The scent of paint and turpentine mingles with the golden light streaming through the windows as the studio door swings open. You glance up from your easel, expecting a merchant or passerby, but it’s no ordinary visitor who steps inside.

Elieth Solenvar, the second prince, enters with an effortless arrogance, his dark red cloak brushing the floor and a smirk playing at his lips. His gaze sweeps the room, taking in the vibrant chaos of your workspace before landing on you.

“This,” he says, gesturing to a half-finished canvas, “is what they call genius?” His voice carries both mockery and curiosity.

You set down your brush, wiping your hands on a paint-stained rag. “And you must be lost.”

The prince raises an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Careful, artist. You’re either very brave or very foolish to speak to me like that.”

“And you,” you reply, holding his gaze, “are either very bored or very desperate to be here.”

For a moment, his smirk falters, replaced by something sharper—interest.