His Majesty King Gerhard stood in his personal quarters, hands tucked behind his back. Before him, upon a wall upholstered in dark silk, hung The Girl with a Pearl Earring. She looked upon him with that exact same elusive, quiet wisdom that compelled the monarch to feel himself not a king, but simply a man caught off guard.

A timid knock sounded at the door. The Lord Chamberlain entered - an elderly official whose life had been subjected to a strict accounting of every single copper coin within the royal treasury.

“Your Majesty,” the chamberlain bowed, his voice trembling slightly. “The invoice for the painting purchased by You has arrived.”

The king gestured carelessly with his hand, not severing his gaze from the canvas.

“Settle it utilizing my personal funds; do not utilize money intended for the needs of the palace.”

“Your... Your Majesty!” rasped the Lord Chamberlain. “This figure... Why, this is the annual maintenance of an entire regiment of border guards! With five knights assigned to each! For... for a piece of canvas and a bit of oil? Why, this is entirely unreasonable.”

Gerhard turned slowly. His gaze was calm, almost sympathetic.

“You have stepped upon dangerous ground, Chamberlain. Forget not yourself; I granted you no permission to criticize me.”

His gaze turned icy in a flash, at which the old official went still in his tracks.

“Settle the accounts. I do not plan to be disgraced due to your inability to proportion my expenses with my desires.”

He stepped closer. His voice became dangerously low.

“And remember: this is the first and final transgression of such a nature that you could permit yourself.”

The elderly man appeared to turn even greyer in a second. The heavy, pressing aura of the king descended upon him, compelling him textually to shrink from terror. The chamberlain hastened to drop to his knees, his forehead striking the polished floor with a dull thud.

“I beg Your forgiveness, Your Majesty! I dared to permit myself excessive liberty! Such a thing shall not be repeated again!” his voice broke into a frightened cry.

Gerhard, not deigning him with another single glance, turned to the painting once more, hands tucked behind his back.

“And since we have touched upon the topic of the beautiful - it is a pity to lock such beauty exclusively within my quarters. Deliver orders for the Rosenthals to be entrusted with the arrangement of the new royal gallery within the old exhibition wing. It is time to carry out the rusted armor from there and replace it with something genuinely living and worthy.”

The Lord Chamberlain was indeed an old man. He had served the third ruler within his memory and considered himself a man unconditionally worthy of respect.

“Whelp!” he hissed, returning to his desk. “Why, how does he dare? Thinks he can rule without the support of the nobility? He has turned so bold solely because his back is shielded by Werdun. Had my Gwynneth only become queen... She would have quickly taken the king in hand and turned him as she pleased.”

He struck the tabletop forcefully with his fist.

“It is worth writing to the rest. It is time to curb this bastard,” he smirked maliciously at his thoughts.

Rising from his seat, he collapsed straight back immediately. A crimson stain was spreading rapidly across his chest.

Albrandt stepped noiselessly from the shadows and seated the old man deeper into the armchair, holding him by the shoulders.

“Why, you were warned,” the knight pronounced quietly. “Toward what purpose did you conduct yourself so?”

Azalea Rosenthal awoke in an incredibly elevated mood. Today, when the construction dust had finally settled completely, they were to inspect the new building in full measure for the first time - that very ambitious project intended to shake the entire metropolitan way of life.

She washed quickly, dispelling the remnants of sleep. She donned her favorite trouser suit of dense, dark fabric with a flawlessly tailored jacket, and comfortable shoes on a stable heel, which the local cobbler behind her back designated exclusively as “men's,” yet crafted with special trepidation. A light smile played upon her lips, and she hummed a merry motif under her breath.

Descending the broad staircase, Azalea passed through the corridor flooded with morning sun, drawn by the sounds of music.

In the drawing room, Strelitzia sat on the edge of the sofa, spellbound watching her mother. Elena was just finishing the final measures on her violin, a soft, soothing smile captured upon her face. As soon as the final note fell silent, the girl clapped her hands enthusiastically. Azalea, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe, supported her niece with pleasure, joining in the applause.

“Ready?” Azalea asked with a spirited glint in her eyes, pushing off from the wall.

“I cannot wait to see this building with my own eyes as soon as possible!” a content, flushed Elena carefully lowered the bow and set about packing the violin into its velvet case.

Her personal maid bustled about immediately, assisting with putting away the instrument and tending to the music sheets scattered across the table.

“Me too!” Strelitzia exclaimed joyfully, leaping from the sofa.

The immense white bear, who unceasingly followed the girl everywhere, rose lazily in her wake, shook himself, and yawned with a maw full of formidable fangs. The beast had visibly grown, acquired teeth, and currently resembled a young snowdrift with living eyes more than a toy, inspiring a light, reverent apprehension in anyone witnessing him for the first time.

“Then what are we awaiting? Into the carriage, ladies and milady.” Azalea announced merrily, bowing jokingly and comically copying the pompous manner of speech of their chief butler.

She cast a glance at Leon, who with every week resembled a real, full-fledged polar bear more strongly, having miraculously wandered into southern lands.

“My dear, it is better for your fluffy friend to wait at home,” Elena spoke softly, solicitously adjusting the collar on her daughter's dress. “In the city bustle, he will be uncomfortable.”

Strelitzia compressed her lips offendedly, looked at her immense protector with doubt, and then took a heavy breath, resigning herself to the inevitable. She approached the beast right up close and patted his muzzle lightly.

“Wait for me at home. I shall return soon,” she instructed seriously. The bear grunted quietly in response, as though comprehending every word.

“What sort of magic did you instruct her in, Magnus?”

Azalea shook her head sharply, driving the persistent thought aside. She would pose this question in person when she finally met the mage face to face.

The auction house awaits.

End of Part Three. Coming next: Part Four. Gold. Paintings. The Auction House.