He thinks…I'm vile?

'What the hell am I thinking? He is a prince…'

After a while, Arlan put the quilt on the side, signaling that the portrait was done. He picked up the paper and waved it gently so the ink would dry. Then, he brandished the parchment back on the table, his exaggerated manner of showmanship like that of a royal painter theatrically displaying his life's masterpiece.

From his actions, Oriana shook her head. 'Attitude and arrogance must flow in his veins instead of blood.' Yet she could not fault him. 

The portrait of the black-haired beauty on the piece of paper appeared so real, it captured not only Rosetta's physical likeness but also the essence of her spirit and the depth of her being.  An elegant and proud intellectual.

"Prince Arlan," Yorian spoke in disbelief, "Is this…that woman?"

"I dare you to doubt my drawing skills," Arlan's tone was cold. 

"Is it her, Yorian?" Drayce asked.