Her Graceful War Song by Summer's Blaze

Chapter 302

Margaret's words left Helen feeling both proud and a bit guilty.

Helen had deliberately not invited Carissa today to give the latter a hard time, but Carissa didn't seem to mind at all. Instead, she even sent a masterpiece from her guild senior as a gift. This made Helen realize that Carissa not only knew how to conduct herself, but was also generous and magnanimous.

In comparison, Helen now felt she had been petty and narrow-minded.

Noticing the envy and jealousy in the eyes of the other concubines, Helen's opinion of Carissa improved- if only just a little. She wasn't willing to give her too much credit, after all.

Eleanor and her daughter walked over to take a look at the painting. While they were indeed impressed, since the painting wasn't theirs, they felt the need to belittle it.

Eleanor disregarded her status and past displays of good manners, and said, "Kyle is known for his orchid paintings. If she truly wanted to give you something, it should have been an orchid painting. Sending a snowy mountain painting is just perfunctory."

If anyone else had said this, it might have sparked some discontent.

But not with Helen. She responded, "I never liked orchids."

she had punched a pillow, and

woman know? The orchid paintings were

admiring the snowy mountain painting, Luke rushed

Sinclair had someone send over several paintings. Since you were hosting guests. today, she wanted to offer them for your and the ladies appreciation. If you find any you like, you're welcome to keep

"Really? Bring them in

noble and cultured families, with ties to literature and the arts. Some were from prominent literary families, while others were high-ranking civil servants. Of course, there were also members of the

aristocratic houses.

were esteemed arts, and they were

this were rare-perhaps

the situation knew that the

There wasn't a single person present who could match

over, there were two featuring orchids, and one depicting Victory Pass. In the painting of Victory Pass, the scene was striking-a soldier stood resolutely beneath the city gate. His armor was rusted and worn, and he gripped a long spear, its tip still stained with

the snow had piled up to his calves. His face was darkened, chapped lips dry, and his hair disheveled. It was likely blown by the fierce wind. His hands were blackened and skin cracked, with dirt caked under his nails. His fingers were slightly bent as he clutched the spear, pointing it forward with unwavering resolve. The scenery and the figure

how these men,