, to put it nicely.

Soon enough, he sat up begrudgingly with the huff of an old wizard and made his way over to Yalin. Or, atleast that was what he thought.

When Yalin offered a handshake with a smile, the king simply walked past and down some other hallway with not so much as an acknowledgement of his presence.

_Okay. Not much of a talker, are we?_

Yalin decided to ask one of the servants for his name. If he was going to make this work out, he should atleast be able to call for the guy, right?

“Er,”

Yalin shifted with an awkward smile.

“Pardon my insolence, what’s his majesties name?”

Both servants looked at eachother weirdly. It was only then that he realised how strange it sounded for someone to not know the kings name.

“His royal highness goes by the name Laha.”

With that, Yalin scurried away, giving his quick thanks.

He’d tried following along with Laha and striking up some kind of conversation to lessen the tension even just by a little, but he was no small talk kind of man.

Yalin was curious to know what his voice sounded like. He’d use the excuse of it helping him create a more refined depiction of his grace-

Laha never fell for it.

Yalin was soon to find out, however, that his presence alone was more than enough to create a perfect depiction.

They found themselves, not long after, in the small (in comparison to the others) room that had been meticulously arranged just for this purpose. Or, atleast, that’s what he read would happen. He hadn’t a clue if the peony-filled vases by the window were set up beforehand or if the velvety chaise lounge in prussian blue was normally stationed in the middle of the room, but that wasn’t his business, right?

Yalin paid it little mind as he set up his canvas.

Laha sat down and all of the air that brushed his clothes and kissed his skin simply shifted into the most delightful and lightest of atmospheres.

That ugly posture was instead corrected into that of a fair gentleman, and creases lifted right off of his troubled under eyes. His hands, too, sat neatly over his lap just right, already far too perfect to be put together by even the most accomplished hand. Every fold in the silken fabric which followed but also disobeyed the outlines of his figure to just about hint at something curious beneath, as if a final puzzle piece had finally been slided into place- a piece of work worth several hours of intricacy and focus…

Oh- Wait, what?

When did Yalin learn to analyse appearances in such detail?

Was it perhaps the drag of lined hems on the floor that stopped right below Lahas hips, or the sapphire of his thick ring that shone just so in the light?

Slowly, Yalin picked up his pencil and began the sketching process.

This was his favourite part; creating life in a few simple strokes without the need for great detail. This usually made the muse look far younger and much more innocent than they really were. For Laha, it was a different case. The sketch seemed to sully his appearance and paint him in an unnatural light.

Yalin begun to feel frustrated.

To have his talent insulted in this way, by the beauty of a muse too detailed for brush strokes? Was this Yalin’s punishment for inviting himself into a palace knowing of his unprofessionalism?

But he wouldn’t have it any other way; the thought of being one of the very few people to see Laha up close and personally was an exciting one, indeed. The feeling could be compared with snuggling your nose into a bountiful boquet of fresh lavender and immediately feeling the pleasant drowsiness swirling in your eyelids. How lovely!

Yalin quietly indulged in the privilege of being able to scan such an admirable body in full capacity, and you’d best believe he did it to his greedy hearts content.

The most dreadful and long suffering part of painting came around, but Yalin thought he may just be happy to do it a thousand times over if it was to depict the likeness of Laha.

With each rough stroke, Lahas form came more alive and life-like; though, of course, it never would have measured up to the real form.

Like in the scene before him, Yalin’s palette became increasingly heavy with the hours of conforming with various hues, shades and tones. The complex kind of thing someone else would call magic. Perhaps it really was- surprisingly, Yalin stayed focused and kept his quality high throughout, which really served to improve his painting far beyond what he would normally do.

The most impressive feats of them all, however, is that of being able to sit motionless for hours on end with thoughts being the only available source of entertainment.

Sure, it was hard to paint, but harder still to be the muse. For this, Yalin commended Laha immensely (not verbally, obviously).

He moved onto facial structures after some time, and now, when he stopped to analyse Laha in appreciation rather than picking apart his features, he was really doomed.

The sharp, upturned curve of Lahas undisturbed eyes, or his slightly frowning lips that- though a little dry, were still unbearable to look away from- Yalin ogled each for what must have been atleast five minutes at a time.

It was a miracle Laha did not comment, but there was no arguement that he noticed.

Once Yalin declared it finished, Laha got up and left with no further word. His personality was not charming in any sense, but a few nice things could at the very least be said about his outward appearance.

It was a short timeframe to greet and farewell, yet somehow, the impression it left on Yalin was none other than blissfully long-lasting.

The painting would be hung up besides an abundance of other regal portraits, but it would probably be the only one Yalin would pay attention to as he was guided back out through the hallways- after dinner, of course!