Chapter 9
The tailor was a flamboyantly dressed man — and standing next to the stiff, formal Gaveline, the contrast between the two was almost comical.
The tailor swept into the room with a flourish, bowing dramatically like an actor taking the stage, a charming smile lighting up his face.
“It’s an honor to meet you, my lady! I am Odilo, owner of a small but exquisite boutique. To be granted the privilege of designing the wedding gown for the future Duchess of Basteron — oh, what an honor! What a joy!”
Agnès blinked in surprise. Odilo?
That name was famous even in the countryside. He wasn’t just any tailor — he was the designer who set fashion trends in the capital. Nobles from far-off estates would travel for days, carrying purses full of money, just for a chance to commission one of his gowns.
During the height of the social season, people even said it was harder to get an appointment with Odilo than an audience with the Emperor.
So really, this wasn’t Odilo’s honor — it was hers.
When Agnès had married Count Overhan, she’d simply worn the old family gown, altered to fit her size.
But now, as the soon-to-be Duchess of Basteron, she couldn’t act too humble. That would only look bad for Dylan’s household.
She forced herself to stay composed and smiled gently.
“I’m looking forward to working with you, Odilo. Please take care of me. But… I’m not officially the Duchess yet.”
“Ah, my lady, I was commissioned to design the Duchess of Basteron’s wedding dress. And since you’ll be the one wearing it, that makes you the Duchess already, doesn’t it?”
His words were pure flattery, but he was so smooth that it didn’t sound offensive at all.
Agnès chuckled and nodded lightly, giving him permission to proceed as he wished.
Odilo placed two large catalog books onto the tea table with a flourish.
“Here are the designs I’ve selected especially for you! This one contains wedding dresses, and this one features reception gowns. Of course, any design can be adjusted to your liking.”
He radiated confidence — and somehow, Agnès trusted that whatever she picked, he’d make it look perfect.
“Let’s start with the wedding dress,” she said.
“Then please choose two,” he replied.
“Two?”
She almost asked why — and then it struck her. Dylan was of royal blood. Royal weddings were held twice: once as a public ceremony, and once as a private one attended only by close relatives and aides.
Naturally, the bride couldn’t wear the same gown for both.
Feeling a bit dazed, Agnès began turning the pages slowly.
Every dress was breathtaking in its own way — some simple, some extravagant — and choosing just one (let alone two) felt impossible.
Odilo, ever perceptive, offered his professional opinion.
“Your figure would look stunning in a mermaid silhouette, my lady, but since this is a royal wedding, I must recommend something more modest. Here — this classic design doesn’t emphasize the body’s shape but still exudes elegance. Would you take a look?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“Isn’t it? I’m especially proud of this piece! When people see you in it, they’ll fall in love instantly. As for the second ceremony, I’d recommend something with a stately bell-line silhouette. In fact, I have a design no one has seen yet — allow me to show it to you exclusively!”
Odilo wasn’t just a talented designer; he was also full of charm and energy, and he clearly understood the customs surrounding noble weddings.
Following his guidance, Agnès chose her wedding dresses, shoes, and even floral arrangements for the venue.
For once, she didn’t have to worry about money — or settle for something “good enough.” Dylan had given her a wedding budget so large it made her dizzy just hearing the amount.
At first she’d been startled, but then she reminded herself — he was a duke, after all.
Once the wedding dresses were decided, it was time for the reception gowns. Agnès was already getting tired, but Odilo seemed more energized than ever.
“For the reception, you’ll need three dresses. Choose as many designs as you like, and I’ll have samples sent from my shop right away!”
“You’re right — they’re all so lovely that I’ll need to see them in person to decide.”
“It will be my life’s mission, my lady, to ensure you’re the most beautiful woman in the Empire! I swear I’ll exceed every expectation you have!”
Agnès laughed softly.
“Oh, please don’t risk your life over a few dresses, Odilo. But I’ll look forward to seeing your work.”
After what felt like hours of flipping through pages, debating colors, and discussing fabrics, she finally chose three reception gowns.
Of course, that was only the beginning — there were still accessories to match, final fittings to schedule, and endless adjustments to make before the big day.
When Odilo finally left, Agnès rubbed her shoulders with a tired sigh.
Gaveline approached quietly.
“If his manner is too overwhelming, I can find another tailor for you,” he said carefully.
Agnès was surprised by the offer. Maybe he genuinely thought a quieter, more formal designer would suit the future Duchess better.
“No, I like Odilo’s designs — and he’s quite fun to be around,” she said with a small smile.
Gaveline twitched slightly, then bowed.
“As you wish, my lady.”
His tone was polite, but his face said otherwise. Clearly, her answer wasn’t what he’d hoped for.
I wonder if we’ll ever get along, Agnès thought wryly.
She didn’t dislike him, but as long as he seemed uncomfortable around her, friendship wouldn’t come easily. Still, she decided she’d try.
Returning to her room, she found comfort in its familiar quiet. Her chamber was on the same floor as Dylan’s but not connected to it — something she found oddly reassuring.
Once they were married, she would move into the official Duchess’s suite. But for now, she preferred the distance.
After her maid helped her prepare for bed, Agnès sat down on the edge of the soft mattress. Her body relaxed, but her thoughts refused to settle.
Dylan said he needs to feed every three or four days… It’s been five.
How was he managing? Surely he wasn’t foolish enough to simply endure it.
If Gaveline was right and the Emperor was fond of him, perhaps there was some way to handle it discreetly.
But if it were that easy, why had Dylan suffered for so long?
Could it be that even the Emperor didn’t truly know what he was going through?
Agnès shook her head, forcing the thoughts away.
I shouldn’t be worrying about someone of his rank, she scolded herself.
She turned down the blankets and was just about to lie down when—
Knock, knock.
A deep, heavy sound came from the door.
Agnès hastily threw on her shawl.
“Who is it?”
“Dylan.”
His voice seeped through the crack in the door — low and heavy, just like the knock.
“Your Grace?”
She slipped into her slippers and hurried to open the door.
Dylan stood there, his face pale and drawn, looking utterly exhausted.
His skin was so white it looked untouched by sunlight, and dark shadows hollowed the skin beneath his eyes.
Gaveline had said the Duke was living comfortably at the palace — but what Agnès saw before her looked more like a man who had crawled out of hell.
“Your Grace… please, come in.”
She stepped aside, gesturing toward the room.
Instead of entering, Dylan reached behind him and closed the door firmly.
Agnès turned, ready to lead him toward the sofa — but he caught her wrist.
“Agnès.”
The sound of her name sent a chill down her spine.
Never in her life had her own name made her tremble like that.
His voice was dark, rough, and filled with something dangerous — something that made the air feel heavy and cold.
His hand was icy, almost lifeless, yet damp with sweat. It didn’t feel like the hand of a living man.
Agnès’s heart skipped a beat. She turned to face him fully — and gasped.
In the dim light, Dylan’s eyes glowed a deep, unnatural red.
