The grand hall buzzed with an energy I had never quite felt before. Whispers raced across clusters of nobles, the rustle of silk punctuated by sharp murmurs.
"It can't be… is it true?" a lady in sapphire whispered, clutching her fan tightly. "The Maiden Knight herself?"
I pressed lightly through the crowd, letting my dress sweep just so, careful not to draw unnecessary attention to myself. Every head turned toward the entrance where a cluster of guards heralded the arrival. The chatter grew louder, excitement vibrating in the very air.
"The Marquess Roland Lieven Castell has arrived!" a voice boomed.
"He's accompanied by… could it be her?" another asked, eyes wide in awe.
"Twelve years," someone murmured. "Twelve years since anyone's seen her in public!"
I froze briefly, my pulse quickening. The legendary Catalina Duavan — a name written in the pages of every history and strategy book I had ever touched — her first public appearance in a decade.
My curiosity spiked, and I let my eyes drift toward the entrance, weaving carefully between the clusters of nobles, hoping to see if the tales of her grandeur lived up to the reality.
Meanwhile, far from the glittering hall, the air was quieter but filled with a different kind of tension. The soft scent of fabrics and polished wood hung in the small tailoring workshop. Jean wiped down a counter, brushing stray threads into a neat pile.
A sharp jingle echoed through the door. Jean looked up.
A tall man in a maroon coat, impeccably tailored, stepped inside, the weight of nobility radiating from him. Jean straightened, a smile forming almost instinctively.
"Sylvester," he greeted warmly.
"I wasn't expecting you today."
"I had business to attend to, and I thought I'd drop by," Sylvester replied, his tone easy, familiar.
"Are you still stitching wonders for everyone who walks through this door?"
Jean chuckled, leaning against the counter. "You know me. Some things never change. But I've got to ask… are you here to talk business or just to see how I've been surviving?"
"Perhaps a bit of both," Sylvester said with a sly grin.
"I've been hearing good things. Seems the lady you helped dress last month is causing quite the stir at court."
Jean raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Baron. But go on… you've piqued my curiosity."
Sylvester's gaze flicked past Jean, and he leaned closer.
"I brought someone today. She's curious about your work — truly interested. I think you'll enjoy showing her your craft."
Jean's gaze flicked over Sylvester's shoulder. There, partially hidden under a dark robe, a tall figure stood, her face shrouded by the hood. Even in the shadow of the fabric, he could sense the poise and intensity radiating from her.
He muttered under his breath, almost to himself.
"Well… this one's going to be interesting."
Returning to the grand hall the doors swung open, and a hush rippled through the gathering. Heads turned, whispers rose like wind through the gilded halls. And there he was — Roland Lievan Castell.
"By the stars… is that…truly?" murmured a lady in sapphire silk, clutching her fan.
"Marquess Roland Lievan Castell," another replied, eyes wide. "He's here… in person."
Tall. Impeccably poised. Midnight-blue hair catching the chandelier light, yellow eyes scanning the room with calculated pride. His hand adjusted the delicate frame of his glasses as he surveyed the crowd, and the murmurs of nobles followed every measured step.
Yet… Catalina Duavan did not appear.
A flicker of disappointment tugged at me, subtle, almost shameful. I had imagined seeing her, radiant and commanding, making her first public appearance in a decade. Instead, the crowd's curiosity cooled, shifting from anticipation to cautious speculation.
Roland was quickly encircled by noblewomen, their smiles sharp and rehearsed. He engaged them with ease, laughter soft but deliberate, gestures fluid, as if he had done this a thousand times.
"He's… charming," muttered a lady in emerald silk.
"Indeed… and witty too," replied her companion, whispering under gloved hands.
For a married man, he carried the air of someone entirely at home in these circles. My eyes followed them briefly, noting the comfort with which he moved among the ladies.
I let out a quiet sigh, a mixture of curiosity and mild irritation at my own expectations. There was nothing for me here.
With a soft shake of my head, I turned away from the crowd, letting my skirts sweep across the polished floor. I had my own business to attend to — the world of whispers and knowledge still lay at my fingertips, far more captivating than the show of one absent legend.
Far from the glittering halls, returning from a humble tailor shop. The mysterious woman held her hood and slipped it back, revealing a deep brown hair and striking green eyes — a shade common among the people in the lower city, yet radiating a quiet intensity. She stepped forward, tall and poised, her presence filling the room.
Sylvester's voice broke the silence.
"Jean, this is Lady Liana Green. Daughter of a great noble knight. She's taken an interest in the work of the tailor who's captivated one mysterious lady named Heather — the one who's been wearing your creations for the past few months."
Jean froze, a flicker of disbelief crossing his lean face.
"You… you know about Heather?" he murmured, glancing at Sylvester.
Liana inclined her head slightly. "I've heard of her… and her dresses. They are exquisite."
Her tone was polite, yet direct. "I wonder if you might craft… something else besides dresses?"
Jean swallowed, adjusting his posture. He looked up at her towering figure as she came forward towards him, suddenly aware of how short and lean he truly was.
"And what… what is it you're proposing, Lady Liana?" he asked, voice nervous but intrigued.
She hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face for a moment. Sylvester stepped in smoothly, giving a subtle nudge of encouragement.
"She's asking if you can produce a type of clothing for women that others have already tried and failed. Many tailors and seamstresses refused, claiming it wasn't 'gracious' or proper for a lady to wear."
Jean's brows furrowed. "And… what exactly is it?"
Liana straightened, her voice firm but careful.
"Pants. We're requesting a design that allows women to move freely, yet with elegance suitable for their station. And, of course…"
She reached into a small, heavy bag and extended it toward him. Jean hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly at the weight.
When he opened it, the gleam of gold spilled across the table. His breath caught. The bag was full — every coin glittering like a promise.
He swallowed hard, glancing between Liana and Sylvester. "I… I see. Well… that's certainly… generous."
Liana's eyes met his, unwavering. "We need someone who can make the impossible possible. And I've heard you are that someone."
Jean ran a hand through his hair, studying the glittering coins. "I've never tried… pants for ladies before," he murmured.
"But… for this price, I might just rise to the occasion."
Liana's green eyes sparkled. "I trust you'll find a way. I've seen what your dresses can do — imagine that freedom in movement."
Liana's gaze lingered on Jean's hands as they brushed over the gold. "Other noble ladies said, Lady Heather speaks highly of your attention to detail. I hope your talents extend beyond what she has described."
Jean flushed, a mix of pride and nerves. "I… I'll do everything I can, Lady Liana."
Meanwhile, back in the glittering hall, I let the crowd swallow me, yet my eyes never left the Marquess. He moved with effortless command, but there was no sign of the legend herself.
Even though the great Catalina herself was absent, my curiosity refused to wane. The husband of the legend — Marquess Roland Lievan Castell — moved through the hall with effortless command, flanked by fluttering noblewomen, and yet… I could not let this opportunity slip.
I have to see him. Hear him. Maybe even glean a scrap of insight into Catalina herself.
I would not swarm him like the others, laughing and fawning, pretending ignorance. No — I would make him notice me effortlessly, naturally, as if by design.
I let my skirts sweep lightly over the polished floor, letting the crowd guide my path without drawing undue attention, yet making sure my long red hair caught the glow of the chandeliers just enough.
Here. This corner, near the window… it will do.
From across the hall, Roland's sharp yellow eyes scanned the room, adjusting his glasses. He had mastered the art of commanding attention without even trying, yet something — a flash of vibrant red, a subtle aura distinct from the glittering crowd — pulled his gaze.
He moved through the throngs with the practiced ease of a man who knew every nuance of attention, yet as he approached the corner, he found it unexpectedly quiet. There I was, sitting alone at a small table, near a window where the crowd thinned, unnoticed by the throngs yet unmistakable to someone trained to see.
Something about her… a flash of red against the glittering crowd… he couldn't look away.
Roland paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he regarded the woman who had caught his attention so effortlessly. She leaned back slightly, poised and unconcerned, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and calculated curiosity.
I let a faint smile curve my lips, letting him wonder, letting him come. And as he stepped closer, the chatter of the party fading into background noise, I leaned back slightly, waiting.
The night stretched on, a glittering web of light and shadow, and in that single glance, two worlds — curiosity and legend — brushed against each other.