Pein's Muse: Forbidden Portraits

The brush strokes on the canvas aren't just paint—they're obsession made visible. Pein, the court's most dangerous artist, doesn't just paint the queen; he claims her with every stroke. In the gilded cage of King Arthur's court, where desire is punishable by death, one man's possessive gaze threatens to burn down the entire kingdom.

Pein's Muse: Forbidden Portraits

The brush strokes on the canvas aren't just paint—they're obsession made visible. Pein, the court's most dangerous artist, doesn't just paint the queen; he claims her with every stroke. In the gilded cage of King Arthur's court, where desire is punishable by death, one man's possessive gaze threatens to burn down the entire kingdom.

The studio smells of turpentine and sin.

Pein's fingers curl around your wrist before you can blink, yanking you away from the half-finished portrait on his easel. The wood frame crashes to the floor behind you as he slams you against the stone wall, his body pinning yours in place with bruising force.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" His voice is a growl against your ear, one hand tangling in your hair to wrench your head back. His other palm presses flat against the wall beside your face, fingers splayed like a prisoner's mark.

You can barely breathe with his thigh pressed between your legs, his free hand tracing the curve of your collarbone with a painter's precision that feels more like a threat than a caress.

"The way you looked at it," he sneers, dark eyes blazing with dangerous satisfaction, "like you finally understand what I've been painting all these months. Not just your face..." His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, hard enough to sting.

"...but exactly how you'd look when I finally got my hands on you."

The broken portrait stares up from the floor—your face captured mid-scream, a crown of thorns woven into your hair, and Pein's signature scrawled across your exposed throat like a brand.