Valebourne's main promenade shimmered like a river of wealth beneath the late-morning sun. Carriages bearing family crests rolled past shops gleaming with gilded signs, while silk-draped nobles drifted along the wide avenues like bright-hued birds.
Amid this parade of splendor stood Maison Verrayne, the most celebrated fashion house in the capital—a towering edifice of pale marble, its broad windows casting diamonds of light across the sapphire-blue carpets unfurling from its grand doors. Silver-threaded patterns spiraled along the runner like frost caught in a weave, a silent promise of the elegance within.
"Gods above," Tamsin muttered as the group approached, her hair catching every shard of sun. "This place looks like someone robbed a royal treasury and decided to make curtains out of it."
Elias shot her a crooked grin. "Better hope they don't hear you. These people probably faint if a thread's out of place."
"I'd pay to see that," Tamsin replied under her breath, earning a quiet laugh from Raffin as he fell into step beside her.
Lilith moved at the head of the group, crimson skirts gliding over the rich carpet like spilled wine. If the grandeur impressed her, it did not show; her eyes remained calm, sweeping the towering glass windows where mannequins draped in moonlit silks stood like motionless courtiers. Behind her, Caelum's silent presence anchored the group, his dark attire blending with the shadows as he issued a quiet word to the doorman.
The double doors swung wide, and a rush of warm air perfumed with lavender and pressed linen greeted them. Inside, the boutique soared upward in tiers of white and silver, gallery balconies lined with gowns and tailored coats that shimmered under crystal chandeliers. Soft music floated through the air, barely louder than a whisper.
A procession of attendants descended like swans in matching ivory livery. At their head came a tall woman with silver hair coiled in an intricate chignon, her every step deliberate, her smile honed to perfection like the edge of a blade.
"Lady Silford," she said, bowing with impeccable grace. "Maison Verrayne is honored beyond measure to receive you." Her eyes flicked briefly to Elias, then to Tamsin and Raffin, her smile never faltering though a subtle gleam betrayed curiosity about the Silford heir's companions.
Lilith inclined her head, her voice calm and crystalline. "We require formal attire for the Academy term. Ballgowns and evening coats. Fittings for all."
The maître's smile warmed, though every note was polished, measured. "But of course, my lady. Please, allow us to craft perfection for you."
As attendants swept forward, Caelum detached from the group, his teal eyes flicking briefly toward Lilith in silent assurance before he drifted toward the rear of the boutique. Within moments, he was engaged in hushed discussion with the silver-haired maîtresse, her gloved hands fluttering gracefully over a ledger as she nodded at every quiet word, her posture one of utter deference.
Lilith allowed herself a brief glance at them before following the attendants deeper inside.
The fitting hall resembled an opulent atrium, partitioned by panels of mirrored glass and silver lattice. Lilith moved with unhurried grace as attendants guided her to a dais, bolts of fabric gleaming in their arms like captured moonlight.
"Deep crimson, my lady," one ventured, draping a length of silk over her shoulder. "It would make your eyes burn like emerald fire."
Another offered midnight velvet, its sheen glimmering faintly under the chandeliers. "Or this—regal as the dusk."
Lilith's fingers brushed the fabric, her expression serene, distant. "Both," she said at last. "And silver embroidery—not gaudy. A single motif at the hem."
The attendants bobbed in eager agreement, scribbling notes with feverish devotion.
Across the hall, Elias endured his own torment as two tailors circled him like vultures, tape measures snapping around his shoulders and waist.
"Stand still," one hissed, while the other murmured about cut and drape.
"I'm trying," Elias muttered through gritted teeth, his arms outstretched like a man awaiting execution. "Do these coats really need this many buttons? What am I wearing—armor for a dance?"
Tamsin sprawled across a chaise nearby, watching with undisguised delight. "Oh no, keep going. This is the best entertainment I've had all week."
Elias shot her a glare. "Laugh it up. You're next."
"Damn right I am," Tamsin said, vaulting off the seat. "And I'm getting something that'll make those stiff-necked nobles choke on their champagne."
"Something subtle, then?" Raffin drawled, his tone dry as parchment.
Tamsin barked a laugh. "Subtle? Raff, I'm thinking flame-scarlet with a slit high enough to make the professors faint."
"Gods help us all," Elias muttered.
Lilith's voice drifted across the hall, cool and amused. "If you insist on theatrics, Tamsin, at least let them be well tailored."
"Don't worry, Lil," Tamsin shot back, striding toward the attendants with a devilish grin. "I'll make sure they sew my personality into every damn seam."
While Tamsin launched into a fiery debate with a flustered seamstress—arguing that if a gown didn't set something ablaze, it wasn't worth wearing—Raffin stood patiently as a single tailor measured his shoulders.
"One suit," he said firmly when pressed about additional sets.
"Only one, my lord?" the tailor stammered, scandalized.
Raffin's gaze was level, his voice quiet steel. "One. Black, clean lines, no frills."
Lilith overheard and offered him a faint smile across the room. He met her gaze briefly and returned it with a small nod—an unspoken understanding passing between them like smoke.
Meanwhile, Elias had been stuffed into a dark blue doublet and was glaring at his reflection as though the mirror had personally insulted him.
"You look fine," Lilith said without turning.
"I look like a decorative knight," Elias grumbled, tugging at the collar.
"That is the point," Lilith replied, voice soft as silk.
By the time the selections were finalized, the attendants were practically glowing from the triumph of dressing four students of note—and one Silford heir above them all. Dresses in crimson and silver, gowns whispering of midnight rain, coats trimmed in the subtlest gold, boots polished to mirror sheen—all neatly recorded and promised for delivery to Thorne Manor within the day.
Lilith descended from the dais with her usual composure, catching a glimpse of Caelum in the distance as he concluded his quiet exchange with the maître. His expression was unreadable, but the way the older man bowed—sharp and low—spoke of arrangements secured with absolute precision.
"Everything will arrive at the manor this evening," Caelum said as he rejoined them, voice smooth, as if the labyrinth of logistics he'd just navigated had been as effortless as breathing.
Normally, it would have taken days, even weeks to prepare specially tailored clothes. But Lilith thought that Caelum pulled some strings to fasten the process.
"Perfect," Lilith said simply.
Tamsin clapped her hands together. "Now that we're dressed like royalty, where to next? Please tell me there's food involved."
Elias groaned. "You just want to make me suffer through another round of shopping."
"Damn right I do," Tamsin said brightly.
Lilith's lips curved faintly as she stepped toward the doors, the silver-blue carpet whispering beneath her heels. Outside, Valebourne glittered under the noon sun, its streets alive with carriages and whispers.
For now, it was just another day in the capital. But even beneath the hum of silk and silver, Lilith felt it—the faint pull of something shifting, a thread tightening in the tapestry of fate.