QOF 08

chapter 08

From inside the room, the sound of the princess moving about could be heard. There was also the faint rustling of fabric.

After a while, the door opened just a crack.

“Come in, Sir. I have something to ask.”

Lucian hesitated briefly at the door again, but less than yesterday.

As he stepped into the bedroom, he paused at the sight of the princess’s changed appearance.

Ioret, now dressed in a pure white gown, looked up at him.

“Does it suit me?”

“Yes, Princess. You look beauti—”

Lucian answered reflexively but stopped short. As Ioret turned halfway before the mirror, her bright blonde hair swayed, revealing her back.

“…ful.”

Several buttons running down her slender back were left undone. It was obvious she couldn’t fasten them all by herself.

Through the slight gap, a glimpse of her pale skin drew his gaze involuntarily. It was instinct.

Ioret gave a faint smile.

“You’re not being honest, Sir. Do you really think this suits me?”

“……!”

Lucian quickly lowered his eyes. His ears burned as though he’d been caught staring rudely, even if only for a moment.

Strictly speaking, the dress itself didn’t suit Ioret particularly well.

It was too voluminous for her thin frame, and the stark white fabric made her skin look even paler.

Still, her natural beauty was so striking that such flaws hardly mattered.

“My apologies. But I wasn’t lying.”

“Really? Enough to make any man fall for me at first sight?”

Even trivial men would likely be drawn in, not to mention the rest. Lucian swallowed those thoughts and instead asked,

“Why do you ask?”

Instead of answering, Ioret held the hem of the dress and looked at herself in the mirror.

“This is the first gift my sister Catherine ever gave me. She said I should wear it at my wedding. I suppose it could pass for a banquet dress.”

“Are you attending the Founding Day banquet?”

“There will be many envoys who came to witness my wedding. And it’ll be the last event I can attend before I’m cast out.”

Indeed, that day had originally been her wedding. Lucian had only been informed that the wedding was canceled and that the Founding Day opening ceremony and welcoming ball had been moved forward.

He had received no orders forbidding Princess Ioret from attending.

Ioret murmured meaningfully,

“I’ll be the star of the banquet. Just as it was always meant to be.”

A bold claim—but not a very realistic one.

Lucian thought skeptically.

Crown Princess Catherine was undeniably the center of Elovis’s noble society and its reigning queen of high society.

With her beauty, wit, and commanding charisma, she was every bit the ideal ruler.

In contrast, Princess Ioret seemed far too fragile.

Her shimmering blonde hair and delicate features were certainly beautiful—but rather than a leader to follow, she resembled a fragile flower that needed protection.

Lucian’s gaze drifted again to the awkwardly parted back of her dress. His hand twitched impulsively, as if about to reach out and fasten the loose buttons.

“…Are you truly going to wear this dress?”

Ioret shrugged.

“I don’t have anything else suitable.”

Everything in her wardrobe either exposed too much of her chest or back, or clung too tightly to her figure. Naturally, they were all from Catherine—and she had torn them all to pieces the night before.

“It may look ridiculous to wear a wedding dress after the ceremony’s been canceled, but it’s not entirely inappropriate either.”

What Ioret desperately needed right now was a powerful presence.

‘I need to show the entire kingdom that I, a princess, exist in this palace. The best stage for that is the Founding Day banquet.’

When her mother, Queen Charlotte, was still alive, she would sit Ioret on her lap and gently teach her many things.

“Clothing in high society isn’t just about looking pretty. It’s a statement of your status—a political declaration. Without saying a word, it shows whose side you’re on, what you intend to do, and why you’re there. It can be a weapon to threaten your enemies—or bait to draw allies in.”

The look in Ioret’s eyes as she gazed at the mirror sharpened.

In truth, she had already made her plans. When it came to noble fashion, she already knew the most knowledgeable and capable people.

‘If I can bring “that child” in as well, it would be perfect. The question is how cooperative this man will be…’

Ioret glanced sideways at the silent knight.

The only person who could move freely in and out of the palace without arousing Catherine’s suspicion—while still obeying her orders.

Yesterday, she had taken a gamble by cornering him as if he were a potential deviant.

She hadn’t needed much—just a hint of guilt or sympathy. Seeing how he crossed the threshold today without hesitation, perhaps it had worked.

If so, she would gamble again. Her entire life this time had been a series of gambles anyway.

“Sir Perein. I need you to run an errand.”

In the capital of the Kingdom of Elovis, the western plaza district of Delphine was lined with high-end dressmakers and jewelers.

Among the many shops working tirelessly to meet the Founding Day deadline, one store stood out for its unusual leisure.

[Kanzyle Dye Company]

Having finished their work early through diligence, the owners were enjoying a rare break. A knock at the door at such an early hour was not part of their plans.

“Who is it?”

Logan Kanzyle, the owner, opened the door with sleepy eyes.

“Sorry, but we’re closed for a week starting today—huh?!”

A tall man in the uniform of the royal knights stood at the door. His sleep vanished instantly.

“I’ve come on an errand from someone of high standing. Are you the dye craftsman, Mr. Kanzyle?”

“Ah—yes, that’s me. B-but what brings a royal knight to a place like this? Whose errand is it?”

“Take this first.”

The knight abruptly handed him a letter and a parcel. His expression was blank, but his steady gaze was intense.

“I’ll return in two days. That is all.”

With that, the knight left.

Logan Kanzyle stood there blinking blankly.

His wife, who had just come out of the dye warehouse, asked,

“What’s going on, dear?”

“A messenger… from the royal family.”

Mrs. Kanzyle, Agnes—round-faced with equally round eyes—covered her mouth in shock.

“Don’t tell me—it’s that crazy crown princess who sent him?”

Her personality was far less gentle than her appearance suggested.

“Please, keep your voice down… He was wearing a knight’s uniform.”

“Probably just some errand boy knight! What’s there to be afraid of? I should’ve thrown dye at him!”

Agnes fumed.

Once, the couple had been artisans in the royal atelier of Elovis.

Eighteen years ago, they had been especially favored by the second queen, who had come from the Kingdom of Revia.

They were the only ones who handled the dyes commonly used in Revian fashion.

But after the queen was embroiled in a scandal involving a guard knight, the Kanzyles also lost favor and were expelled from the palace.

Fortunately, dyes were indispensable in noble society, so they had a way to survive.

They opened a dye company, importing rare dyes from abroad and supplying them to the market. Since their main clients were fabric merchants and ateliers rather than nobles, rebuilding their business wasn’t difficult.

More than ten years had passed.

Now, few remembered that the Kanzyles had once been close to Queen Charlotte.

They had amassed wealth comparable to that of minor noble families. Yet the resentment of ten years still weighed heavily on their hearts.

Especially Agnes—she seethed at the very mention of Crown Princess Catherine.

“After what she did to the queen, how dare she come to us?! How could she frame such a kind woman with those ridiculous accusations? And even sent that upright Sir Perkins to the gallows…! Even dyeing her veins with cyanide wouldn’t be enough!”

“Dear, someone might hear you… Let’s at least open it. We should find out who sent it.”

Logan wiped sweat from his brow as he tried to calm his wife.

Reluctantly, Agnes examined the parcel.

Inside the box was a magnificent wedding dress. The fabric felt extraordinary, sliding smoothly beneath her fingers.

“Well, the material’s top-grade. Perfect for dyeing… Hm? What’s this?”

Something slipped out from between the frills of the dress—a thin silk handkerchief.

The moment Agnes saw its unusual color, her eyes widened in shock.

“…Dear. Didn’t you say there was a letter with it?”

“Yes, here it is.”

Logan unfolded the letter that came with the dress.

Agnes quickly scanned the contents.

Soon, her mouth fell open.

“My goodness… this is—!”