When Father found out why the wedding gown had been mentioned, he immediately summoned Madam Ethel, owner of Ethel Dress and Shoe Imperium, to replace my entire wardrobe. The appointment is held at Namayana Palace's main residence since Father still forbids unauthorized people in mine.
"Can it be pastel instead?" I ask the tall, curvy woman with large feet, long beige hair, and silver teeth. Madam Ethel doesn't have any magical abilities, but she has a great reputation for being the royal family's favorite dressmaker. "I don't like bold colors."
"Ah– Sa-Saridayang…" Madam Ethel's hand twitches in response to the question, which has flustered her. She turns to Father for help who in turn explains to me the customs of the country.
"Fashion is a way for the nobility to show their power in society, so what we wear is more than just dresses and gowns — it's a statement," he says.
'Yup, a statement. Here's my statement: your fashion sense sucks.'
Nobles believe that lighter-colored clothing is similar to the faded clothing worn by commoners, so they opt for bolder colors. The more vibrant the color, the more dye is needed; and dye is expensive. It is a luxury, and the poor can only afford its dregs. There's no way that the poor would be able to buy such rich-colored clothes. Even if they are able to purchase one, it will be in tatters and fade quickly due to constant use. And even if they take care of it and somehow manage to keep its vibrant colors, others will be able to tell that they are poor because their clothing is most likely to be out of style already. Fashion is ever changing every season, so even if the poor dress nicely, it is easy to tell that they are poor.
"You can wear white but not other colors you want. I'm sorry, but that's final," Father adds.
In this country, young girls wear dresses with bows or ribbons at the back, while young boys wear them on their collars. Young girls wear long socks, showing their knees is considered inappropriate. Boys under the age of ten are not permitted to wear pants and must always wear shorts.
"But, Dana, I don't want bold colors. It makes my eyes hurt. It makes me dizzy, too," I say, massaging my temples with my small hands in an attempt to elicit sympathy from my parents.
"You can't just do whatever you want because you want to. You can't always get what you want; there are things you must consider before you do something, Iris. You're a princess, after all; I know you're still young, but always remember you're a princess," Mother says as she places the catalog she's looking at on the table. Father sits next to her, sipping tea and reading a piece of paper. I tried looking at it, but all I see is a blank page, so I assumed it was enchanted with spells.
I look at Father, my puppy eyes gleaming. He senses it and returns my gaze. He succumbs and reluctantly agrees to my whims as a fool for his daughter. "Fine. Each dress will be made in two color schemes: one light and one vibrant. If you're staying indoors, wear whatever you want, but if you're going out, wear the bright-colored ones."
"Thank you, Dana." I flash him my smile and push more. "Can the outfits not have bows?"
"Iris." Father grits his teeth.
"I know, I know. Purity, purity. But what if I wear the bow on my head? Attach it on my veil? That still counts. And, in fact, it counts for more because it will come into contact with my bare skin, so technically I'll be… purer?" I say, not sure if such a word exists. "Come on, you know my point makes sense."
Father opens his mouth to respond but Mother is faster. "Vhar El Haluman. Stop spoiling your child." Ever since she unintentionally scolded Father a few years ago, she's had the courage to chastise him now and then, especially when it comes to him spoiling me.
Father waves his hand. "Only when she is still young, let me pamper my child. She's my only daughter. I would give her everything she desires—"
"Oh, no, please no, Hwan." Mother looks very worried as she clutches her dress. Madam Ethel works for the entire royal family, and the Queen is her main muse. She worries that what Father said might reach the Queen's ears.
Father has finally had enough of Mother's nagging, and his calm demeanor has been replaced by a strict one. He uncrosses his legs and spreads them apart as he straightens his already straight posture. "Just let her do what she wants. She's a child. No one would take her seriously. No one will speak ill of the hope of the kingdom, if they do, three generations will perish."
He shifts his attention to Madam Ethel. "Make two versions of each dress: one that adheres to the traditions and customs that will make me a righteous king, and one that will make me a fool of a father."
Mother rolls her eyes and snaps her fan open, but doesn't say anything. I tell Madam Ethel whatever I want in my clothes, disregarding customs and rules. I go for a pastel tone and simple but elegant designs. I also requested that my wardrobe be as light as possible. She promises to do everything to my satisfaction.
"I'll leave the bright-colored dresses to you," I say. "Do whatever you want; I'll accept any design and proudly wear it."
"Thank you for your trust, Saridayang."
Madam Ethel then proceeds to show me the shoes she brought with her. I chose my favorites from the selection and then went ahead and sketched some ideas out. Madam Ethel envisions what I want and also creates her own sketches in real time. It took us the entire day to measure and choose from the countless racks of samples that Madam Ethel and her company brought.
I received the majority of my customized shoes and clothes a week later. The rest will be delivered by the end of the month.
I spend the rest of the month at the library, assisting Brother Azraq in his search for a cure while Brother Lothario travels to Atalens' manor. I was able to confirm that it is indeed chickenpox, so finding a cure should be easy. Or so I thought. These people have become so reliant on magic that their healthcare system sucks. Jenna explained to me that people can simply heal their wounds with magic, and that the wounds that cannot be healed by magic can be healed by drinking whatever the alchemists concoct. If still not, they can simply go to the temples and have whatever illness they have removed from their system. In other words, they do not believe that investing in medicine and healthcare is necessary.
Mariana helped me come up with a plausible explanation for how I learned about the cure. We came to an agreement on the alibi that someone in my residence once told me about a book called Karsadana as a bedtime story. It's the story of a woman who becomes a medical expert after traveling the world in search of a cure for her sick father. It's a wonderful children's book that got banned decades ago but is still popular among commoners. No one questioned me because the book existed, and a copy of it can be found in the Royal Archive, and it discusses a disease similar to chickenpox.
"Why not just cure them?" I ask Mariana one time while I lay in bed. "You're a god aren't you? Why not create a miracle and heal them?"
"I can't do that," she answers me. "Miracles happen based on people's actions. I can only guide them to what action they should take — using instinct, intuition, premonition, whatever you call it. But I can't work a miracle on my own. Take this for example: I cannot intervene, but you make progress as a result of my assistance. I don't answer your questions because that would be considered interfering. I'm just pointing you in the right direction, but if I lift my finger, the scales will tip and there will be greater consequences."
"So, no otherworldly happenings?"
"I haven't given it a shot. I never got involved in this world because I didn't see the point."
"But if you try, you can?"
"Maybe. Why?"
I grin. "I need your help, different from this one." I spill all my plans to her; I talk about them for a long time, and she listens intently, occasionally nodding her head.