My Knight in Shining Armor
You step behind him into a room full of masterpieces that once hung in your father's house. They are beautiful. The kind of works meant to be admired by the elite, but he is not looking at the walls. His eyes are averted to the floor as he basks in self-induced humiliation. You stand beside him silently admiring the fine lines created so long ago by a swift and steady brushstroke. Beside you his breathing is unsteady, and you can feel his eyes on you. As a prince you've often been the center of attention, but when he looks at you, you feel electrified.
"Look here," you say reaching across his body so that your arm lightly touches his chest. He steps into your touch, his eyes following the line of your finger to a small bird perched atop a window sill. "If you look at the window, there's a slight reflection, the artist painted his own image. It's a vanity piece for sure. A lot of the greats have done that you know, Valesquez with his Las Meninas, Courbet, and oodles of others. When I was young, I loved this painting, and so for my birthday I asked that my father donate it so that everyone can enjoy it."
The handsome man beside him nodded, his cheeks returning to their natural shade. Alex pointed to the next painting, "And this one?" He was beginning to show the genuine interest of an artist for the art. Alex had moved on to the next painting. "What do you know of it?"
You look at the painting and smother a mischievous smile. "It was painted by Marcel, the royal painter. Marcel was wonderful with his brushes, but a little too rash with his stick, he got caught poking at the prince in less- generous times. He was given quite a tongue lashing I hear."
Alex looked up aghast, his skin the pale shade of pistachio. His lovely sea foam eyes filled with horror and fear, and he even seemed to be moving slowly away from you.
"Look here," you say reaching across his body so that your arm lightly touches his chest. He steps into your touch, his eyes following the line of your finger to a small bird perched atop a window sill. "If you look at the window, there's a slight reflection, the artist painted his own image. It's a vanity piece for sure. A lot of the greats have done that you know, Valesquez with his Las Meninas, Courbet, and oodles of others. When I was young, I loved this painting, and so for my birthday I asked that my father donate it so that everyone can enjoy it."
The handsome man beside him nodded, his cheeks returning to their natural shade. Alex pointed to the next painting, "And this one?" He was beginning to show the genuine interest of an artist for the art. Alex had moved on to the next painting. "What do you know of it?"
You look at the painting and smother a mischievous smile. "It was painted by Marcel, the royal painter. Marcel was wonderful with his brushes, but a little too rash with his stick, he got caught poking at the prince in less- generous times. He was given quite a tongue lashing I hear."
Alex looked up aghast, his skin the pale shade of pistachio. His lovely sea foam eyes filled with horror and fear, and he even seemed to be moving slowly away from you.