Page 59 of Ruling Destiny

You need to stop this.

You need to—

“Natasha.” The sound of Arthur’s voice snaps me out of the trance. “Are you okay?” His lips are flatlined, but his eyes brim with concern.

I force a nod. Force my hand back to my lap. “I’m fine. Just…a bit nauseous, that’s all.”

“Stop by the Spring room,” Arthur says. “Get yourself a proper lunch. Something more than coffee and a third of a croissant.”

Recognizing my cue to leave, I rise from my seat and start to head for the door, when I freeze.

A third of a croissant? How the hell would he even know about that?

I’m about to call him out, demand to know why he’s keeping tabs on my breakfast, when my gaze catches on the stretch of ceiling just over his head.

There, among the collection of frescoes, is one of the most recognizable images in the world, aside from theMona Lisa, of course—The Creation of Adam.

Michelangelo’s masterwork, meant to depict the biblical narrative of the moment God gives life to man.

The original can be found on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

In this version, the hand standing in for God’s clearly belongs to Arthur. I can tell by the ring the artist included on his finger.

“I am not in the right place, and I am not a painter.”

I turn to Arthur, unsure what he means.

“It’s a translation of part of the poem Michelangelo wrote about the hardships of painting the Sistine Chapel. Four years of agonizing labor that resulted in one of the most masterful works of all time. And yet, he wrote those words believing he was not suited for the job.”

So even Michelangelo suffered from imposter syndrome. To Arthur, I say, “And this version?” I gesture toward the fresco.

“A private commission from the artist himself.”

On the outside, I nod. On the inside, I’m feeling really on edge.

“And be prepared to Trip by the end of this week,” Arthur says. “If not sooner.”

“But that’s only a few days away,” I say. “And I’m not sure—”

“I had theSalvator Mundisent to your room,” Arthur says, ignoring my protest. “So you can study as needed. Though try to keep any direct contact to a minimum, of course.”

I blink. Once. Twice. Struggling to grasp the reality of what he just said. “You had an original Leonardo da Vincisent to my room?” Despite having grown used to being surrounded by priceless works of art, the thought of sharing a space with an original da Vinci still feels fantastical.

Arthur nods like it’s no big thing. “And don’t worry about the Star,” he says. “You’ll have another chance soon enough.” Then, with a brisk wave of his hand, the meeting is over.

It’s only as I’m making my way down the hall that I realize how easy it was for him to outmaneuver me, outplay me, effectively using a legendary piece of art to sidetrack me from what I really wanted to ask.

What about the mark?

What does it look like?

Not to mention—why the hell are you tracking my breakfast?

Then again, maybe that’s all for the best. Because the thoughts now spinning through my head are making me second-guess everything I once thought I knew about my dad, about myself, and even about Braxton.

34

It’s not until I’ve left the Spring room after wolfing down a quick lunch—partly to appease Arthur, and partly because I really was hungry—that I realize this is the perfect time to go look for Song’s book.

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