Elara walked through the palace corridors with a newfound confidence, the echo of Queen Lysandra's cool approval still ringing in her ears. The Winter Solstice gown had been delivered without issue, and though the Queen's reaction had been reserved, Elara could see the faint flicker of satisfaction in her eyes.
But the court of Eldoria was not a place of easy victories. Success only invited more scrutiny.
As she approached the grand atelier, the whispers had already begun. The palace tailors and seamstresses who once dismissed her as an outsider now regarded her with sharp, measuring gazes. Some murmured behind their hands, while others did little to hide their scorn.
"Looks like our village mouse has found herself a place among lions," a voice sneered from the corner.
Elara turned to see Madame Solenne, a tall, statuesque woman with jet-black hair pinned into a tight bun. Her pale green eyes glinted with thinly veiled hostility as she crossed the room, her crimson gown trailing behind her like a pool of blood. She was the lead designer for the palace's noble clientele—and the person Elara had unknowingly stepped on with her rise.
"I hear the Queen was quite pleased," Solenne said, circling Elara like a predator. "A rare thing, indeed. Or perhaps... beginner's luck?"
Elara met her gaze steadily. "Luck had little to do with it, Madame Solenne. Hard work and skill, perhaps."
A titter of laughter rippled through the gathered seamstresses, but Solenne's smile didn't waver. "We shall see how long your little talents hold up," she said sweetly, her gaze darkening. "The court is... unforgiving to those who stumble."
Elara refused to let her expression falter. "Then I suppose I'll have to keep my footing."
Solenne's smile tightened, but she said nothing more. Instead, she turned on her heel and strode off, her entourage trailing behind her like obedient shadows.
Elara let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Enemies in silk, indeed.
Elara's new commission came faster than expected. A royal decree ordered a set of ceremonial garments for an upcoming diplomatic banquet—an event that would host envoys from across the kingdoms. The garments had to be precise, regal, and reflect the grandeur of Eldoria. Failure was not an option.
She laid out the fabrics in the atelier, running her fingers over the fine silks and brocades. A deep emerald fabric, trimmed with silver thread, caught her eye. Perfect for the delegation from the southern isles.
As she worked, the familiar rhythm of needle and thread steadied her nerves. She hummed softly under her breath, focusing on each stitch, unaware of the pair of eyes watching her from the doorway.
Laurent, one of Solenne's favored assistants, lingered outside the atelier. His lips curled into a smug grin before he turned and disappeared down the hall.
Later that evening, Elara returned to the atelier after a short break, her mind still buzzing with patterns and designs. But the moment she stepped inside, her heart sank.
Her carefully arranged workstation was in shambles. Spools of thread lay scattered across the floor, her sketches torn into jagged pieces. The emerald silk she had selected was ruined—long, deliberate slashes ran through it as though a blade had been dragged across its surface.
Elara's hands trembled as she picked up the shredded fabric. Someone had done this on purpose.
Footsteps echoed behind her, and she turned sharply to see Alden standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern. "What happened here?"
Elara swallowed hard, forcing down the anger rising in her chest. "Sabotage."
Alden stepped inside, picking up one of the torn sketches. "Any idea who did this?"
Elara exhaled sharply. "I can guess." Her mind immediately went to Solenne and her little circle of admirers.
Alden's jaw tightened. "Want me to handle it?"
Elara looked at him, surprised by the quiet fury in his voice. She shook her head. "No. If I confront them, it'll just give them what they want. I'll handle this my way."
Alden crossed his arms. "And what's your way?"
Elara set the ruined fabric aside, her expression hardening. "By being better than them."
The following morning, Elara arrived at the fabric district with renewed determination. She knew there was no time to waste. She scoured the merchant stalls for an alternative to the ruined emerald silk, and after hours of searching, she found it—an even rarer silk spun with threads of crushed sapphire, shimmering with an almost ethereal glow.
She could feel the weight of the coin purse at her waist growing lighter, but it didn't matter. She needed perfection, and perfection came at a cost.
As she returned to the palace, she caught sight of Solenne in the corridor, watching with mild interest. "Back from the market, little mouse?"
Elara simply smiled. "Yes. And I found something better than before." She held up the fabric, letting it catch the light.
Solenne's smile faltered for the briefest moment. "How... lovely," she said tightly, before turning away with a flick of her hand.
Victory, however small, tasted sweet.
The banquet gowns were completed just in time. The sapphire-threaded silk flowed like water under the candlelight, catching the admiration of nobles and foreign dignitaries alike.
As Elara stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, watching the lords and ladies admire her work, a sense of triumph settled in her chest. She had beaten their schemes—at least for now.
Cassian's voice drifted to her from behind. "I had my doubts, Miss Fairwind, but you seem to thrive under pressure."
Elara turned to face him, meeting his dark gaze. "I won't let your faith in me be misplaced, Your Grace."
Cassian's lips curled in that unreadable way of his. "Let's hope so. The court is watching."
And with that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Elara with the unsettling realization that Eldoria's expectations would only continue to rise.
But as she gazed at her work, shimmering under the glow of the ballroom chandeliers, she knew one thing for certain—she wouldn't let them win.
Not yet.