Lysandra brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as they walked down the street. "So," she began, her tone playful, "are you excited for the party tomorrow?"
Aurelia let out a long sigh. "Excited? Why would I be happy about a party I spent all week preparing for?"
"That's true," Lysandra admitted, grinning. "But at least you'll get to enjoy it when it's done."
"Likewise," Aurelia muttered. "I'm just glad the work's finally over."
Lysandra gave a teasing hum. "That's what you get for picking a fight with Lucien."
Aurelia didn't respond. She only looked away, her pride refusing to give Lysandra the satisfaction of seeing her agree.
Lysandra smirked knowingly. "You're pouting."
"I am not." Aurelia crossed her arms. "Whatever. Let's just get inside already."
They stepped through the entrance, and the shop unfolded around them like a cascade of light and color, rows of gowns glimmering in the sun, silks whispering across the air, jewels catching fire in their reflection.
Aurelia's lips parted, just slightly. "…Maybe this trip won't be so bad after all."
Lysandra clasped her hands together, eyes wide as she took in the sight. "By the stars… look at this place! It's like walking into a treasury."
Aurelia trailed behind her, gaze roaming over the endless racks of silk and lace. "A very expensive treasury," she murmured, brushing her fingers against a silver-threaded gown.
The fabric shimmered beneath her touch like moonlight.
Lysandra had already darted toward another display, pulling a deep crimson dress from the rack. "This one's perfect for you," she said, holding it up against Aurelia.
Aurelia frowned. "That looks like it's trying too hard."
"It is trying," Lysandra replied cheerfully. "To make you look stunning."
"I'll pass." Aurelia reached for a simpler design, a pale blue gown, soft and understated, trimmed with faint gold lining. "This one suits me better."
Lysandra tilted her head, studying it. "Elegant. Calm. Predictable."
Aurelia raised a brow. "And what's wrong with that?"
"Nothing at all," Lysandra said with a teasing smile. "If you want Lucien not to notice you, that's perfect."
Aurelia's composure cracked for half a second. "I—what? Who said anything about Lucien?"
"No one," Lysandra sang, already disappearing behind a curtain with her own armful of dresses. "But if the shoe fits, well, the dress might too."
Aurelia stared after her, muttering, "Infuriating woman…" before finally gathering a few gowns herself.
The boutique smelled of beeswax polish and rose oil, and lamps threw soft pools of light over satin and brocade.
Mannequins in the window looked like silent judges, but inside, the racks flowed like a small, private tide of color, silvers, soft blues, rose quartz, and crushed velvet.
Lysandra moved through it all like she owned it, laughing, lifting fabrics, flinging them against her shoulder as if each shimmered for her alone. "Try this," she said, holding up a blush-pink gown that caught the lamplight like morning dew. "No, forget subtlety. If you walk into the room and someone doesn't stare, the dress failed."
Aurelia's gaze drifted from Lysandra's radiance to a gown that sat quietly on a side rack, a silvery sapphire tone that shifted between moonlight and water depending on the angle.
She reached for it the way she did everything now: deliberately.
The fabric was cool under her fingertips, soft as breath, weightless as a promise.
"That color makes you look like you fell out of the night sky," Lysandra teased.
"That's dramatic," Aurelia replied, lips curling faintly.
"That's fitting," Lysandra corrected with a grin. "You hide your drama in poise."
They laughed. The clerk, discreet and practiced, disappeared behind the fitting curtains.
When Aurelia stepped behind the screen, the world contracted to a small, perfumed square.
The rustle of silk, the soft clink of pins, Lysandra's muffled commentary like laughter behind glass.
When she emerged, a hush rippled through the small crowd.
The gown's hue seemed alive, moonlit blue with silver-thread veins that caught each lamp's glow like frozen starlight.
The sleeves traced her wrists, and at her collarbone shimmered a small crescent-shaped clasp the clerk had pinned there, as if by instinct.
Lysandra's grin softened into something genuinely warm. "It's you," she said, approvingly.
Then she spun, and in a flourish, lifted another dress, one that seemed to radiate from her hands.
A blush-pink diamond tone, luminous and proud, trimmed with faint crystalline lace that scattered light across the floor.
When she slipped into it, the entire boutique seemed to tilt toward her brightness.
Aurelia smirked. "You look like the heart of dawn itself."
"And you," Lysandra said, striking a playful pose beside her reflection, "Look like its shadowed half. Together, we might blind someone."
Their laughter filled the shop like music.
They tried other dresses for the amusement of it, Lysandra in deep rose velvet that swallowed light, Aurelia in silver gauze that shimmered like frost over glass.
Each revealed something unspoken between them: Lysandra's fearless joy and Aurelia's quiet precision.
In those fleeting exchanges of fabric and reflection, their friendship felt alive and effortless.
When Kael arrived, not to shop, merely to wait and collect them, he stayed near the doorway, slate under his arm, watching.
He gave a small, even smile. "Both of you look… good," he said, voice plain and honest. "The blue suits you, Aurelia. The pink suits you, Lysandra."
Lysandra whooped with delight and clapped him on the shoulder. "See? Even the scholar knows taste when he sees it."
Aurelia felt the compliment land heavier than it should have.
Heat crawled up her neck; she forced her expression into polite neutrality, the practiced mask of a Caelistra.
She dipped her chin in a brief, formal nod, too small to be seen as anything but courtesy, and pressed the moment into the private drawer where she locked away embarrassment.
The clerk reappeared with wrapping paper and ribbon.
Aurelia stepped forward, pulling a coin pouch from beneath her sash.
She set the payment down, then reached for the slips the clerk handed over.
"Have them delivered to the Academy," she said, calm and precise. "Address them to the Household Caelistra and Vire."
She flipped the note over and, without ceremony, laid the silver Caelistra crest on the counter.
The clerk's eyes traced the crest and lifted with a professional, respectful tilt.
"As you wish, Lady Caelistra. They'll be delivered as soon as possible," the clerk replied, already moving to note details.
The parcels multiplied: tissue, boxes, ribbons. Aurelia's purchases made a small, tidy pile, far more than Lysandra's few chosen pieces.
Lysandra blinked at the stack with mock scandal. "A dozen? Truly? You said you were content with the blue gown."
Aurelia tucked a stray lock behind her ear, composing a dry smile. "One dress becomes another idea, and another event arrives. It is practical to have options. "And parties repeat."
Lysandra pouted, then laughed, hands fluttering as she imagined the wardrobes. "You're insufferably prepared. Also, wildly indulgent. I love it."
Kael watched the exchange with a look that mixed admiration and the faintest hint of consternation.
The pile of parcels had told him what the ledger had not: the scale of a Caelistra's wealth.
He folded his hands around his slate, a scholar temporarily disarmed by the logistics of nobility. "You buy as if wealth were a resource of time," he said softly. "You could outfit a small regiment."
Aurelia's mouth quirked, the shadow of amusement softening her features. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I'm simply ensuring the academy receives what it needs." She slid the final receipt across the counter, and the clerk tucked everything neatly away.
They stepped back into the boutique's doorway, the afternoon light cool against their cheeks.
The bell chimed behind them, and for a moment the three stood in a small constellation of laughter, ribbon, and plans.
The dresses would arrive at the Academy's hands by evening, and the masquerade would be outfitted in due course.
The bustle fell away until there were only the three of them and the soft hush of fabric.
Aurelia sat on a bench, fingers wrapping around her hair. "I don't like the idea of attending as a prize," she said finally, the words quiet but confident. "I don't want to be measured by other people's plans for me."
Lysandra sat on the bench across from her, watching her with a quietly open face. "Then don't be. Wear what makes you feel in charge."
"It's not about the dress," Aurelia admitted. "It's about everything that comes with it, expectations, alliances that are decided for me, reputations that can be weaponized."
Kael shook his head, hands folded around his slate, "You don't have to carry it alone," he said. No flourish, no courtroom rhetoric, just the plainness of the fact. "You've been measured. You know what you need to do to get stronger. Training fixes things that words cannot."
Aurelia looked at him, at Lysandra, and something softer uncoiled in her chest. "Thank you," she said, surprising herself. "For… for being steady, both of you."
Lysandra leaned forward and tugged Aurelia's sleeve as if pulling her into a small private rebellion. "And for the record," she added, mischief twinkling, "You're brave and a little terrifying in the best way. Don't let anyone tell you differently."
Aurelia allowed a small, honest smile to form. The party still waited, duties still pressed.
But for the first time in days, the prospect of walking into the hall felt less like an obligation and more like a step she would take on her own terms.
Lysandra's eyes flew to Kael as if she'd been handed a scandal on a silver platter. "What are you wearing to the masquerade, Kael? You can't possibly—"
"I'll wear my uniform," Kael said, casual enough that it might have been a weather report.
Lysandra's mouth gaped, Kael's shoulders went a fraction tighter, and Aurelia felt the same odd prickle she'd felt when Kael had first bested her in the arena, the uncanny awareness of inequality laid bare.
"Your uniform?" Lysandra repeated, aghast and entirely delighted at the same time. "You can't show up to a masquerade in a classroom tunic. People will notice. They'll talk. It's an event."
Kael blinked, genuinely puzzled. "Is that… a problem?"
"It's a very large problem," Lysandra said, hands already flapping as she catalogued offenses. "It's a masquerade. Everyone will be masked, shimmering. Prince Lucien will be there, and you'll be in, like, a school jacket. It's tragic poetry."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Scholarship covers tuition and lodging. I don't have pocket money for a suit. I didn't think—"
Aurelia pushed to her feet before she decided she had any right to.
The motion was sudden enough to make both of them look at her.
She felt the heat in her cheeks and tried to pin it to something practical. "I'll buy you one," she said, brisk and too loud.
Both Kael and Lysandra registered the surprise in different ways.
Kael with a staggered, hesitant lift of the brows, Lysandra with a delighted whoop that she audibly swallowed into a grin.
"You don't—" Kael started.
"I do," Aurelia cut in. Her voice leveled into the same clear steel she brought to tutors and sparring. "You cannot be an embarrassment at my masquerade that I worked hard to prepare. Not to me. Not to the Academy. I will not have us—" She paused, hunting for less personal phrasing. "—appear improvised in court eyes."
Kael opened his mouth again, then shut it. The humility of refusal warred with something kinder: gratitude. "You really don't have to. I can—"
Lysandra didn't wait. "No, no, no! Aurelia's buying, and I will not allow you to look like a broomstick. Besides, masks!" She clapped her hands. "We forgot masks. It is a masquerade, obviously, we need masks."
Aurelia's composure broke at the last word into a small, irrepressible smile. "Fine," she said. "Masks as well. Discreet. Nothing garish. Kael. What would you prefer? Simple, dark, or something that reflects the Academy?"
"Something simple," Kael said after a breath, humility shaded by something like relief. "Understated. No embroidery."
Lysandra immediately began a counterargument, Pink diamonds! Feathers! Sapphires! And—"
Aurelia cut her off with a look that redirected the energy. "No. Understated. A fine cut, good fabric. A mask with discreet silverwork, nothing that draws attention away from the ballroom's centerpieces." She added, softer and only for Kael, "Nothing that makes you uncomfortable."
He met her gaze, and for a second, the bustle of the boutique and the clink of wrapping paper fell into the background. "Thank you," he said simply.
The tailor's row was a short walk from the gown shop, a narrow street of brass signs and quiet woolen shops where the clerks moved like well-rehearsed constellations.
Inside the suit shop, the air smelled of pressed wool and lemon polish.
Mirrors angled each other into careful infinity; a cat of grey cloth blinked from the counter.
The staff were all competent and soft laughter, accustomed to measuring dukes and merchants without flinching.
"Good afternoon," the head cutter greeted, bowing once when Aurelia introduced them. "We'll see to it at once."
Kael stayed oddly still in the center of the room, slate tucked under one arm like a sensible talisman.
He wore his usual tunic, which only made the clean line of his shoulders and the honest set of his jaw more obvious.
Lysandra danced around him like bright light, already outlining impossible accessories.
The cutter produced tape and calipers with ritual calm.
While the staff worked, Aurelia stepped closer, watching the precise motions, the tape sliding along Kael's collarbone and across his chest.
"Hold your breath," the cutter murmured when measuring across the rib. Kael did without fuss.
The numbers were called off in a language of inches and neat fractions. A tailor's poetry.
Aurelia found herself observing him the way a scholar watches a promising specimen, mapping angles and proportions in the quiet.
It was a practical appraisal, head length, shoulder slope, how his hands rested when idle, and somewhere in the sweep of those considerations, surprise loosened her.
"You're…surprisingly attractive for a commoner," she said before the thought could be sheathed into the private reserve she kept for herself.
The words landed like a dropped coin. For a second, the room held its breath, the cutter's pencil froze mid-tick, Lysandra's spooning grin hovered, and Kael's mouth dropped.
Aurelia's cheeks flamed. She hadn't meant for it to sound like a comparison, much less a comment on rank. "—I didn't mean—" she began, the clarification already tripping out in a rush.
Lysandra, unabashed, clapped delightedly. "Oh, hush, that was adorable. Repeat it but softer." She leaned in, theatrical fascination bright as a ribbon.
Kael's face went a deeper, honest crimson. He caught her eye and kept his expression otherwise neutral. "I try to take care of myself," he said quietly, voice even. "Rank doesn't define neatness."
The cutter recovered professionalism with an admiring curl in his smile. "Important, that," he said to Kael. "A well-cut garment complements what you already have. If you're comfortable with the basic line, we'll do a fine charcoal."
Aurelia's throat tightened around a small, private satisfaction.
Lysandra wound a measuring tape into a playful loop and batted it at Kael. "We'll make a scandal of you anyway," she promised, eyes bright. "But in a good way."
They finished the measurements with the tidy efficiency of well-coordinated machinery.
As the cutter noted the final figures in neat script, Kael stepped back into his old quiet posture.
The three of them left the shop then. Lysandra chattering about mask choices, Aurelia arranging last details with a quick, exact hand, and Kael carrying something like relief in his gut.
Outside, the street was sunlit and ordinary again, but Aurelia couldn't quite fold that stray sentence back into silence.
It had landed somewhere between them, a small, sharp recognition that would, in its own odd way, shape the evening to come.