The Ugly Duckling Of The Tiger Tribe

Chapter 454: Side Story 9: The Canvas of the West Way

The Great Hearth/fireplace of the Sovereign Wing was roaring with enough high-heat forge coal to keep a whole pride of tigers content, sending a deep, amber glow dancing across the vaulted stone ceiling.

Outside, the mid-winter blizzard was violently rattling the glass panes, but inside, the air was heavy with the rich, comforting scents of roasted pine nuts, drying sweet rushes, and the faint, bitter tang of raw paint pigments.

"Lower your shoulder just a little, Fenric," I directed, squinting through one eye as I held a charcoal stick up against the massive canvas. "You’re completely blocking Thalor’s silks."

"If the fish-prince wants to be seen, he can stand on a cushion," Fenric grumbled, though his massive, golden-striped tail gave a compliant, cooperative sweep across the fur rugs as he shifted his weight.

He was sitting cross-legged on a mountain of black bear pelts, his broad bare shoulders gleaming in the firelight.

"I do not require cushions to eclipse a land-beast, Fenric," Thalor remarked smoothly from his position behind the couch.

The merman Prince was looking exceptionally regal, his long, vibrant purple hair perfectly adorned with silver rings, his fingers resting elegantly on the carved cedar backrest. "My posture is naturally superior."

"Both of you, be quiet," Noah rumbled with a soft chuckle, his deep wolf voice vibrating through the hearth room.

He was sitting on the opposite side of the rug, his dark wolf ears perking up as he carefully balanced one-year-old Kaelen on his knee.

Kaelen, sporting his fuzzy black ears and a matching tail, was currently trying to use Noah’s heavy silver chieftains’ medallion as a teething ring.

In the center of the pile sat Damar, looking like a stunning silver ribbon as he leaned back against the cushions with his silver tail coiled around. Sprawled directly across his chest was Nadir, fast asleep with his thumb hooked into Damar’s robe, while five-year-old Lyra sat cross-legged at her father’s feet.

Her silver braids were perfectly neat, and her emerald eyes were tracking my charcoal movements with intense, logical scrutiny.

"Mummy," Lyra stated calmly. "The proportions of Daddy Noah’s torso on your canvas are currently wider than the architectural blueprints of the main gate. Is this an intentional artistic exaggeration?"

Noah instantly cleared his throat, a faint, embarrassed flush creeping over his ears, while Fenric let out a loud, booming laugh that made the rafters hum.

"It’s called perspective, General Lyra," I smirked, wiping a smudge of black charcoal onto the leg of my linen trousers. "Your Daddy Noah has a heavy build. Now stop moving, everyone. If Sora crawls into my paint bowls one more time, the family portrait is going to be entirely monochrome."

To be honest, introducing the 21st-century concept of a ’Family Holiday Portrait’ to a bunch of feral beastmen had been a massive gamble.

Back in my old life, Stephanie’s extraordinary art talent had been nothing but a backdrop of water in a pond as they all said—something my parents ignored and the world never cared to look at. But here? In the West Way? My husbands had treated the idea like a royal decree.

Thalor had spent three days sourcing rare, dried pigments from the southern reefs to grind into vibrant paints. Noah and Harok had constructed a massive, sturdy wooden frame, tightly stretching a heavy canvas of refined hemp cloth by the fireside so it wouldn’t warp in the winter chill.

They wanted this. They wanted to be immortalized together.

"Mama! Blue!" a tiny voice chirped from beneath the easel.

I peeked under the canvas. One-year-old Sora was sitting flat on her bottom, her pale snow-tiger ears twitching happily. She had completely bypassed the security perimeter and had a streak of bright azure paint running directly down her nose.

Her white-and-black striped tail was wagging with a frantic, happy rhythm against the floorboards.

"Taruna, help," I laughed, catching the tiny tiger girl before she could palm-plant her wet hands onto my clean linen dress.

Taruna stepped out from the adjoining corridor, a warm, exhausted smile splitting her face as she scooped Sora up.

"I turn my back for one second to check on the nursery broth, Arinya, and she transforms into a water-spirit! Come along, Princess."

"Mummy, look at mine!" Phina chirped, scrambling up from the side rugs where she and Raiden had been quietly working.

She held up a small, heavily crumpled piece of parchment. It was a crude, beautiful drawing of a giant red tiger and a massive black wolf holding hands under a very lumpy sun.

"It’s beautiful, Phina," I murmured, my throat suddenly tightening as I reached out and smoothed down her dark wolf ears.

"I helped with the lines," Raiden added proudly, his bright red hair catching the firelight as he gave his sister a supportive nudge. As young as he was, he had fully inherited Fenric’s physical presence but possessed a heart so soft it sometimes worried the guard captains.

"Alright, the sketch is locked in," I declared, standing up and stretching my aching back.

The dull throb in my muscles was entirely eclipsed by the fierce, bubbling warmth in my chest. "You guys can break formation. Go eat before Fenric’s bison roast gets cold."

In a fraction of a second, the regal, imposing Sovereign formation completely dissolved into absolute domestic chaos.

Kaito and Marina, who had been hiding behind Thalor’s silks, immediately bolted for the food platter, their wild purple hair flying behind them as their golden tiger slits gleamed with territorial hunger.

"The largest cut belongs to the mermen!" Kaito yelled, baring a flash of his razor-sharp teeth.

"No, it belongs to the King who cooked it!" Fenric roared playfully, lunging off the bear pelts to scoop both purple-haired terrorists up under his arms, making them shriek with delighted laughter as he carried them toward the table.

Noah stood up smoothly, transferring a sleep-dazed Kaelen to his shoulder while his other hand reached out, gently wrapping around my waist to pull me against his side.

His dark eyes were incredibly soft as he stared at the massive, charcoal-sketched canvas.

"You captured us well, Arinya," he whispered, his chin resting against my hair. "Even the snake looks tolerable."

"I can hear you, pup," Damar’s lazy, smooth voice drifted over.

He hadn’t moved from the bed of cushions, but his emerald eyes were fixed on me, a heavy, profound devotion swimming in his snake-slit pupils. Nadir had shifted in his sleep, his little tail now wrapped securely around Damar’s wrist like a living bracelet.

Thalor walked up behind us, his cool, elegant hand resting on my bare shoulder, his thumb gently tracing my collarbone.

"When this is painted, it will hang in the Grand Hall. For generations, the beastworld will look at this wall and know exactly who united the tribes."

I looked at the canvas, my heart swelling.

I looked at the chaotic, beautiful circus of my children wrestling with Fenric, Noah’s quiet warmth beside me, and the deep, protective gaze of my two serpents by the hearth.

Then, Taruna walked in and said,

"Arinya, Phil and Philipe are here." She announced, and I went silent for a second.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a brief second, the warm, bubbling laughter in the room suddenly feeling a little distant. The name alone brought a cold ghost of a draft into the overheated hearth room.

Veyra’s children. Phil and Philipe were innocent. I knew that. I had explicitly decreed that they wouldn’t be outcasts or made to pay for the black-hearted crimes of their mother.

They deserved a normal life, a fair chance in the West Way, and the freedom to grow up without a shadow over their heads. They were just kids, and honestly, they were nice, thoughtful, and polite whenever they visited the palace to play with their cousins.

But a part of me—the part who remembered every betrayal Arinya had to go through—couldn’t entirely silence the alarm bells.

They looked so much like her. Every time Phil walked into a room, the sharp angle of her smile and the specific, calculated tilt of her head made my breath hitch.

When Philipe spoke, the cadence of his voice was an exact echo of the female who had tried to tear my life apart.

I had tested them.

Secretly, ruthlessly, putting them in situations where a hidden, malicious trait would have leaked out if they were just playing a long game like their mother used to do. They had passed every single test with genuine kindness.

Yet, looking at their faces and forcing a warm smile still felt like trying to lift a boulder. It was going to take a long, long time before the reflex to guard my throat went away around them.

"Let them in, Taruna," I said, my voice smooth and even as I gently stepped out from Noah’s side, handing my charcoal stick to Thalor.

The doors opened, and the two young leopards stepped into the warmth of the Sovereign Wing. They immediately bowed their heads respectfully, their leopard ears pinning back politely.

"Greetings, Aunt Arinya," Phil said softly, holding a small wooden box wrapped in dried reeds. "We... we brought some of the sweet mountain berries we preserved from the autumn harvest. For the babies."