Chapter 19
The butler, who had been eyeing him with suspicion, finally relented under Dalia’s urging.
“Have a safe trip.”
“Aron, aren’t you coming with us?”
“I still have duties to attend to at the manor.”
The reply was sharp and prepared, as if waiting for the question.
Since the commotion on the night Khalid’s identity had been revealed, Aron seemed to find Dalia easier to deal with. Yet his aloof, uninterested attitude toward whatever she did had not changed.
“Aron, don’t you need anything? I could pick something up while I’m out—”
“No. Please go quickly.”
“All right, I’ll be back soon.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The moment the carriage wheels began to turn, Aron’s farewell was over; he spun on his heel and vanished into the manor without a second glance.
I should have brought Roy instead.
Inside the carriage, silence stretched between Dalia and Khalid. She shifted restlessly, the heavy quiet pressing on her, until their gazes met.
“Oh my, they’re already harvesting here, I see.”
Feigning distraction, she turned abruptly toward the window. Khalid studied her with a complicated expression.
“Is this because of what I did earlier?”
At his question, her eyes drifted back from the scenery.
You really need to ask?
The rebuke rose hot in her throat, but she swallowed it down and forced her tone calm.
“You’ve apologized, and you won’t do it again—right?”
“…Yes. I didn’t think how startling it must be, approached so suddenly. I am sorry.”
He even placed a hand upon his chest and bowed again with solemn courtesy. Dalia let out a short sigh.
“Why would you do something like that? You nearly scared me out of my skin.”
Khalid lowered his gaze, clearly abashed.
“Customs change with each age and region…”
“Oh, please. Still. Even if you’re from another time—or rather, another dragon age.”
The more she grumbled, the more his broad shoulders seemed to shrink.
Honestly. Time passing doesn’t make such behavior any less outrageous. Or… does it?
By her standards, it was incomprehensible. The thought lingered stubbornly, but when she glanced at him again, the deep regret etched on his face softened her mood.
He truly didn’t seem to have meant to trifle with her or treat her lightly. The last of her unease slipped away, and she found herself smiling.
“All right. Sorry for scolding you too harshly. I won’t hold onto it.”
“Mm. Thank you.”
“Instead, brace yourself. We’ll be walking a lot today.”
Khalid perked up at once, nodding earnestly—yet his shoulders remained hunched, unwilling to lift.
Dalia found the sight of the hulking dragon-man curled in on himself almost… cute. Then the realization of daring to think such a thing about a dragon startled her.
***
“Welcome, welcome!”
“This way, miss!”
“No, over here!”
The chorus of hawkers was overwhelming. Startled, Dalia stopped short, only to be quickly surrounded.
A patron!
Even though she had chosen the simplest clothes she owned, the fine fabric she and Khalid wore was enough to mark them out to the sharp-eyed merchants.
Blocked by the throng, she could hardly move. A merchant’s hand shot out, reaching greedily for her arm—
But before it could touch her, Khalid’s hand clamped around the man’s wrist, his face dark with menace.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Ow—ah! I—I only meant to guide the lady to my stall, where I have fine wares…”
The more the man tried to laugh it off, the tighter Khalid’s grip became, until the merchant’s face went pale and his excuses faltered.
When at last Khalid released him, the man stumbled back several steps, bowing over and over.
The other hawkers, seeing this, quickly retreated, leaving an open circle around the three of them.
“My deepest apologies, sire!”
The merchant threw himself to the ground.
“Get up.”
Khalid’s voice was low, dangerous—but Dalia stepped forward quickly.
“Don’t. That’s too much.”
Reproaching Khalid instead, she helped the merchant rise. The dragon stared at her blankly, as if stunned.
“What kind of goods do you sell?”
“E-everything, my lady! Whatever suits a noblewoman’s taste. But among them all, our Zephyros workshop is the best!”
He hastily displayed the placard he had been hawking. Dalia studied it, a faint smile curving her lips.
“This dressmaker named Mielle works here, correct?”
“Eh? Yes, yes, that fellow is employed here. But my wife, the master herself, makes the finest pieces. Still…”
“What is it?”
“Have we… met before, my lady?”
The unexpected question caught her off guard. Surely this hawker had nothing to do with the Borvon viscountcy, nor could its reach extend all the way here to Amad so soon.
“No, I have no idea what you mean.”
“You just seemed so familiar… But no, no. How could someone like me have ever met a lady such as yourself?”
Apologizing profusely, he bowed. Dalia waved it off.
“Just take us to this atelier.”
His face lit up, though he still glanced nervously at Khalid before leading the way. At her firm nod, he obeyed.
Escorting Dalia, Khalid asked with a puzzled look, “Were you offended?”
“No. I only wonder—why choose the most insolent merchant of the lot? Simply because he approached first?”
“Because he grabbed my arm? No. I would have followed him anyway.”
“…I see.”
No matter how hard Khalid studied the man, he looked unlikely to know the best shops.
Then Dalia pointed to the wooden signboard strapped to the merchant’s back. Unlike the others, it bore the words: Zephyros Atelier—Special Sale! Fine clothes at low prices!
Khalid scowled instantly.
“If it’s just for the price, we can go elsewhere.”
“No, look at the line below.”
And there, in small letters, was the name Zephyros Atelier.
It was indeed the place where Mielle once worked under near-slavery conditions before her talent made her famous.
“You know this place?”
Khalid frowned at the modest signboard. From the looks of it, it wasn’t a shop large enough to be renowned even outside Amad.
“Not exactly. I’ve never worn anything from here. But soon, this place will be famous.”
At this very time, in the small atelier of Zephyros, designer Mielle was drawing inspiration from nature to create her signature styles.
She might be working for meager pay now, but within a year her designs would be so coveted they couldn’t be bought even at double price.
Of course, Khalid knew none of this. To him, her choice must seem odd.
Before she could attempt an explanation, he merely nodded.
“If you say so.”
His easy acceptance made her almost ask why he didn’t question her further. But she stopped herself.
To him, the shop where I buy my dresses is utterly trivial. Naturally, he wouldn’t care.
With that settled, Dalia pushed open the door marked with the Zephyros nameplate. A sharp-eyed woman with upturned brows greeted them warmly.
“Oh my, such lovely guests!”
“See, Silvia? I’ve brought some very fine patrons!”
“Welcome to Zephyros.”
The husband, now meeting his wife, puffed out his chest as if he had never cowered moments before.
Dalia lingered by the entrance, taking in the interior. It wasn’t ostentatious, but every corner bore the marks of careful, meticulous craft.
Touching one of the dresses on display, she smiled.
Yes, this is the right place.
Just as she expected.
Even from her brief glance, she could spot the unique design elements that would later become all the rage in the capital’s salons.
Whether or not they bore Mielle’s particular flair, not a single piece looked carelessly made. Each garment showed precise stitching, delicate finishing—love for the craft in every detail.
It was here, before the year’s end, that Mielle would create the designs that would sweep across Estair.
The merchant’s boast that his atelier produced exquisite clothes was true—though not because of the owner’s wife, but because of her employee, Mielle.
From impoverished seamstress to meteoric success, Mielle would become a symbol of self-made triumph, lifted up even by the crown prince himself.
“This way, my lady—the finer things are in the back!”
Flustered by Dalia’s knowing smile, the husband tried to usher her deeper inside.
“No, Hanson. Out you go—you’re in the way.”
Silvia pushed him aside with a laugh and turned to Dalia.
“Good day, my lady. I am Silvia, the owner here. What kind of attire are you seeking?”
“For now, everyday wear. But if possible, I’d also like to commission dresses suitable for a ball.”
“My, my.”
At Dalia’s words—hinting at both wealth and quantity—and seeing the striking pair’s appearance, Silvia’s smile spread even wider.
“Please wait just a moment. I’ll bring out selections that will surely please you.”
She led them into a private salon, handed over some sample catalogues, and slipped away. Dalia opened one and studied it closely.
“As I thought.”
