Magretta’s eyes sparkled with breathless wonder as she watched Riersha trot into her shop.
Her heart drummed wildly against her ribs. She had finally found her — the tiny muse she had been searching for. A fresh wave of astonishment crashed over her entire body.
While Magretta stood frozen in the doorway like a woman struck by lightning, Duke Arcmund swept past her without a second glance. The last to enter was a beautiful woman following close behind her two charges, who paused and offered Magretta a pleasant smile.
“Magretta?”
“Y-yes?! Yes?”
“The name plate. I’ll need that back.”
When Sona held out her hand, Magretta hesitated before carefully handing it over.
She had heard the rumor once before.
Beside the heir of House Arachrene stood a personal knight — a rank above an ordinary knight, bound exclusively to their charge.
This woman must be her. Magretta swallowed a dry lump in her throat.
“We’d appreciate it if you didn’t pay our young lady too much attention.”
“What? Oh — no, that’s not — I wasn’t—”
Magretta’s body went rigid with alarm. The last thing she needed was to be seen as someone showing an unwanted interest in the heir.
“Ah.”
Sona simply smiled as she pocketed the name plate. But the look in her eyes said something else entirely.
You think you’re the only one who’s ever reacted to our young lady like that?
That was exactly what it seemed to say.
Magretta was still standing in a daze outside her own shop when the front door cracked open and Riersha peeked her head out.
“Mister.”
“Y-yes!”
“I need to pick out clothes.”
Shimmering pink hair swayed around a pair of round, blinking red eyes gazing up at her.
Just moments ago, all Magretta had wanted was to return the Arachrene name plate as quickly as possible. Now she couldn’t imagine why she had ever felt that way.
She turned to step inside — and that was when a second carriage rolled up behind the one Duke Arcmund had arrived in.
It appeared another visitor had arrived.
Magretta walked toward the carriage.
“Good day, welcome. Thank you for visiting my atelier. However, I’m terribly sorry — I already have a prior engagement today—”
“Are you Magretta?”
“Pardon?”
The man standing beside the carriage asked the question with composed elegance. He glanced up at the sign that read The Little Atelier, then turned to speak to whoever was inside.
“We’ve arrived, Young Lord.”
…Young Lord?
Could it be — Pernoa Arachrene?
Magretta felt her mind come to a complete halt. It wasn’t enough that she had come face to face with one of the most powerful noble houses in the empire today — now this?
“I see. So this is where they spirited my daughter away without my knowledge.”
A strikingly handsome man stepped out of the carriage, radiating an icy, cutting presence.
“Yes, this is the place, Young Lord.”
With Rosinante’s confirmation, the two men walked inside.
Magretta hiccupped.
It was simply not done — noble parents did not personally come to a shop to buy their child’s clothing.
The standard practice was to send an attendant, or to summon the tailor directly to the family estate. A noble’s time was precious, and there was none to spare for something as minor as purchasing a child’s outfit.
In all her years in this business, Magretta had never once seen a noble parent walk through her door to shop for their child themselves.
“…He’s nothing like the rumors.”
House Arachrene had the most fearsome reputation among the great noble houses — cold, inhuman, ruthless, they said.
Magretta rubbed her eyes as though she might be seeing things, then hurried to flip the sign hanging on the shop door.
【CLOSED】
⁂
Ding.
The shop door swung open, and Pernoa walked in.
Arcmund’s brow furrowed.
Pernoa settled onto the sofa with the ease of someone who owned the place and crossed his legs.
Riersha was still in the changing room and seemed blissfully unaware of what was unfolding outside.
Arcmund spoke, his voice sharp with irritation.
“What brings you here, boy? I made the reservation. Get out.”
“Then I’ll take Riersha with me as I go.”
“What? I finally try to take my granddaughter out for a proper outing and her so-called father is nothing but an obstacle.”
“If you intend to take my daughter out, you should have asked my permission first.”
“And would you have given it?”
“No.”
Of course he wouldn’t have.
Pernoa’s answer was instant and absolute. Arcmund snorted as if he had expected nothing less.
“Permission. As if. She’s my granddaughter.”
“Before that, she is my daughter.”
“If I hadn’t had you, there would be no Riersha.”
Arcmund’s sharp logic left Pernoa momentarily speechless.
Well — something deeply disrespectful had nearly escaped his lips, but Rosinante stepped between the two men before it could.
“I believe she’s about to come out. Perhaps you both might ease up a little.”
At that, Arcmund and Pernoa’s gazes snapped toward the same point.
The door to the changing room swung wide open.
Riersha stepped out wearing her new outfit.
“Oh.”
For the first time since arriving, something resembling genuine approval escaped Pernoa’s lips.
“Miss Riersha is coming out!”
Magretta clapped twice and announced it with a flourish. Riersha immediately mimicked her as she strutted down the makeshift runway.
“Riersha is coming!”
“How adorable. How much is that one?”
Pernoa leaned forward with unmistakable interest.
“Appa?”
Riersha blinked, startled. When had he arrived?
“Keep walking, Riersha.”
“Okay!”
And so began Riersha’s utterly charming runway show in earnest.
The first ensemble featured a large ribbon tied at the small of her back. Her tiny hands were tucked into white lace gloves. It was the kind of formal dress a noble child would wear to an occasion that called for proper decorum. A small ribbon was tied beneath her chin as well, and she wore a wide-brimmed red hat. Sona let out an audible squeal at the sight.
“Miss Riersha, it suits you so perfectly!”
“Hehe.”
“…Mm. It seems this atelier makes rather fine garments.”
Rosinante murmured, and Pernoa gave a small nod of agreement.
“We’ll take this one.”
“I made the reservation. I’ll be purchasing it.”
Arcmund gestured meaningfully at Magretta to note the price.
Caught between the two of them, Magretta deliberated for a fraction of a second before siding with the duke.
“Of course, Your Grace. I’ll set this one aside for you.”
“You see that?”
“…”
“You’re only the Young Lord. You don’t get a say.”
It was the sort of childish squabble one would never have expected to emerge from the lips of Duke Arachrene.
The next outfit Riersha appeared in was a fluffy, plush ensemble with a thick cape that fell to her waist. A matching white fur scarf in luxurious fabric was draped around her neck. With her red eyes blinking beneath all that white fluff, she looked every inch a small white rabbit.
“Grandpa. How does this look?”
“It’s lovely.”
“Hehe. I like it too.”
Riersha spun in a slow, delighted circle.
“Buy it. Now.”
Pernoa said.
“It’s still autumn, Young Lord. By the time winter arrives, Miss Riersha will have grown.”
“Then we order another one in her new size. What’s the problem?”
Rosinante reminded him gently to be reasonable. Pernoa narrowed his eyes as if he genuinely could not see the issue.
“Sh-shall I bring out the next outfit? …Though — Miss Riersha is still quite young. I hope all this changing isn’t wearing her out?”
Magretta asked carefully.
They had only gone through two outfits so far, and Riersha answered with a bright smile and an eager nod.
“Yep, I’m fine!”
“Wonderful. Let’s get you into the next one, then.”
Magretta beamed, her enthusiasm fully reignited.
As Riersha headed back toward the changing room, Arcmund stopped Magretta with a word.
“Do you run this atelier alone?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Then the clothes Riersha wears — there’s only one of each in existence?”
“Ah… yes, unless someone places a separate order, that’s correct.”
Arcmund’s expression settled into quiet satisfaction at her answer.
“Then don’t take any more orders.”
“…Pardon?”
“I’ll compensate you accordingly.”
Exclusive.
Duke Arachrene was offering her a position as the house’s exclusive tailor.
Ten years. Ten years since she had fled the capital, unable to endure the endless entitlement of noble clients. A graduate at the top of her class from the Fashion Academy — and yet she had never once been recognized for it.
Magretta clapped both hands over her mouth to hold back the wave of emotion threatening to overtake her.
“Are there more pieces? I’d like to take everything back to the estate. One new outfit a day still wouldn’t be enough.”
“…Y-yes. Yes, there are more. Quite a few more.”
“Oh, and one more thing — going forward, all invoices for Riersha’s wardrobe should be sent to me. Because I’m her father.”
Pernoa smiled pleasantly as he said it.
⁂
At that same moment.
Inside the Mage Tower — the most mysterious place in all of the Declair Empire.
A man with long black hair and violet eyes leaned forward with an expression of keen amusement, his eyes curving into something close to delight.
“House Arachrene commissioned this?”
“Yes, Tower Master. …What would you like to do?”
“Well now. What do we do about this? What a troublesome little puzzle.”
It was an unusual commission — unusual enough that it had been escalated all the way up to him.
Sion Senuart, Master of the Mage Tower, rested his chin in his hand, his expression caught somewhere between troubled and thoroughly entertained.
“It’s rather fascinating, isn’t it? The way I keep getting tangled up with House Arachrene.”
In his hands were several thick sheets of paper, covered edge to edge in intricate geometric patterns — a commission recently submitted by the Arachrene ducal house.
