Page 53 of Knot Excused
“Not on purpose!” I cried, hurrying after her. “Cressida and I are not a couple. I told you we are through! You are the only one I want.”
But Piper was still walking away without looking back, and we were interrupted by the head judge. Everyone drew back respectfully to let him pass.
It was the esteemed Duke D’Bertier de Sauvigny, and he had been judging art competitions for as long as I could remember. He was a tall, thin man in his late 70s, or perhaps he was 170. I couldn’t swear to it either way. He had a timeless stern austerity, and he was notorious for taking out a series of sinister looking glasses to carefully examine each piece of art for any imperfections.
But this time he walked around the room without bringing out his looking glass once. There was a curl to his lip, like he couldn’t believe the shit he was seeing.
I looked around at all the Alpha-made pieces. They all looked up to their usual exquisite standard to me. Apparently he was going to be even more of a hardass this year.
But the Duke was making noises like ‘hmm’ and ‘pft’ as he walked around each exquisite Alpha artwork.
Then he moved to where Mario and Raffi still had a cloth over Piper’s art.
Now, I didn’t care if he was the fucking Duke or not, if he was going to say anything mean about Piper’s painting, I was going to chew him out.
Then Mario and Raffi unveiled it with such a grand flourish that everybody turned to stare.
I barely had time with my marveling eyes to take in what appeared to be a nine-foot cat when the Duke spoke.
“Extraordinary!” he snapped, in a voice so loud everyone in the art gallery could clearly hear.
He bounded over to the painting with uncharacteristic energy and looked at it again, closer, like he never wanted to stop looking at it.
Mario, Raffi, and Cesare stood there with poker faces.
“Young woman,” the Duke said, “this is unquestionably the most stunning piece of art I have ever seen. Such ingenuity! Such talent! All these other paintings are simply rubbish compared to it!”
For a moment, I felt my jaw unhinge and my mouth sag open.
“You must be shitting me,” Cressida burst out.
“Such language,” Piper said, looking unconcerned, and I felt a prickle of pride in her.
She didn’t give a shit what people thought about her, and I was jealous as fuck.
I wanted that energy, I craved that confidence.
Oh god, my mouth was so full of wanting and needing that I had to cram my hand over my lips to keep the drool in, the craven weak needy desperation for my uninterested Omega.
“Look at it!” Cressida almost sobbed.
I turned and looked too, really looked at the painting.
What we had was a nine foot tall cat who was clearly some sort of all-powerful mage, with electricity and various spells shooting out of its little paws.
The entire thing was done in unusual colors of a violent orange I had only seen in a nightmare, various shades of yellow, and a rather vomitous green.
“This painting really says something,” the Duke barked. “I believe it is a meditation on the futility of trying to grasp for too many things in this lifetime. It is better to live a simple life without the heavy psychic accumulation of too many possessions, as this cat is clearly telling us.”
“Clearly,” Rook said.
My irritation bubbled off and dissipated as I looked at the painting.
“Did you really paint that?” I asked Piper.
“Yes, I did, Erain,” she said. “What’s the matter, don’t think I know how?”
“You know how to paint all right,” I replied.
