Salviana nodded thoughtfully, running her fingers over the fabrics. "They're beautiful," she said simply, though her mind was still half-focused on her painting. "Let's try them on and see how they feel."
As they prepared the fitting, she couldn't help but think back to her canvas.
The woman's face seemed to watch her, her painted eyes glinting with something almost alive. Salviana shook off the thought and turned her attention back to the dressmakers.
The painting can wait, she told herself. For now, duty calls.
Jean stood by the door, her hands clasped as she watched Salviana try on dress after dress.
She had taken the liberty of inviting Spur Stanley, the seventh princesses dressmaker, certain her lady would want something exquisite for the king's upcoming birthday.
It was to be a grand occasion, and Salviana would need to shine brighter than any jewel in the room.
