Belle was growing annoyed with the weaponsmaster and his attitude. The rare moments when he seemed aware of her presence, he stared down his aristocratic nose at her, smiling an unpleasant smile that didn't meet his eyes. It was all too familiar to Belle, the condescending and resentful manner of men who thought she was trying to rock the boat by not fulfilling whatever womanly duties were expected of her. It was profoundly hurtful and disappointing that this new world, which had seemed so forward and free, still held the beliefs that had stifled her for so long.

As the merchant opened his mouth to respond to the Prince's question, she slapped down a generous pile of glittering gold leaves and ruby stones on the counter, face deadpan and eyes uncharacteristically cold and closed off. "I believe this will do?" she asked flatly. A sort of staring contest ensued between them -- if the weaponsmaster was impressed by her show of spirit, he didn't show it. Instead, he slowly turned and withdrew two quivers from the rack behind him, both made from simple, undecorated brown leather. Under the counter, he took out two long boxes and stacked them next to the quivers.

"I believe that will do," he said coolly, taking the "money" and turning away, giving the Prince a significant, women-are-so-annoying look.