A Caged Bird Doesn't Cry - Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Theodore hadn't seen Laticia for over a week. He'd tried subtly questioning the kitchen maids, but whenever Laticia's name came up, the atmosphere would turn hushed—as if her name were forbidden.
So when the Duke summoned him, Theodore couldn't help but hope he might see Laticia. And sure enough, there she was, waiting for him.
"Theo."
"Lati! I was so worried. What happened?"
Theodore studied Laticia's awkward smile. She had always been slender, but now she looked even thinner. Yet her complexion was better than before.
At least that's something...
But the sight of her rosy cheeks inexplicably soured his mood. A sticky, unpleasant feeling clung to him, though he couldn't pinpoint why. He pressed her again.
"Did you go somewhere? I was so worried when you suddenly disappeared."
"No. It's just... Theo, I have good news."
Laticia shook her head slightly, steering the conversation away. Not wanting to seem evasive, she quickly got to the point.
"The Master has decided to commission a portrait."
"Really? Truly?"
"Yes. That’s why he called for you today."
Her tactic worked immediately. Theodore forgot his interrogation, momentarily stunned. He stared at her blankly, forgetting to breathe, then repeated in disbelief:
"Really? Are you sure?"
"I promise, Theo. Why would I lie?"
"Finally!"
Theodore's joy was so palpable that it diluted some of Laticia's sadness. Not entirely—but enough.
Still, she couldn’t help but tense up, her thighs still sore from earlier. But if Theodore was this happy, maybe it hadn’t been entirely unbearable.
But why...?
Why had she been summoned to this meeting? Just because she knew Theodore? That didn’t seem right. She had no real reason to be here. The uncertainty gnawed at her.
Even as she stood beside Theodore, her nerves were fixed on the door. Her usual attentiveness was frayed, and Theodore, noticing her distraction, grew visibly irritated.
"By the way, Lati, why—"
Just as Theodore regained enough composure to return to his original question, the door opened with a heavy turn of the knob. The Duke entered, ignoring any greeting as he settled into a chair and gestured to a servant.
The servant pulled back a white cloth, revealing a prepared easel, canvas, and tools.
"Use those supplies. Inspect them."
Right here? Right now? Theodore’s heart pounded uncontrollably. The brushes and paints before him were luxuries even Locardi’s ill-gotten wealth couldn’t easily afford.
A brilliant future unfurled in his mind—fame, wealth, a steady path as a painter. If he pleased the Duke, more commissions from nobles would follow.
"Do you have a pose in mind?"
Different poses required different props. Theodore scanned the room, trying to guess the Duke’s intentions. A reclining pose would need a long chair, but there was none.
Half-body? Full-length?
A standing portrait would require a vertical canvas, but the large one before him was already set horizontally.
A lying-down pose?
Rare, but possible. Just as he concluded this, his eyes landed on a bed—spacious enough that he wondered how he’d missed it.
"I’ve commissioned a painting, but not a portrait."
"Oh..."
The Duke smirked at Theodore’s deflated tone.
"Disappointed?"
"No! Any subject you choose would be an honor."
He was disappointed, but the subject hardly mattered. What mattered was that Andrea Kalidnas had commissioned him. If this went well, portraits would follow. And then other nobles. A branching path of opportunity.
"Have you painted nudes before?"
Theodore’s soaring fantasies deflated like a punctured balloon. Nude studies were private, never displayed. If the Duke wanted one, the painting would be locked away in some forgotten corner of the estate—never to be seen, never to bring him acclaim.
"I... have some experience."
He answered vaguely, suppressing the urge to wipe his face. Maybe the Duke would change his mind.
Laticia’s gaze lingered on him, but in this situation, even acknowledging her was irritating. Unpaid labor was detestable.
"You don’t seem confident."
"No! I’ll do my best—I’ll create a masterpiece!"
"Capture a scene I favor. You may paint multiple studies."
At the mention of multiple pieces, Theodore grabbed extra charcoal. Without further instruction, the Duke approached the bed and removed his shirt.
Theodore momentarily forgot where he was. The Duke’s sculpted torso was a masterpiece in itself. He was so absorbed that he barely registered the tension in his own throat—until the Duke chastised Laticia.
"What are you doing?"
Laticia stood frozen, clutching her dress, trembling violently. To the Duke, this was unacceptable. She’d undressed without hesitation before, just to earn a single feather pen. But now, in Theodore’s presence, she couldn’t even loosen a single knot?
"Laticia."
The Duke’s voice was soft yet cruel. How can Theodore paint if you don’t cooperate?
Under the pressure, Laticia’s fingers twitched. She managed only to undo the topmost tie.
"Master... please..."
She shook her head, then locked eyes with Theodore—and turned to stone. She could bare herself for the Duke, but not for Theodore. That was something only animals did. Theodore had treated her as an equal, as a person.
When she still refused to move, the Duke loosened the sash at her waist himself.
"You’re only doing what you always do."
He pressed her shoulders down, forcing her to her knees. His erection slapped against her lips. He tapped her frozen cheek.
"Open wider."
"No, Master, please—"
Her desperate plea only hardened his resolve.
"Or do you want it forced in?"
At his icy whisper, her lips parted helplessly.
Theodore would see her spread her legs for the Duke.
The horrifying image made her shudder.
But between the horrific and the less horrific, the choice was obvious. She had no other options, no more time. As the Duke moved to push her onto the bed, she frantically grabbed his length with both hands.
"I’ll do it, I’ll do it, Master."
Her sudden compliance made the Duke release her shoulders. Instead, he stroked her silver hair, almost affectionately.
With the thick shaft pressed to her forehead, Laticia buried her face between his thighs, taking his testicles into her mouth one at a time. She moved her tongue and jaw carefully, eliciting lewd sounds.
Snap.
The sound of charcoal breaking made Laticia squeeze her eyes shut. She had no room for other thoughts—nor did she want any. She focused solely on pleasing the Duke, sucking gently, using her tongue to smooth every ridge.
"Mmm."
A good sign. Encouraged by his groan, she redoubled her efforts, kissing and licking from base to tip.
The Duke smirked. Not bad. After days of yanking her hair, forcing her this way and that, she’d finally learned. He didn’t even need to guide her now.
Still, he fisted his hand in her hair.
She flinched, fear radiating from her. A pleasant vibration. He tugged lightly.
"Keep going."
She took him deeper, until her throat constricted around him. The Duke exhaled loudly—deliberately. Every tug of her hair, every uncharacteristic moan, was for Theodore’s benefit.
And it worked.
Theodore had already snapped multiple sticks of charcoal. He’d heard of the Duke’s penchant for spectators, but witnessing it firsthand was different.
Especially with Laticia.
Damn it!
He’d known from the moment she knelt, but seeing her swallow the Duke’s monstrous size without gagging confirmed this wasn’t her first time.
You bitch...
He gritted his teeth. Every slurp of her lips, every bounce of the Duke’s balls, stoked his fury. The same Laticia who blushed at holding hands, who wept at wildflowers, now had tears in her eyes for a different reason—cheeks flushed, mouth obscenely full.
Finally, veins bulged on the Duke’s hand. He gripped the back of her head, thrusting sharply before finishing with a jerk of his hips.
A thick swallow echoed in the room. The Duke wiped the remnants on her tongue, then smeared the rest across her cheeks and nose.
Theodore barely suppressed his nausea.
"Nothing worth salvaging, it seems."
It took Theodore a moment to realize the Duke was addressing him. His gaze fell on the blank canvas. He hadn’t drawn a single line.
"I’m sorry—so sorry!"
"For what?"
"It’s my first time... painting like this..."
"First time."
The Duke repeated the words slowly, making Theodore’s stomach drop.
"I’m just not used to it! Give me one more chance!"
The Duke ignored him, turning instead to Laticia, still kneeling, mouth slack.
"He wants another chance. Should I allow it?"
As if it were her decision.
Laticia’s mind blanked.
Again?
The choice was simple: yes or no. But neither felt right. To debase herself again in front of Theodore? The shame was already unbearable. And what if the Duke demanded more next time? Just as he’d started with her mouth and ended with her legs spread.
I can’t. Theo, I can’t.
She was a cornered mouse. She couldn’t think about Theodore’s opportunity—only that she hoped, desperately, he would refuse.
Theo wouldn’t want this.
The certainty solidified in seconds.
Right, Theo?
She looked at him, her eyes pleading.
Theodore understood immediately. For a moment, their gazes held—until he looked away first.
"I won’t fail again."
"Do you agree, Laticia?"
The Duke’s words felt like mockery. Laticia swayed, as if doused in cold water. Slowly, she nodded.
"Yes."
Her violet eyes brimmed with sorrow—but no resentment. She could never resent Theodore. She understood his dreams, his long-nurtured ambitions.
She wanted to tell him it was okay. If she couldn’t speak, she’d smile instead.
But Theodore never looked back.
The Duke rang a bell, summoning a servant.
"Give Theodore Vüther wine and meat."
As the servant left, the Duke gestured to the door.
"You’re dismissed."
Theodore bowed deeply, forehead nearly touching the floor, and left.
The Duke turned to Laticia.
"Sing."
Theodore’s presence still lingered in the air. The taste of the Duke clung to the back of her throat. She shuddered.
"...No. I won’t sing."
"What’s the problem? I kept my promise—gave your painter two chances."
She stayed silent. It was the strongest refusal she could muster.
"Understand this."
The Duke gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his cold gaze.
"I brought you here today. But it was Theodore Vüther who asked for you to be here next time."
The name stabbed through her.
"If you refuse, there won’t be a next time."
He stood, indifferent. He’d expected this. Her face was too expressive.
And so he also knew—
"I’ll do it! I’ll sing! I’m sorry, Master! I was wrong!"
—that she would break this easily.
"The song can wait."
He shoved her onto the bed, climbing over her smaller frame. He licked the tears from her cheeks—sweet, different from the rest of her.
Her sobs only made him harder.
***
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