Catalina stood before the tall mirror, frozen between two dresses, one held in each hand as she shifted them left, then right, then left again. The silk rustled nervously with her.
On the floor behind her, the chamber looked like a battlefield—layers of fabric draped over chairs, shoes abandoned in pairs, ribbons strewn like fallen banners. She had attended royal feasts, knightly ceremonies, diplomatic banquets… and never once had she made this much of a mess.
But this—this was different.
Dame Amber stood nearby, both arms full of yet more dresses, watching her lady with a kind of patient horror.
"My lady," Amber said carefully, "it is only a simple stroll with Lady Heather. A pleasant outing, nothing more. I understand it has been some time since another lady invited you out but…"
She glanced at the chaos around them.
"Perhaps you're taking this a little too seriously?"
Catalina slumped forward until her forehead nearly touched the mirror.
"These are too flashy," she muttered.
"Too bright. Too loud. I can't wear any of this."
Amber blinked.
"They are dresses, my lady. They are meant to be designed like that."
Catalina let out a long, suffering sigh, then dropped both dresses in defeat. She sank onto the small stool beside her vanity, shoulders slumping like a knight after a lost duel.
"Maybe," she said miserably.
"I should just wear my armor. At least I know how to breathe in that."
Amber nearly dropped all the dresses in her arms.
"My lady—!" she yelped.
"Let's not be rash.. Imagine the gossip if you stroll through the town in full plate. People will think you're declaring war, not going out for a peaceful afternoon."
She set the dresses down and stepped closer, tone softening.
"Please, sit still. Let me choose something sensible for you. Something… not made of steel."
Catalina pressed a hand to her face, groaning softly.
"Fine. Very well," she said, lifting her head with surrendering dignity.
"I won't wear the armor. I'll let you choose."
Amber exhaled in visible relief, already turning toward the pile with purpose.
The Waiting Hall.
After a while the echo of distant corridors, the waiting hall stood quiet—a wide chamber with tall arched windows, polished floors, and cushioned seats.
Lady Heather—Erika—sat alone on one of the velvet chairs, back straight, hands folded in her lap, looking every inch the refined noblewoman she pretended to be.
Except for her right leg.
Which was shaking.
Uncontrollably.
Her dress today was a soft green, neatly fitted, the kind noble ladies wore on peaceful strolls. Her red hair was tied in an elegant updo, pinned with small silver clips that caught the morning light. She looked composed. Serene. Beautiful.
And absolutely miserable.
" —Okay, breathe. It's just a simple stroll. Nothing life-threatening. Except for the part where my lady found out I'm not who I said I was. And the part where she could legally have me arrested for impersonating a noble. And the part where she hasn't yet, which somehow feels worse—"
"shit… holy shit, why am I here? Why am I doing this? Why did I agree to this outing?"
Her foot tapped faster.
She swallowed, adjusting one of her perfectly placed pins for the fifth time. Then smoothing her skirt, then checking her hair even though she already checked it ten times
"The Red Lady of high society… hah… What a joke. A pretty title slapped on a northerner girl who stitched her own dresses in a market stall. And now her—the one person I actually respect—knows it."
She wiped her palms against her skirt discreetly.
They were sweating. Again.
Her stomach twisted.
"What if she's only inviting me out to confront me?"
Her thoughts spiral faster than her stubborn leg she's shaking
"She isn't punishing me. Why? Why hasn't she said anything? Is she planning to question me today? In public? No—no, that's insane. Right? Right? She looked normal yesterday."
Her leg bounced harder.
Her jaw clenched.
She forced herself to take a breath, then failed, taking three more shorter ones instead.
"Calm down, Erika. Calm. Calm. You can handle this. You survived cruel southerners harsher than this, you can survive an afternoon stroll with the woman who can destroy your entire life—shit, that doesn't help."
She pressed her fingers to her temples.
"She's kind. Too kind. That's the problem. Kind people don't do things without reason. Why does she still treat me gently? Why—"
Suddenly she heard a sound of approaching footsteps echoing from outside.
Erika immediately straightened, forced her leg to stop shaking—nearly spraining something in the process—and folded her hands again like a perfect noble lady.
Ser Roderic steps inside the waiting hall with that stiff, formal posture of his—like a walking blade.
"Lady Heather," he says, "Our lady awaits you outside."
"Of course, Ser Roderic," She said smiling.
"Smile. Pretend you're not seconds from sprinting out a window—"
Roderic studies her for a beat longer.
"You appear… tense."
"I'm fine," she blurts, far too quickly.
Erika stepped out of the castle with Ser Roderic walking beside her, the knight's presence steady and silent as ever. Just ahead, near the gates, stood the same velvet-lined, windowless carriage she had arrived in earlier.
The door was already open.
And Erika didn't need a single guess to know who was waiting inside.
"Okay. You can do this. You can ask her about… everything… later, once the stroll actually begins. Whatever she's planning—whatever she wants to say—I'll face it then."
Her face hardened into a determined little mask of bravery.
—A mask that immediately cracked the moment she stepped into the carriage.
Inside sat her lady—her student—the woman who knew her real identity.
Catalina looked impossibly calm, golden hair resting over one shoulder, wearing a simple baby-blue dress decorated with soft floral stitching. Nothing extravagant, nothing sharp—gentle, pretty, and warm.
And when she saw Erika step in, her smile brightened.
"Hello, Lady Heather…" she greeted, voice sweet—and unmistakably teasing.
Erika froze for half a second before lowering herself into the seat across from her. Her back was straight as a board, her hands pressed tightly together on her lap, knuckles almost white.
"H–Hello, my lady…" she murmured, trying and failing to sound composed.
Catalina's smile softened as the carriage door closed behind them. The space grew quiet—too quiet for Erika's sanity.
Catalina tilted her head slightly.
"You look lovely today, Lady Heather."
Erika's lungs forgot how to function.
"Th–Thank you, my lady. You as well," she managed, though her voice sounded like she'd swallowed a handful of gravel.
Catalina chuckled softly.
"My, you're stiff. Did Edrick intimidate you on the way here?"
Lie. Lie. SAY YES. ANYTHING BUT THE REAL REASON—
"No—no, Ser Edrick was perfectly polite. I'm just—um—"
—freaking out, panicking, dying, dissolving into dust—
"—I'm just… excited for our stroll."
Her smile twitched.
Catalina leaned forward just a little, elbows resting gracefully on her knees, eyes warm and entirely too observant.
"I'm glad," she said.
"But you don't have to be afraid of me, you know."
Erika almost choked on air.
"A–Afraid? Why would I be afraid?"
Please god, just end me now.
Catalina's smile deepened—slow, knowing, dangerous in the gentlest way.
"Well," she said lightly, "perhaps because I know your little secret."
Erika's entire spine locked.
Her heart punched her ribs.
Her soul packed its bags.
Her brain screamed.
OH GODS SHE SAID IT—SHE SAID IT OUT LOUD—JUST KILL ME, JUST THROW ME OUT OF THE CARRIAGE—
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again like a dying fish.
Catalina watched this with a faintly amused tilt of her head, chin resting on her fingers, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Relax, Lady Heather," she added, voice soft as velvet.
"I'm only teasing."
THAT IS NOT TEASING THAT IS ATTEMPTED MURDER. OF MY HEART. MY NERVES. MY VERY SOUL—
Erika nodded stiffly, every muscle trembling.
"O–Of course, my lady," she said, voice cracking like an old floorboard.
Catalina laughed quietly, leaning back in her seat, utterly unaware she had just dealt a critical hit.
Or very, very aware.
The two ladies settled back into their seats as the carriage moved. Catalina exhaled, calm and content, hands folded neatly in her lap as the wheels beneath them turns. The carriage rolled forward, leaving the quiet, sheltered estate behind as the forest road opened toward the small northern town beyond the trees.
Erika, however, sat rigid in front of her—very alive, yet spiritually deceased.
The carriage rolled deeper along the forest road—steady, peaceful, unaware of the girl quietly dying of nerves inside it—heading toward the small town nestled just north of the estate.
Just a quiet little place where two women were meant to share a simple afternoon.
Simple for one of them, at least.
Erika gripped her skirt.
Gods… if this is how it starts, how am I supposed to survive the rest of today?
The forest thinned.
The roofs of the distant town began to peek through the trees. And so, the carriage carried them forward—one lady composed, one lady unraveling—as the day that would change everything quietly began.