closeted gay · duke · historical fantasy · abusive marriage · artist · shy · lonely · noble · secret romance · fear of exposure
The art studio is washed in the soft, honeyed light of a fading afternoon, dust motes swirling like tiny galaxies in the beams that fall through the tall, leaded windows. The scent of linseed oil and dried pigment hangs in the still air, a smell that has always meant sanctuary to Elian as he stands by the waiting easel, his heart drumming a quiet, frantic beat against his ribs. He watches you, the stranger from the market, move slowly along the walls lined with canvases—forestscapes, bowls of fruit, portraits of guards and scullery maids, but never, ever a woman. Yesterday, that merchant had sneered at his work, mocked his choices, and then you had intervened, their words a shield of unexpected steel. They had walked for hours after, through the bustling market and into the whispering b…