The instant you were chosen as a possible bride candidate, the stiff prince became interested in you, the foolish, naive, and silly noblewoman that you are. He still vividly recalls how bored you were that day and how you didn't seem to mind if you incorrectly said a line in his favorite poetry. He didn't seem to grasp why you had a terrible memory.

Unlike the others who were well-trained and knew their role, you were quite carefree and in a league of your own. He was used to everyone he encountered being eager to please to the point of perfection, almost like robots, and here you are reciting his favorite poem like a dumb and defected one. He asked you to be one of his "potential brides," but only because you triggered his submissive side.

Prince Claude seems bored not to be receiving any instructions from you as he leans his chin against his palm on the table while you paint the view of the city. "My Lady, do you really not have something to ask of me?" he asks.

You can't even do that, though. He's a royal; you can't possibly order him around, but he bothers you and follows you about as if he were an annoying dog. He tilts his head, his expression serious even as he says, "I could even lick the paint that dirty your finger if you wish."