A Royal Trap

Silk and Feathers - Part 1

Doria was utterly serious. This was not a village dance; it was a summons to the very pinnacle of the world she ached to join. In her mind, it was a marketplace for royalty, and she intended to be the most dazzling commodity on display. With a confidence that bordered on delirium, she allowed herself to envision the highest prize of all: the King himself. A young, unmarried king, holding a ball for all the maidens in the land—the fairy tales wrote themselves. He must be looking for a queen, this was the reason for the ball, and what did all men seek first, if not beauty? Hers, she believed with every fiber of her being.

“I want the brightest silk,” she instructed the head seamstress, her finger tracing a bolt of crimson that seemed to pulse. “The color of… of dramatic intention. And sequins. Not a sparse scattering—a veritable armor. I want to blind the unworthy.”

The seamstress, Madame Fleur, blinked. “Mademoiselle wishes to be… luminous?”

“I wish to be unignorable,” Doria corrected. “And feathers for my hair. Tall. Like a heron who’s won a lottery.”

Her vision was one of magnificent excess, every choice screaming for attention because attention was the currency she intended to trade in. She would rather be seen as extravagant than risk being overlooked. Poverty was a stain she was determined to scour away with glitter and gloss.

Eden facepalmed. Aunt Rosalind sighed. “Doria, dear, the goal is to attract a suitor, not to be mistaken for a hunting trophy.”

While Doria plotted her conquest, Eden was engaged in a quieter, more frustrating campaign. “Elowyn, you must choose something more eye-catching,” she urged, her voice a hushed plea. “How is anyone to notice you in such plain material? Here, what about this silver trim?” She turned to the assisting girl. “Could we add some delicate feathers to the neckline? Just a wisp?”

“Feathers are for living birds,” Elowyn murmured, her fingers brushing a soft, matte lavender silk. “And what if they travel up my nose mid-curtsy? I’d bless everyone with my sneezes.” The thought of hundreds of eyes upon her made her skin prickle. She wanted fabric that wouldn’t catch the light, a color that whispered rather than shouted. She selected the lavender and a simple, elegant design that spoke of modest refinement.

Eden sighed deeply in defeat. “At least consider the silk dupioni. It has a slight sheen, just enough to show you made an effort.” But Elowyn was already nodding to the seamstress, her decision final resulting in a deeper sigh from her sister. She was acutely aware of the cost, of Aunt Rosalind’s generosity therefore did not want to go overboard. She also had a profound urge to be gone out of the shop, Kaelas was waiting outside and she felt terrible for him being left out. Her measurements were taken with efficient speed, and within minutes she had slipped back out to the cobbled street, leaving the hushed arguments over tulle and taffeta behind.