“…The one that takes only one client every three months?”
“That’s right.”
“The one where a single dress costs as much as an entire manor house? With a waiting list of five years even if you book today?”
“You know it well.”
Of course I do — it’s mentioned practically every other chapter of the original novel. The pinnacle of every woman’s aspirations. The undisputed authority in haute couture within this entire world.
The booking process alone stretched for months, the waiting period longer still, and the prices were astronomical enough to make even noble purses hesitate.
In the original novel, she was written as a fierce principled woman who made no exceptions — not even for royalty.
“For you, of course, exceptions are made.”
Someone cut smoothly into my thoughts. I turned, startled, to find Madame Droite herself already bending into a curtsy, her eyes bright with delight.
“Madame Droite, at your service, Your Highness. I make dresses here in the capital. It is an honor beyond measure to meet you.”
“Your Highness’s measurements — quickly, now!”
Marcella burst out suddenly with sharp urgency. Madame Droite clapped her hands together and rushed for a measuring tape.
Before I had fully processed what was happening, she had reached straight for my waist and begun measuring.
I haven’t even come inside yet — what is happening in this doorway —
I stood in bewildered silence while it was over in a matter of seconds.
Madame Droite made careful notes in a small book, then sighed with profound satisfaction.
“At last — Your Highness’s measurements are in my possession! A long-cherished wish, fulfilled.”
I stood there blankly while Marcella explained.
“Madame Droite has wanted to make a dress for you for a very long time. But you kept refusing her requests, Your Highness, and she’s been quite heartbroken over it.”
For me? Why? Well — Rene did have a great deal of money, admittedly.
“She could have bribed the palace seamstress for the measurements.”
“Measurements change with each passing day. Why would I trust outdated information?”
Madame Droite wrinkled her nose and gave a firm shake of her head.
“And if I had sent a sample gown without being sure — even the smallest deviation changes the silhouette entirely. I was afraid you would be disappointed in my work before you’d even given me a real chance.”
The professional dedication on this woman.
“Well — you needn’t have worried so much. I decline most requests for audience, so…”
“I know. That is precisely why I placed such great hope in Lady Marcella — and here you are! Now — what is your preferred color, Your Highness? Red? Blue?”
“Red would be — no, wait. Why are you asking?”
“Why? To make your dress, of course, Your Highness.”
I came all this way only to get cornered into a sale. I drew myself up and crossed my arms in a firm X.
“I’m afraid I have no money.”
“That is quite alright. I do.”
The answer came from beside me. My wonderful future sister-in-law raised her hand and said in perfect seriousness:
“Madame Droite — please do not worry about the budget. Let your artistry speak for itself. An opportunity like this doesn’t come twice.”
“Indeed it does not! And now that I have Your Highness’s measurements — I could make as many gowns as you wish.”
Wait — as a gift?
I looked at Madame Droite with open suspicion.
Starting at the price of a manor house, and she was offering to give them away? That didn’t sound purely altruistic.
Was this…
“Is this a bribe?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If that’s what you’re hoping for, I should warn you — I’ll take the gift and do absolutely nothing in return.”
At that, Madame Droite blinked at me in surprise — and then let out a small, delighted laugh.
In that moment, a rather useful thought crossed my mind.
Oh — could this be used as grounds to have my imperial succession rights revoked…?
“You needn’t worry. You’ve already given me everything I wanted.”
“Have I?”
I tilted my head, genuinely puzzled. I could not recall doing any such thing. Marcella stepped in.
“Five years ago — you saved Madame Droite’s son in battle, Your Highness.”
“…I did?”
I was even less certain now. Rene had never been the type to act on behalf of others, let alone seek out individuals to protect.
“If I remember correctly, five years ago would have been the campaign against the Kingdom of Asmo.”
“Yes — my son was among those conscripted and sent to fight.”
Madame Droite narrowed her eyes with the expression of someone reaching back into memory.
“The tide had turned badly against Stade at one point. Then you appeared, Your Highness, and pulled the entire Stade army back from the edge.”
“Well…yes, there was something like that.”
Something like that. There had been more than a few such moments in Rene’s military career. I rubbed the back of my nose with mild awkwardness.
“I didn’t single out your son specifically. It feels like rather too much, receiving a gift from you for that.”
“Not at all! Was it only my son whose life was saved that day? Countless young men the same age as him — they all came home, Your Highness. Because of you.”
Madame Droite’s eyes shone with conviction.
“My son, who you helped bring back to me — he held his first child in his arms not long ago. You are the reason my son lives. The reason his child lives.”
“Well…if you put it that way, I’m grateful, but — “
“And it is not only that battle. Ten years of war. The mothers of every soldier who survived and came home — you are the reason they got to keep their sons. This gift comes on behalf of all of them.”
“Alright. If you insist — “
A mother’s gratitude was not something Rene could refuse simply by calling it nothing.
“Oh, truly! Truly, I am beyond honored, Your Highness. That you would accept my small gesture! I am so — so — overjoyed!”
I nodded with a degree of awkwardness, and Madame Droite looked as though she might float off the floor.
For a world-class designer, she had the lung capacity of a concert hall soloist.
“To have the chance to dress you, Your Highness — your reputation in society will soar to new heights.”
Marcella smiled at that, her voice carrying a tone of careful significance. I didn’t understand it in the moment.
“Oh! Might I dress you for the Founding Festival, then, Your Highness? Would you do me the honor of wearing one of my creations?”
“That would be — “
Between Marcella and Madame Droite together, I had been thoroughly drained of any fight. I just wanted to go home.
“But the Founding Festival is less than a month away. Surely a new gown is impossible in that time?”
“Impossible if we were starting today — but we aren’t!”
“But you said you couldn’t even make a sample without my measurements.”
“Lady Marcella was extremely confident. She swore she would bring you here no matter what.”
*That little — * I turned to look at her, and was met with a serene, untroubled smile.
I have nothing left to say.
“And if she hadn’t brought you, Your Highness — what then? You’d be throwing away the cost of a manor house.”
“Well, I’d count it as the price of a hobby. I spend so much time in my atelier that there’s precious little else to spend money on.”
She has no idea this is supposed to be shocking. I found myself without words.
“…How do you two know each other? Have you been acquainted long?”
“No — I sought Madame Droite out myself. I wanted to get closer to you, Your Highness, and when I was looking into things, I came across her story.”
“…You’re telling me you had me investigated — and doing it with complete confidence.”
Marcella had the audacity to look genuinely offended.
“There wasn’t much to investigate, honestly. You’ve spent most of your life either at the front or inside Rene Palace.”
“…The nerve. Standing before a princess — before me — and talking back without a moment’s pause.”
Would the real Rene have been displeased by this? I considered it — and reached the unfortunate conclusion that she would not.
She’s a girl who spent her own gold to make Rene’s brother emperor. Rene would have absolutely adored her.
But admitting that felt like giving something away, so I decided instead to needle Madame Droite.
“She’d make a fine empress, wouldn’t she? I think so, too.”
“I’m afraid I disagree, Your Highness.”
Madame Droite answered in her characteristic theatrical cadence.
“Empress? No. She strikes me as more of an imperial adviser. A Chancellor, perhaps.”
“No, Madame Droite. I intend to put Her Highness on the throne and then live freely after that.”
“Oh, that’s right. In that case — when the time comes, I’ll close this boutique and become His Majesty’s personal dressmaker.”
Excuse me — does anyone want to ask what I want?
This is going to produce a Joachim Season Three if I don’t leave immediately. I fled the boutique before things progressed any further.
