The morning air was crisp, the scent of dew and lavender from Mrs. Hartley's garden floating in through the open windows.
Sunlight washed over the finished gown now draped carefully over a mannequin, its purple,silver and violet threads shimmering in the light like strands of moonlight caught in fabric.
Rosaline stood by the open window, the gentle morning breeze brushing her curls back as she stared at the finished gown on the mannequin.
The moonlight-hued silk shimmered faintly in the light, and silver-threaded embroidery danced across the bodice like frost kissed by dawn. She had poured her entire soul into this dress.
Rosaline Hartley stood still, her eyes tracing every delicate stitch, every fold and flutter of the silk. It was done.
Days of sleepless nights, countless pinpricks, long hours of weaving beauty into cloth....all of it had led to this.
A masterpiece.
This was more than just a gown. It was her ticket to something bigger...something far beyond the quiet village she'd known her whole life.
If Lysandra Drake, daughter of Alpha Loren of Willow, wore her creation and was impressed by it, word would spread fast. Noble ladies would come knocking.
She could finally take her name beyond Willow's borders.....into courts, into the capital, even into the Silverthrone palace if fate dared.
"Do you think she'll like it?" Rosaline asked as she adjusted the gown's hem one last time.
Ciara, lounging at the edge of the worktable, scoffed dramatically.
"If she doesn't fall in love with this, then she has no taste. Honestly, Rosie, this is the most breathtaking thing I've ever seen. You've outdone yourself."
Rosaline smiled, her fingers pausing on a crystal button. "It just has to be perfect. If she wears it to the king's birthday ball..."
"She will, trust me." Ciara winked. "I mean that's why she made us make the gown in the first place.
And when she does wear it, everyone will be asking, 'Who made that?' And someone will whisper, 'Rosaline Hartley.' Then your life changes forever."
Rosaline's cheeks flushed, half with pride, half with nerves. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
But truthfully, the idea filled her with a spark of excitement. Not dread. Not hesitation. Excitement. This was her dream.
A knock came at the door.
Ciara opened it, revealing Mrs. Hartley holding a small satchel. "I packed you girls something to eat for the road," she said with a warm smile. "And a scarf for the breeze....it'll get chillier by the woods."
Rosaline hugged her mother tightly. "Thanks, Mama."
Mrs. Hartley gave the gown a once-over and exhaled softly. "It's beautiful, Rosie. Just like your heart."
*********
The local carriage rattled through the roads. It was a simple ride...just a covered wooden cart pulled by a sturdy horse....but it was the beginning of something grand.
Rosaline sat beside the gown, wrapped carefully in clean white linen. Ciara sat opposite her, her usual energy bubbling despite the bumpy trail.
The Drake estate stood at the heart of it. Its tall spires and grand stone walls made it resemble a miniature palace. Rosaline's heart beat faster....not from fear, but from pure excitement.
She'd never been this close to a noble household, let alone with something that bore her name and handiwork.
The moment the carriage stopped, a maid in a blue uniform approached them swiftly. "Miss Hartley?" she asked briskly.
"Yes."
"Lady Lysandra is expecting you. Please, come with me."
The maid didn't wait for a response. She turned and glided down the long hallway, her back straight as a board.
Ciara nudged Rosaline. "Breathe."
"I am."
"No, you're holding your breath like we're walking into a lion's den."
Rosaline exhaled through her nose. "That's because we are."
Rosaline and Ciara climbed down, Ciara carrying the covered gown with reverence. The estate's marble floors echoed beneath their footsteps as they followed the maid through the arched hallways.
Ciara whispered, "I feel like we're walking into a royal court."
Rosaline gave her a small grin. "Behave."
"Oh, I plan to. This might be my only chance to see the infamous Lysandra Drake admiring the dress up close."
The drawing room they were led to was elegant....plush velvet sofas, paintings of generations of Drakes adorning the walls, and a chandelier of silver and crystal hanging overhead like stars caught in mid-fall.
Lysandra was already there, lounging with her legs crossed and a wine glass in her hand...at midday. She looked every inch a noble: cool, flawless, dangerous.
Seated by the window was Lysandra Drake herself....poised, radiant, and cool as a winter breeze.
She wore a velvet robe of midnight blue, her long hair cascading down her back. One leg crossed elegantly over the other, and a half-empty glass of chilled wine was in her hand.
When her eyes fell on Rosaline and the bundle in Ciara's arms, her expression didn't change, but her gaze sharpened.
"You're late."
Rosaline inclined her head slightly. "Our apologies, my lady. There was traffic near the south gates."
Lysandra said nothing at first, just sipped her wine and gestured toward a table by the window. "Unpack it. I want to see."
Ciara bristled at the tone, but Rosaline's expression didn't falter. She moved to the table and carefully laid the package down. Her fingers were gentle as she unwrapped it layer by layer, revealing the gown beneath.
The light from the window struck the silver beadwork, and for a moment, even Lysandra's cool mask cracked.
She stood and approached slowly. Her fingers hovered above the silver-laced bodice. The embroidery caught the light, shimmering like moon dust.
The lace sleeves sparkled subtly, the skirt flowing like mist in the forest.
No words were spoken for several beats.
Then Lysandra murmured, "It's stunning."
Rosaline's heart lifted.
"I had a vision of how I wanted to appear at the ball," Lysandra continued. "This surpasses it."
She turned to Rosaline. "You're good. Exceptionally good."
"Thank you, my lady."
"I assume you created this design yourself?"
"I did."
Lysandra walked around the gown, her sharp eyes drinking in every seam. "It's rare to find someone in the villages with this level of talent. I'll make sure people know your name after the ball.....if it fits as beautifully as it looks."
Rosaline nodded, keeping her voice steady. "I'm grateful for the opportunity."
Lysandra turned slightly, picking up her wine. "You should be. Most seamstresses beg to work with me."
Ciara coughed under her breath. Rosaline gave her a silent warning glance.
"I'll send for my maid to handle the fitting tomorrow," Lysandra added. "I'll have it delivered to the capital with the rest of my things. The king's birthday is too important to leave to chance."
Rosaline bowed slightly. "We'll make sure everything is ready."
"You've done well, Hartley," Lysandra said as she returned to her seat. "This could be your break."
Rosaline met her eyes. "That's the hope, my lady."
As they left the estate, Rosaline didn't feel heavy or anxious. Instead, she felt light.
The kind of lightness that comes with possibility.
"I can't believe she praised you," Ciara said, once they were safely in the carriage. "She barely blinks at people, and she said it was stunning."
"She liked it," Rosaline said, allowing herself a quiet smile.
"Rosie, she loved it. This is the start of something. I can feel it."
Rosaline gazed out the window at the rolling hills beyond Willow, her heart brimming with hope.
Let Darius Silverthrone haunt the palace corridors of the capital with his sharp eyes and confusing kiss.
Let him battle whatever bond he tried to deny.
Here, now, she had her name. Her skill. Her worth.
And soon, the world would know it too.