---
Marin stared at the dress laid out on her bed and sighed.
The blue gown was made of stiff, unforgiving fabric—the kind that looked perpetually wrinkled no matter how carefully it was stored. The color had faded unevenly, leaving some patches darker than others. The hem bore suspicious stains that no amount of scrubbing had been able to remove.
*Shabby* was generous. *Unpresentable* was accurate.
The pink dress she'd worn yesterday—the festive one, the only decent piece of clothing she owned—now had a torn sleeve hanging by threads. Which left this sad blue rag as her sole option.
*Wonderful.*
She released another heavy sigh.
*Knock-knock.*
"It's Julia."
"Come in."
Marin threw a robe over her nightgown and unlatched the door.
Julia slipped inside, her arms cradling something pink and familiar. Her eyes caught the blue dress on the bed, and she immediately held up her burden with barely contained pride.
"Miss Marin, I've repaired the sleeve."
"What?" Marin blinked. "Already?"
"Yes. Completely finished."
Marin accepted the dress and unfolded it, searching for the damage.
The torn sleeve had vanished entirely. In its place, delicate embroidery traced an intricate pattern of climbing flowers—roses and morning glories woven together in threads that caught the light. The stitching was so fine, so precise, that the mended section looked *better* than the original.
And the fabric itself had clearly been washed. Even the mud stains at the hem had disappeared.
"Julia." Marin's voice emerged hushed. "This is *amazing*."
"It's nothing, really—"
"Don't say that." Marin looked up to meet the girl's eyes—and noticed the redness there, the faint shadows beneath. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?"
Julia's cheeks flushed.
"I wanted to finish..."
"Thank you." Warmth flooded Marin's chest. "Truly. I was just despairing over having nothing to wear."
"If you like it, then I'm happy too."
Julia's shy smile lit up her entire face.
"You really do have golden hands." Marin ran her fingers over the embroidery, marveling at the evenness of each stitch. "Where did you learn to do this?"
"I've always loved embroidery. Whenever I found scraps of fabric, I'd practice different patterns. Just... trying things." Julia ducked her head. "I never had proper training."
"Self-taught? That makes it even more impressive."
The praise seemed to overwhelm Julia. She quickly changed the subject.
"I've already brought breakfast to Lady Roenna's room."
"Thank you—oh, wait a moment."
Marin crossed to her vanity and retrieved her coin purse. She counted out ten silver pieces and pressed them into Julia's hands.
The girl's eyes went wide.
"I didn't do this for money!"
"I know you didn't." Marin closed Julia's fingers around the coins before she could refuse. "And I've already accepted your kindness—that's priceless. But this is payment for your *skill*. Your talent deserves compensation."
"My... talent?"
Julia's voice wavered.
"Yes. I genuinely love this embroidery. Please accept it."
For a long moment, Julia simply stared at the silver in her palm. Her eyes glistened with moisture she was clearly fighting to contain.
"...Thank you."
The words came out thick with emotion.
No one had ever paid her for her work before. No one had ever called her talented.
Somewhere deep inside her chest, Julia felt her loyalty to Marin solidify into something unshakeable.
---
## — The Reception Hall —
Marin took one look through the doors and slammed them shut.
Olive, standing beside her with his usual pleasant expression, didn't so much as flinch.
"Mr. Olive." Marin turned to face him, eyes round as dinner plates. "Am I supposed to go *in there*?"
"Yes."
"That room? Right there? The one I just closed?"
"Yes."
"That's where I need to go?"
"Yes." His smile remained perfectly serene. "Since the maids who insulted you and Lady Roenna are servants of the ducal castle, His Grace has sent an apology. This is it."
"*This* is the apology?"
Marin's voice pitched higher than she intended.
"I expected—I don't know—a quick trip to a dress shop? Selecting one dress? Maybe two?"
"I believe 'atelier' was the only word His Grace used."
"I was *there*, you know!"
"Of course you were."
Olive's calm was infuriating.
*How does one word translate into... that?*
She'd been in the study yesterday. The Duke had indeed summoned Olive and said "Atelier." Nothing more. A single word. And somehow that had become *this*.
"Since winter is approaching," Olive continued smoothly, "His Grace specified that warm garments should be ordered. For both you and Lady Roenna."
"The Duke said all that? Himself? Out loud?"
"Yes."
"With words? Multiple words?"
"Yes."
"I was *right there*, Mr. Olive."
"Lady Roenna has arrived." Olive glanced past her shoulder as though she hadn't spoken. "Shall we proceed?"
Marin turned.
Roenna stood in the corridor, Julia at her elbow, both wearing identical expressions of confusion.
"Marin?"
"Mother."
"What's happening?" Roenna whispered, her eyes darting toward Olive.
Marin looked at her mother's dress—really *looked* at it. The sleeves had worn nearly transparent. The fabric had thinned to the point of fragility. And most damning of all, it was summer-weight. Entirely unsuitable for the cold months ahead.
*Olive is right.*
Behind her, she felt rather than saw Olive's slight smile.
"Mother." Marin took Roenna's hands. "We're buying dresses."
"*Dresses*?"
"His Grace the Duke owes me a debt." Marin's eyes glittered with sudden determination. "And he's given me permission to spend as much as I wish. So let's spend so much that even *his* fortune feels the sting."
Behind them, Olive coughed into his hand.
Marin pretended not to notice.
*If I'm accepting a gift, I'll accept it properly. And repay the kindness in my own way.*
"Please."
Olive stepped forward and threw open both doors with a flourish.
The reception hall had been transformed.
Elegant furniture arranged with impeccable taste. Soft light filtering through gauze curtains. Fresh flowers in crystal vases. Every detail screamed *wealth* and *refinement* in ways that made Marin slightly dizzy.
But the truly shocking sight stood at the room's center.
A woman sat at the tea table, porcelain cup in hand, looking entirely at home amid the luxury.
Behind her, arranged in a perfect crescent, stood *mannequin after mannequin*—each draped in a gown more magnificent than the last. Silks and velvets, embroidered bodices and flowing skirts, winter wools and evening satins. A rainbow of colors. A treasury of fabrics.
*This* was what Marin had seen when she'd slammed the door.
She'd assumed they would visit an atelier. Choose a dress or two. Return home.
She had not expected the entire atelier to *relocate to the castle*.
"May I present Idre Smil," Olive said, guiding them forward, "head designer of the Bloria studio."
"Good morning." The woman set down her cup and rose, executing a precise, economical bow. "I am Idre Smil."
She wore a white dress that whispered of understated elegance. Around her throat, a long strand of black pearls wound twice before falling to her waist—simple jewelry that somehow conveyed both wealth and taste.
Brown hair. Blue eyes. Calm professionalism in every gesture.
*Idre Smil.*
The name triggered recognition. This was a minor character from the novel—the designer who would eventually become the heroine's personal clothier.
*Another character from the book, standing right in front of me.*
The realization brought a strange warmth.
"Hello." Marin smiled more brightly than perhaps warranted. "I'm Marin."
"And I'm Roenna." Her mother dipped her head gracefully.
Idre's expression remained professionally neutral, but Marin caught the quick, assessing sweep of her gaze.
The Bloria studio was small—one of the smallest in the capital. Idre worked alone, designing every piece herself. She didn't chase trends or cater to fashion-obsessed debutantes. As a result, her client list remained thin.
*A place ready to close at any moment,* Marin guessed, based on what she remembered from the novel.
But then an invitation had arrived from the Duke of Vines—the wealthiest house in the empire.
The terms: absolute secrecy. Not a word about the Duke's current condition, his seclusion, or the identity of whoever required these dresses.
The reward: extraordinary.
*"I'm counting on your discretion. Prepare everything these ladies desire—dozens of dresses, hundreds if necessary. Shoes and jewelry included. If they select only a few pieces, I'll purchase every dress you've brought and every design in your catalog."*
No wonder Idre had arrived with her entire collection.
"I'll leave you to it, then." Olive caught Marin's eye and lowered his voice. "Rest until lunch. Come only at bedtime."
"Yes. Understood."
She whispered back, acutely aware of how that instruction might sound to outside ears.
*Visit a man late at night.*
The fantasies such a request could inspire were... dangerous.
Olive departed, closing the doors behind him.
The four women left in the room exchanged awkward glances.
Julia immediately began collecting the used teacups.
"I-I'll bring fresh tea and treats!"
Her nerves, triggered by the unfamiliar atmosphere, brought back her stutter. Her cheeks flamed crimson.
"Thank you, Julia."
The warmth in Marin's voice helped—Julia managed a quick nod before escaping.
Idre adjusted her smile to something more inviting and addressed her new clients.
"I'd like to take your measurements first. Which of you would prefer to begin?"
---