It was, in truth, the sort of peaceful scene the family had wished for. There was nothing wrong with it, yet now was hardly the time for such calm. They wanted, as soon as possible, an explanation of what was happening in the city.
“Um, my lady...the castle town is terribly lively right now. Might I ask what’s going on?”
“Oh, that,” Douve answered lightly. “Craftsmen from all over the country have gathered, saying they wish to make Blois’s bridal gown. You noticed the bustle on your way here, I imagine?”
She spoke as if it were nothing. And indeed, anyone who’d listened to the noise and excitement outside would have little trouble guessing what was happening. But the three of them didn’t want to know what was happening—they wanted to know how it had come to this.
“Um, my lady,” Blois pressed gently, “I was told that the only announcement would be a call for tailors in the Sepaeda capital...”
“That’s right,” Douve replied matter-of-factly. “That’s all I did. Given the time we have, there wasn’t much more I could do, was there?”
She said it so smoothly, so casually—utterly unashamed, because she truly had nothing to hide.
“It seems,” she went on, “that many of the country’s most skilled artisans predicted you would be seeking someone to tailor the bridal gown—and they’ve all gathered here to prove themselves.”
“Well...yes. I suppose that is something one could have expected,” Blois admitted.
“Indeed... You’re right,” Sansui said.
Douve truly had done nothing more than issue a public notice in the capital. It was simply that skilled craftsmen from across the kingdom had anticipated it and gathered there on their own.
“The excitement in the streets is...overwhelming,” Blois said, blushing. “Everywhere you look, women in extravagant dresses are parading about, all competing for who can draw the most attention.”
As she spoke, Sansui recalled the uproar in the city.
Countless tailors had all dressed their models in their proudest creations and sent them walking through the streets, turning the town into a kind of grand prelude—an unofficial contest before the real one. It was nothing less than a living advertisement. The entire city had become a fashion show, and the townspeople were utterly enthralled.
“There were even people with ships on their heads...” Lain murmured. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying—but it was true. There had been quite a few like that.
Everyone had been desperate to stand out, desperate to leave an impression. Some of the designs had gone so far beyond art that they bordered on the absurd.
Women strutted about with ship models perched on their heads, as if declaring: This is the newest trend in hairstyles!
If it had been a small, stylized ornament, one might have only tilted their head in curiosity, but these were massive—larger than the wearer’s head, ornate, detailed sailing ships. There was nothing to do but stare in disbelief.
What was truly frightening, however, was the thought that Blois herself might end up dressed like that.
“Lain, you probably don’t know this,” Douve said lightly, “but that style was all the rage long ago. It didn’t last very long, mind you—but one could almost call it traditionally elegant.”
“I...really don’t want to see Mama Blois looking like that,” Lain said quietly.
“Oh? Is that so?” Douve smiled.
Honestly, I’d have to agree... Sansui thought, feeling exactly the same way.
If Blois were to walk down the aisle with a ship perched on her head, Sansui honestly doubted he could walk beside her as the groom. His eyes would keep drifting upward, and he’d be far too distracted to focus on the ceremony itself.
Of course, the tailors weren’t joking around, nor did they have any intention of mocking Blois. But to the eyes of Blois, Lain, and Sansui, such outlandish designs simply weren’t tasteful.
“This commotion is not what we intended,” Sansui said frankly, appealing to Douve. “My lady, could you please bring it under control through your influence?”
It was supposed to be their wedding, yet the bystanders had turned it into an uproar. At this point, he couldn’t tell who the contest announcement had really been for. It felt as though someone had used them as an excuse to start a festival, and the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Douve listened, then sighed deeply, wearing an expression of genuine exasperation.
“Honestly...”
Her sigh seemed to say, I can’t believe this.
“How long are you going to keep acting like bodyguards?” she said sharply. “You should know that nobles are expected to conduct themselves as such.”
To her, it seemed that being bothered by such a situation was exactly the wrong response. A fashion show breaking out over who would earn the right to make the bridal gown? As far as Douve was concerned, that was something to enjoy—the sort of spectacle a noble ought to relish.
The Shirokuro family, however, found this attitude profoundly troubling.
“All these skilled artisans have gathered, saying they wish to craft Blois’s wedding dress,” Douve continued. “That’s a wonderful thing. What could you possibly be dissatisfied about?”
“It’s not just the size of the commotion,” Sansui replied carefully. “It’s that so many of the designs are...unusual. We were taken aback.”
“Then simply make your requests clear,” Douve said crisply. “Specify the design you want.”
“You’re absolutely right, my lady.”
With that, Sansui and Blois were soundly rebuked.
No one had ever said that the clothes the models wore in the streets were meant to be the actual wedding dress. Blois and the others had merely assumed as much on their own.
“Listen carefully, Blois,” Douve said, her tone firm. “You’ve failed to grasp the most important point.”
“Wh-What do you mean, my lady?” Blois asked timidly.
“The bridal gown exists,” Douve said, “so that the bride can fully bask in her own happiness. If you wear it with joy in your heart, Sansui will smile as well.”
The words were undeniably arrogant—yet they were also true. At a wedding, the bride is the centerpiece. There is nothing wrong with her being a little proud; in fact, if she isn’t, then the ceremony loses its meaning.
“At my own wedding, I wore a bridal gown from the kingdom of Magyan,” Douve continued. “That wasn’t out of obligation or diplomacy—it was simply because I wanted to wear it. Had I not wished to, I would have refused, no matter what anyone said.”
It was the right kind of respect for another culture—born not from duty, but from genuine admiration. She had embraced it because she truly found it beautiful and worthy.
Hearing Douve’s confident words, Tahlan found himself falling in love with her all over again. And the Shirokuro family, too, could only be struck by how right she was.
“As the client,” Douve said, her tone cool and commanding, “you must state your wishes clearly. Entrust the fabric from Magyan only to the one who can meet those demands. The premise hasn’t changed at all. Must I really spell it out for you like this?”
“I have no excuse, my lady,” Blois admitted. “I let the commotion in the city unsettle me and lost my composure.”