This entire situation was ridiculous. Isador was often poor in his timing, but this may have been a new level of frustration. Simon should have been in the archives. He should have been interrogating Mikhail. He should have been figuring out what he was going to do after this light was handled. Yet, here he was, sitting in a well lit room with an easel before him, seated upon a comfortable velvet chair. He looked as absurd as he felt.

Still, he had to wonder if Isador might have been thinking more than Simon gave him credit for. Summoning Arthur Menk for his portrait right after asking him what had happened to Edward was, if deliberate, clever. It was possible, of course, that Isador had only thought of ensuring his promise to get Simon’s portrait done was fulfilled, but that seemed doubtful. 

“You are an archivist, yes? Grigori’s boy?” The man looked at him through thick circular glasses, thin lips pressed together. He dressed well, but lightly. His bald head reflected the lights above.

”Yes, sir,” Simon said, doing his best not to move too much when he spoke. It was not as if he was unused to people recognizing him through his resemblance to his father, especially in the palace, but the question surprised him. “You knew him?”

The man nodded. “Somewhat. He was very kind in canceling a family portrait when my son went missing. Refused to allow me to return the deposit.” The man eyed him, slow and careful. Just as a painter ought to when taking in their subject. That did not ease the desire to squirm under his scrutiny. “I wish I had been able to do that for you. It is only after people leave us that we realize how short life can be, yes?”

SImon was unsure if he was permitted to nod. “Yes.” Perhaps he should not pry too much. A grieving man deserved not to be interrogated. But the thought of having nothing to report to Isador at all was heavy in his mind. If this had been intentional, Simon ought to make the most of it. If he would be gone soon, it would not matter if he made someone a little uncomfortable with him. “Your son. Did he come home?”

The man let out a sigh. “We found his body. During the autopsy, though, it disappeared.” He bit his lip. “I do not know what happened to Edward. I only hope he finds peace in the next life.”

“How odd.” Simon should not have said that aloud. It was far from polite. And yet it was the only thing he could possibly say. Why would the man’s corpse go missing?

Unless Chalice was right. Not that Simon had doubted her, but… Her Majesty had killed Edward Menk. But why?

”Isn’t it just? Sometimes the strangeness is more profound than the sadness,” the man said with a dry laugh. He did not seem upset that Simon had spoken. How much further could he press?

”What was he like?” Simon asked. And then he paused, looking to the side. “Apologies, that may be inappropriate. I just always like to remember my father when I can. I think it’s nice to keep the memory alive.”

”Turn your head back for me, please.”

Simon did as he was told. The silence in the room was too thick. He had gone too far. He supposed that was what he got for coming up with such a pathetic excuse for the line of questioning.

”Edward was my apprentice,” Arthur said softly.

Or perhaps he had said exactly what he needed to.

”He was a gifted boy, took to painting rather quickly, but insisted on studying under me. Have you seen the portrait of Her Majesty which hangs in the hall beside the throne room? That is his work. He always adored her. Captivated by her beauty, he always said.” Arthur laughed. “We all have our favorite subjects.”

Simon smiled softly. “And who is yours?”

The man hummed. “If I must choose from the royal family, perhaps Princess Catherine. Or Prince Salvador. Very charming, those two. He was a delight when he was little.”

It wasn’t an answer that Simon would have expected. Catherine had always been in the public eye. She was the first born, the heir. Simon would also be a fool if he did not recognize that she was pretty. That would make sense for a painter. But Salvador surprised him. He was certainly sweet enough, but he always managed to fade into the background of Simon’s thoughts. Even if he was older than Dorian, he stood out less. He blended in perfectly to the family. Maybe too much.

”And if we are not limited to the royal family?”

Arthur’s smile stretched thin lips over a wrinkled face. “I would have to say my wife.”

Ah. He seemed sweet enough. Simon could not find reason to dislike him or to distrust him. If he said the body disappeared, then Simon would not disbelieve that. Edward Menk was dead. That was certainly his spirit that they had seen. And Chalice was more than likely correct that Her Majesty had taken matters into her own hands. Chalice was, after all, not often wrong. Sometimes a bit biased, but… could Simon blame her for that? Every overprotective word she had ever spoken had come from her own time with Their Majesties.

She understood Dorian, perhaps more than anyone else could.

”Tell me about your father,” Arthur said, pulling Simon back to his body. “You said you like to keep the memory alive. I only met him a handful of times.”

Simon nodded, relaxing in his chair. He could do that. “He was a good archivist. I know that is how everyone knows him, and it is true. He balanced the research and organizing and relationships so easily. I find great difficulty following his footsteps.” It was the relationships that Simon found most frustrating. Especially now.

Had Her Majesty used Mikhail as a tool? Or had that been the choice of a man who was already beginning to slip? It would have been easier if he had never been told. He knew that was why Chalice and Gris had kept it. If Mikhail had never said a word, it may have made everything simpler. Not having to wonder would have made this simpler.

”I imagine it must be difficult. Though, as a father myself, if it is of any comfort, I find it quite nice that you want to follow his lead at all.” The man hummed. “I was so happy when Edward began painting. It is nice to see your lineage continue your work, even if they feel they are not doing it the way you did.”

Simon swallowed. He should not be so insincere with a man so kind. “It is good to hear that, yes. More than work, I just hope I can be as kind as he was. He raised me alone, but he managed to find the time to be a good friend and a good father. He could balance so much.” At least that was all true. “He was a really good man.”

”I do not know you very well, Simon, but you seem to be a bright and charming young man. You should be quite capable of that. Now if you could only figure out that odd light,” he said with a soft laugh.

Simon sighed. It was surprising that it had taken so long to mention it. “We are doing our best. It really is strange, though.” He shook his head. “Their Majesties are hard at work.”

”I wager they are,” he said. “It is quite pretty, though, I will confess. Especially at night.”

The sound of a knock at the door startled Simon, but he did his best to settle back into position. Everyone had been told already that he would be occupied for the afternoon, but if Mari had found something important, it was possible this might need to be interrupted.

The train of thought was silenced as the door opened, revealing Isador, a large black book in his hands. He moved slowly, almost shyly inside. “Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was hoping I could watch some of the portrait session. If you don’t mind, I mean.” He approached carefully, eyes on the ground. They flicked up quickly, and then widened.

Simon felt his face grow hot. Alone in the room with a man who only cared about if he was actively squirming, he had allowed himself to forget just how he looked now. With his hair down, Simon always looked younger despite the rather prominent streaks of gray that had made their home there. The clothing he wore was appropriate for a portrait, but not the simple things he usually wore for working in the archives. With silver earrings and his eyes marked by dark liner, he looked rather like a doll done up by a child.

He looked ridiculous.

”You look beautiful,” Isador said. His voice was so low it hardly carried to Simon’s seat.

At least when Isador said it, his skin didn’t crawl. It was just that it made him feel even more foolish. “Thank you, Your Highness.” He glanced between Arthur and Isador. The resemblance was uncanny. The same tanned skin. The same rust colored hair. If there had been any doubt of Isador’s lineage, it was wiped away seeing them side by side. “I do not mind if you stay.” Who was Simon to deny him the right to spend a brief and rare moment with his grandfather?

”It is fine, Your Highness,” Arthur said. He sat back, setting his brush upon the tray on the table beside him. When he turned toward Isador, he bowed his head low, but he smiled. “What do you have with you there?”

Isador glanced down at the book in his hands. “I… had hoped I might be able to learn from you a bit. Your paintings are really lovely. I don’t draw that much, but… I like to.”

Isador had never mentioned that to Simon. Was this just his way of getting himself into this room? He could have just asked to see the painter at work. Surely that would have been easier than pretending he wanted to learn.

”If you would like to do studies while I work, I would be more than happy to guide your way.” The man spoke calmly, extending a hand. “May I look at your previous work?”

Isador passed the book to him without hesitation. “I am not very skilled, but I enjoy it.”

Simon could not see the pages of the book as Arthur opened it, but his face lit up. Were the contents actually decent or was he just being kind? “This is excellent quality, Your Highness. With a bit of magic, perhaps it could jump off the page.” He let out a gentle laugh, but Isaor’s brow furrowed.

”Thank you, sir. I do not deserve such praise.”

”Take a seat. I’m sure your friend here won’t mind you borrowing his face for practice.”

The idea of Isador looking at him so closely while he looked so foolishly done up was not one Simon enjoyed, but it was better than the discomfort he would cause if he declined. “That is fine.”

At least the time passed quickly. Isador was skilled at idle chatter, and he seemed to absorb himself in the drawing so easily. He must have meant what he said. Why had that never been brought up to Simon? If Isador was so invested and so skilled, what was it that kept him from discussing it?

Perhaps it was just something he found easier to enjoy if it was his and his alone. Simon could not fault him for that. Even if it came as a surprise, it was nice to know that he did have something he liked doing alone. Perhaps when Simon was gone, he would be able to pursue that when he felt alone.

And what would Simon do? For all that he thought of leaving, the idea of what he would fill his days with after had always been difficult to wrap his mind around. If he was not an archivist, buried in dust and tomes in a dark basement, who was he? His father was gone. It was unlikely Chalice and Gris would be willing to go with him. He would be alone, with not much to do.

Maybe he, too, would be able to create something. He had quite enjoyed writing stories when he was younger. And making sweets, especially with his father. Or perhaps he could find work in whatever little town he was nearest. Maybe he could be a florist. Or a bakery worker. Whatever he did, he was certain he could find entertainment and comfort in it.

But he would not find someone like Isador again. Of that, he was certain.

When Isador looked up at him with those bright blue eyes, lip held between his teeth with concentration, thick brows furrowed, he looked with a softness no one else ever had. Even in the very beginning, Dorian had not looked at him like that. He had always looked at him like a starving man eyeing a plate of freshly roasted meat. Simon had been something to devour.

Isador… Isador looked at him like a man kneeling to worship at an altar. He would never take what he wasn’t offered. That was not his nature. No. Isador was a good man. It would be a shame to give him up.

It was a shame to give him up. Simon already had, a thousand times, rejecting an outstretched hand, waving off a bright smile or kind offer. Simon had already left him behind time and time again.

Even if Simon wanted him, he could not give himself up like that. Maybe there had been a time when he was so selfless, when he had been good enough to show someone else the parts of him that were most tender. That time had long since passed. Isador deserved someone who could give him that. Even in a perfect world where Simon wanted to spend his days with the man by his side, he still would not be able to give him what he ought to have. Simon would not subject Isador to a life of yearning.

”Why don’t we take a short break, Your Highness? I am certain our model could use a break.”

Simon shifted, clasping his hands together and stretching his arms out before himself. His bones had stiffened from sitting so still. At least the chair he had settled into was comfortable.

He watched as Arthur excused himself, leaving Simon alone with Isador before him. Simon moved forward.”May I see?”

Isador looked up at him through thick lashes. Even seated before him, he was nearly as tall as Simon standing at his full height. His cheeks were a bright shade of red. “Maybe a different time,” he said softly, closing the book before Simon had a chance to insist. “I… I don’t want you to see it until it’s good.”

So there were things Isador kept private. Very well, then.

”Alright,” Simon said. “I do look forward to seeing it.”