Elara stood stiffly in the opulent chamber, her fingers curling slightly against the soft fabric of her skirts. The room was grand, yet cold—its towering windows framed by heavy crimson drapes, the marble floor polished to an unsettling mirror-like shine. Every inch of the space exuded power, wealth, and something darker that lurked beneath the surface.
At the center of it all stood Duke Cassian Viremont, his tall figure bathed in the golden glow of flickering candlelight. His sharp features were carved in an expression of careful neutrality, but his eyes—dark as midnight and piercing as a blade—seemed to strip away the layers of composure Elara had built around herself.
"Miss Fairwind," Cassian's voice was smooth, calculated. "You're quieter than I expected."
Elara straightened, meeting his gaze with measured determination. "I prefer to let my work speak for me, Your Grace."
A smirk ghosted across Cassian's lips, though it never reached his eyes. He stepped closer, his polished boots echoing across the floor. "I've heard many claims about your talents. Some say your hands work with magic, that your stitches bring luck."
"I wouldn't go that far," Elara said carefully, unsure if his words carried admiration or skepticism. "But I take pride in my craft."
Cassian studied her for a moment longer, his gaze like a predator assessing its prey. Then, with a flick of his hand, he gestured toward an ornate chair. "Sit."
Elara hesitated, then obeyed, smoothing her skirts as she perched on the edge of the chair. A servant approached, offering her a glass of wine, but she waved it away politely. She had no desire to dull her senses now.
Cassian paced slowly in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back. "Eldoria stands on the precipice of great change," he began, his tone almost absentminded. "Alliances are fragile. Whispers of rebellion stir in the outer provinces. And in such times, appearances become... everything."
Elara nodded slowly. "I understand, Your Grace."
"Do you?" Cassian stopped, turning to face her fully. "The garments worn at court are more than mere fashion. They speak of power, influence, and intent. A single misplaced stitch can unravel an entire reputation."
Elara swallowed. She had always known the nobility valued appearances, but Cassian's words carried a weight that made her uneasy.
"Your first commission will be a gown," he continued, watching her reaction closely. "Not just any gown, but one fit for a queen—something that will silence whispers and command attention."
Elara blinked. "For the Queen?"
Cassian's expression darkened slightly. "No. For Lady Evelyne Rosethorne."
A flash of recognition sparked in Elara's mind. Lady Evelyne—renowned for her beauty, influence, and rumored ruthlessness. If there was anyone who could use clothing as a weapon, it was her.
"I trust you can handle it?" Cassian's voice was laced with challenge.
Elara straightened in her seat. "I can."
Cassian regarded her for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. You'll find that Lady Evelyne is... particular. She expects perfection."
Elara held his gaze. "Then she will have it."
Later that evening, Elara found herself escorted to the palace's private atelier—a grand workspace draped in fine silks and illuminated by delicate chandeliers. Bolts of luxurious fabric lined the walls, and trays of gilded needles and gem-studded threads lay waiting for skilled hands.
A short, bespectacled steward named Master Thorne, the head of the palace's tailoring staff, greeted her with a curt nod. "Duke Cassian rarely entrusts outsiders," he said, eyeing her skeptically. "You must have impressed him."
"I hope to impress him more with my work," Elara replied, already examining the rich materials at her fingertips.
Thorne sighed and handed her a parchment containing detailed instructions. "Lady Evelyne has requested midnight blue velvet, embroidered with gold filigree that mimics the constellations of the Celestial Vale. She wants the stars to move as she walks."
Elara's fingers tightened around the paper. "Move?"
Thorne chuckled dryly. "Lady Evelyne enjoys theatrics. She expects something... extraordinary."
Extraordinary. That word rang in Elara's mind, sending a familiar thrill through her veins. She traced the outline of the design sketches, already envisioning how the threads could weave together into something truly magnificent.
"I'll need silver-threaded silk for the underlayer," she murmured, already thinking aloud. "And enchanted needles to ensure the weight distributes evenly..."
Thorne arched a brow. "You speak as though the fabric listens to you."
Elara glanced up, offering a small smile. "Perhaps it does."
Hours later, Elara sat at the grand loom, the soft glow of candlelight dancing across the fabric stretched before her. Her hands moved with practiced ease, each stitch precise, each golden thread woven with the utmost care.
But something felt... different.
As her needle passed through the midnight blue velvet, the threads shimmered—just for an instant, as if alive with some hidden magic. Elara paused, her brow furrowing. She had seen this effect before, back in Briarton, but here... it felt stronger.
She whispered under her breath, "What are you hiding from me?"
A gentle knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. She turned to find Alden leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"You've been at this for hours," he said. "Even the best seamstresses need rest."
Elara sighed, rubbing her temples. "I can't afford to rest. Not with Lady Evelyne's gown hanging over my head."
Alden entered, his gaze flickering over the half-finished garment. "It's beautiful," he admitted. "But it's more than that, isn't it?"
Elara hesitated, then nodded. "It's... responding to me, in a way. Like it's listening."
Alden studied her for a long moment before shaking his head with a faint smile. "Only you would make fabric sound like a living thing."
Elara chuckled softly, but deep down, unease stirred in her chest.
The next morning, Elara delivered the finished gown to Lady Evelyne's quarters, her heart pounding in her chest as the noblewoman circled the mannequin, her lips pursed in thought.
Finally, Lady Evelyne turned, her icy blue eyes locking onto Elara. "It's exquisite," she said, running her fingers over the delicate embroidery. "But..."
Elara braced herself.
"...will it make the court whisper?" Evelyne's lips curved into a sly smile. "I suppose we shall see."
With that, she waved Elara away, leaving the young seamstress standing in the grand chamber with relief and a lingering sense of foreboding.
As she stepped into the hallway, she found herself face to face with Duke Cassian once more.
"You did well," he said, his expression unreadable.
"Thank you, Your Grace," Elara replied, bowing slightly.
Cassian leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper. "This is only the beginning, Miss Fairwind. Eldoria has much in store for you."
Elara watched him walk away, a shiver running down her spine.