My Husband Lives in a Painting - Chapter 46

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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My Husband Lives in a Painting — Chapter 46
“Don’t be startled, but what do you mean by that?”
“Well, it’s complicated to explain in words. Ah, but honestly, at first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me? But they weren’t!”
“……What are you talking about.”
“Ah, really!”
Lui turned to me with exasperation, as though I were being impossibly obtuse, and struck his own chest repeatedly.
But when I remained unmoved, arms crossed, he finally released a deep sigh and turned the knob of the drawing room door.
“In any case, I gave you fair warning.”
Creak—
As the drawing room door swung open, a stream of white light spilled through the gap.
‘What a waste of time.’
I’d only soured my mood arguing with Lui. And now I had to receive yet another visitor in this state.
I pressed my throbbing temples as I stepped into the room.
“Ah, you’ve arrived.”
I sensed the man sitting on the sofa rising to his feet.
Still with my head lowered, I answered without seeing his face.
“I’m told you were looking for me.”
“That’s correct.”
“But who are you, calling without an appointment—”
Yet the moment our eyes met, I could not finish my sentence.
Click.
With the closing of the door, only the man and I remained in the room.
“It is an honor to meet you.”
A man with pale pink hair, as though cherry blossoms had settled upon his head, spoke with a gentle smile.
His hand, clothed in a white robe, moved to his chest, and he offered a courteous greeting.
“I apologize for intruding so abruptly without prior notice.”
“…….”
“The matter was so urgent that I took the liberty of requesting this audience without proper etiquette.”
Though his bow was impeccably mannered, I could not return the courtesy.
Lui’s warning, which I had dismissed, now returned as creeping regret. Because,
“Would you care for tea with me?”
……standing before me was unmistakably my husband, who should have been dead.
* * *
“Madam.”
“…….”
“Madam?”
I, who had been staring blankly, finally managed to focus at his second call.
“……Yes.”
A steaming cup of black tea sat on the table between us.
The man, who had been watching me with an untroubled posture, asked carefully, as though concerned.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
I suppressed the turmoil within and averted my gaze from him.
“……Forgive me, but what were we discussing?”
My voice, barely spoken, trembled visibly.
Yet there was nothing I could do about it. The man before me bore an unsettlingly identical tone of voice to my dead husband.
I hastily seized the teacup to hide my shaking hands.
“Ah. I was explaining that I came here because there were a few things I wished to confirm.”
“……Questions for me?”
“Yes. Though there’s no need for you to be so nervous.”
The man seemed to think I was frightened by his sudden visit, and made an effort to be all the more gentle with me.
But his consideration only made things harder for me to bear.
“……Before that,”
The way he stepped forward, brushing past the awkwardness, kept summoning the memory of someone else.
“Where did you say you’re from?”
Since I was not yet ready to converse with him properly, I deftly changed the subject, averting my eyes.
“My apologies. I realize I have not yet introduced myself.”
The man bowed slightly, his pale pink hair trimmed neatly at the jawline.
“I am a High Priest—Basaria.”
“……Basaria, a High Priest, I see.”
“It’s an unusual name, isn’t it? People from the Empire find it unfamiliar, but where I come from—Etheríon—it’s quite common.”
‘Etheríon?’
For the first time, I truly listened to what he was saying.
Etheríon. Centuries ago, the nation that had spread its doctrine throughout the Edvart Empire. Though it had long since fallen, its influence remained so profound that within the Empire, the very name Etheríon was treated as something sacred. And yet.
‘He’s lying.’
It couldn’t be true. No—it mustn’t be true. Because.
……if it were, then this man before me had nothing whatsoever to do with my husband.
“I was born in Etheríon and received instruction in the Temple’s teachings from my parents. It was only by chance that I came to the Empire.”
“If I may ask, how old are you?”
“I’m twenty this year. I came of age last spring.”
“……I see.”
Even his age was identical. His birthday nearly the same.
Yet this man was not my husband? Or rather, he claimed to have grown up in a foreign land with no connection whatsoever to Camille?
‘How am I supposed to believe that?’
My mind understood it, but my heart could not. If anything, this would be easier to believe as a dream.
“……Ah.”
Lost in thought with my head bowed, I started when pale fingers brushed the back of my hand, lifting my gaze in surprise.
Basaria must have noticed my complexion growing ever paler and reached out. His eyes held a helpless, uncertain light as he regarded me.
“My lady, are you quite certain you’re well? Your color is not good.”
“I’m… I’m fine—”
“Please, allow me. Do use this.”
Basaria drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to me.
I had been turning away, trying to hide the flush creeping across my face, but our eyes met—those sea-blue eyes and mine.
“I embroidered it myself.”
With eyes that curved gently upward came a clear, tender smile.
In that moment, my heart lurched painfully once more.
“Th-thank you.”
I nearly snatched the handkerchief from his hands, using it to wipe away the perspiration beading my flushed cheeks.
And then I noticed it—an eagle emblem embroidered with golden thread in the corner, executed with meticulous precision.
“It is the symbol of Etheríon. It carries the meaning of conveying God’s will to the earthly realm.”
“……I think I’ve seen it before, at the Temple.”
“I’m sure you have. Please use the handkerchief freely, and return it when you find the opportunity—or keep it, if you prefer.”
I held the handkerchief tightly in my hand and slowly shifted my gaze once more.
‘He really is… a different person.’
Even if not a single portrait of him remained in Ortega, I had looked upon Camille’s face just an hour ago.
Yet all the circumstances before me insisted otherwise.
‘Very well.’
I would accept it now. This man had nothing to do with me. He was a stranger.
“Um, my lady.”
Basaria’s face flushed as he awkwardly scratched his cheek.
Only then did I realize I had been staring rudely.
“I’m so sorry. I was staring rather obviously, wasn’t I? If I’ve made you uncomfortable, I apologize.”
“Not at all. It’s simply… I’m not accustomed to such regard.”
“You said you came with questions. Tell me now, if you would. What is it you wish to know?”
“Are you certain you’re well enough?”
“Of course. Please speak.”
He studied my face one last time, and only after I offered a small smile did his expression finally ease.
“Then, I shall ask.”
I had steadied my resolve, and I thought there was no reason to waver further.
But the moment I witnessed the sudden shift in Basaria’s eyes, I hesitated.
“I have a question regarding your painting, my lady.”
The warmth drained from his blue eyes.
And he asked.
“Have you ever heard a voice from within it?”
“……I beg your pardon?”
As though he already knew the answer.
“Wait… what did you just—”
It took a long moment before I managed to pull out even that much.
Without any sense of urgency, Basaria repeated his question as though guiding a lost child down a path.
“I asked whether you have ever heard a voice from your painting, my lady.”
In an instant, the atmosphere turned cold.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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