There was an old saying that when anger reaches a certain point, a person would become level-headed, like a calm before a storm. This was the first time Oriana realized the wisdom of that statement.
Her cool gaze tried to see through what kind of person her master was. He changed his behavior like a chameleon, and from the day she first met him, she had witnessed countless sides—no, maybe calling them masks would be more proper—of this royal prince bearing the name of Arlan Cromwell.
She had seen him playful and childish, serious and scary, sociable and gentlemanly, reliable and intelligent, even perverted and seductive.
'Which was the real him?'
She felt like she would never be able to understand him.
Satisfied by her reaction, Arlan moved back towards the table to refill his glass with wine.
"Is it still difficult to process what you need to do?" she heard him say after he downed his second drink.
A new mask. A normal mask.