The morning after Sylvan’s unexpected visit, Rosylin woke with an unusual thought.
She wanted to wear something beautiful.
For several minutes, she lay beneath her thin blanket, staring at the ceiling of her little bedroom.
The memory of the previous night returned in fragments: Sylvan sitting in her old wooden chair as though he belonged there, his merciless teasing, the book resting between them, and the strange expression that had crossed his face before he abruptly decided to leave.
Tomorrow will be our last night.
I want to meet you here again.
In your room.
He had said it so confidently that he hadn’t even waited for her answer.
Rosylin pulled her blanket over her face.
“That shameless man.”
Yet a small smile appeared beneath the blanket.
Tonight would be their fourth meeting.
Their last, according to the agreement she had made with him beneath the old tree.
After tonight, Sylvan would return to his own world, where princes lived in beautiful mansions, wore expensive clothes and had more important things to do than visit a girl who spent her evenings hiding from her own family.
The thought made her smile disappear.
She sat up and glanced at the dresses hanging from the wooden pegs beside her wardrobe.
There were only a few.
Their colors had faded from repeated washing, and nearly every one bore the evidence of her needlework.
One had a repaired sleeve.
Another had been patched near the waist.
The dress she had worn yesterday was wrinkled from sitting on the floor and climbing through the neglected parts of the mansion.
She looked down at herself.
“Do I always look this untidy?”
The question escaped before she could stop it.
She remembered Sylvan’s immaculate dark coat, the fine fabric of his shirt, and the way he had occupied her shabby little room without once complaining about it.
Then she remembered how closely he had looked at her in the moonlight.
Her cheeks warmed.
“Why am I thinking about this?”
She climbed out of bed and stood before her cracked mirror.
Her extraordinarily long burgundy hair was tangled from sleep, falling over the shoulders of her faded dress.
She tried gathering it behind her back, then immediately let it fall again.
It wasn’t as though Sylvan had asked her to dress differently.
He had seen her wearing her old black shawl, her patched dresses and even a ridiculous maid’s uniform.
He had found her eating bread in the kitchen in the middle of the night.
There was hardly anything left about her appearance that could surprise him.
Nevertheless, she found herself looking at her reflection again.
Just once.
She wanted to wear something pretty just once.
And perhaps, if she was fortunate, Sylvan might notice.
The thought was so embarrassing that she turned away from the mirror.
“Absolutely not.
I’m not doing this for him.”
But a little while later, Rosylin was quietly making her way toward the mansion’s old storeroom.
The storeroom occupied a forgotten corner of the mansion, beyond a corridor that the servants rarely bothered to clean.
Dust covered the shelves.
Broken furniture stood beneath faded sheets, and several enormous wooden trunks had been pushed against the walls.
Dresses that had long since fallen out of fashion hung from hooks, abandoned when their owners no longer wanted them.
Rosylin knew the room well.
Over the years, she had found old blankets, discarded ribbons and scraps of fabric there.
Much of what she wore had been repaired with materials nobody else considered worth keeping.
Today, however, she was searching for something different.
She opened one trunk after another, carefully examining the contents.
Most of the dresses were too damaged or far too large.
Some had been eaten through by moths.
Others were covered in stains that no amount of washing could remove.
She was nearly ready to give up when she discovered a bundle of pale blue fabric beneath a stack of old curtains.
Rosylin pulled it free.
It was a dress.
The material was dusty, the hem had torn in several places, and its old-fashioned sleeves were much too wide.
A strip of lace had come loose near the neckline, and several stitches along the waist had split.
But the blue fabric itself was still lovely.
She held it up against herself, imagining what it might look like with a narrower waist and shorter sleeves.
“Oh…”
For the first time that morning, genuine excitement brightened her face.
She quickly folded the dress and carried it back to her bedroom before anyone could notice.
Once she had shut her door, she spread it across her bed and began examining every damaged seam.
There was a great deal of work to do.
Fortunately, Rosylin had spent years learning how to make old things last.
She brought out her little sewing box, selected the closest matching thread she owned and settled beside the window, where the daylight was strongest.
The hours passed quietly.
She removed the ruined lace and carefully unpicked the old seams.
She adjusted the waist, repaired the torn hem and reshaped the sleeves so they would fit her arms.
Where the fabric had weakened, she reinforced it with small, nearly invisible stitches.
Occasionally, she pricked her finger and muttered angrily at the needle.
Occasionally, her thoughts wandered to Sylvan.
She imagined him standing in her doorway that evening, looking at her in the blue dress.
Would he smile?
Would he tease her?
Did you dress up because you knew I was coming?
Rosylin abruptly stabbed the needle through the fabric.
“Of course he would say something like that.”
She frowned at the dress.
“Perhaps I should wear my usual clothes after all.”
But her hands continued sewing.
By late afternoon, the dress was almost unrecognizable.
It was simple, without the elaborate decorations worn by noblewomen at court, but its soft blue color was beautiful.
The repaired waist fitted her slender figure, and the sleeves fell neatly against her arms.
She had even managed to save enough of the original lace to make a delicate border around the neckline.
Rosylin held it up to the light.
A smile slowly spread across her face.
“I actually did it.”
She placed her sewing box aside and carefully changed into the dress.
Then she approached the mirror.
For a long moment, she simply stared.
The blue fabric contrasted beautifully with her pale skin and the extraordinary length of her burgundy hair.
Its soft color made her brown eyes appear warmer, and the fitted waist gave the old dress an elegance she had never expected it to possess.
She turned slightly, examining the sleeves.
Then she turned the other way.
A shy smile appeared on her lips.
It wasn’t a royal gown.
There were no pearls sewn into the fabric, no expensive silk or elaborate embroidery.
But it was beautiful to her.
For once, the girl in the mirror wasn’t wearing something she had hurriedly patched together merely to cover herself.
She was wearing something she had made because she wanted to feel pretty.
Rosylin lifted her hair away from her shoulders and wondered whether she should tie it back tonight.
Perhaps a ribbon would look nice.
She searched her little sewing box and found a faded blue ribbon she had saved long ago.
After examining it, she decided it was too worn and put it away again.
Her gaze returned to the mirror.
A familiar voice seemed to echo inside her head.
I believe I have a better view from here.
Rosylin immediately covered her burning cheeks.
“Stop remembering that!”
She stood there for several seconds, thoroughly embarrassed by her own imagination.
Then she noticed that one of the sleeves sat slightly lower than the other.
Her smile faded.
“Oh, no.”
She examined the seam more closely.
It wasn’t a serious problem, but after spending so much time repairing the dress, she wanted to get it right.
She changed back into her old clothes, folded the blue dress across her lap and returned to her chair beside the window.
“Just a few more stitches.”
She threaded her needle again.
She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice the footsteps approaching her room.
The door suddenly opened.
“Well, look who’s hiding in here.”
Rosylin’s hands froze.
Irina stood in the doorway, with Yeon peering over her shoulder.
Neither had bothered to knock.
Irina’s eyes immediately fell on the blue dress resting across Rosylin’s lap.
Her expression changed.
“What is that?”
Rosylin instinctively gathered the fabric against herself.
“Nothing.”
Yeon stepped into the room.
“Nothing?
It looks like a dress.”
Irina followed her, examining the material with growing interest.
“Since when do you have something like that?”
“It’s old,” Rosylin replied.
“I found it in the storeroom.”
“Of course you did.”
Irina laughed.
“Where else would you find your clothes?”
Yeon approached the bed, looking around the small bedroom with obvious distaste.
“Did you make it yourself?”
“I repaired it.”
“Why?”
Rosylin lowered her eyes to her needle.
“Because I wanted to.”
Irina exchanged an amused glance with Yeon.
“Because you wanted to?”
She took another step closer.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“No.”
“Then why would you need a pretty dress?”
Rosylin said nothing.
Yeon suddenly smiled.
“Perhaps she’s trying to impress someone.”
Rosylin’s fingers tightened around the fabric.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh, look at her face!”
Yeon burst into laughter.
“She’s blushing!”
“I’m not.”
“Then who is it?”
Irina leaned closer.
“Tell us, Rosylin.
Is there some poor servant boy foolish enough to fall in love with you?”
“Leave me alone.”
Her voice was quiet, but the words were unmistakable.
Irina’s smile disappeared.
“What did you say?”
Rosylin looked up.
“I said, please leave me alone.
I’m busy.”
For a moment, neither cousin spoke.
Then Irina reached down and snatched the blue dress from her lap.
“Give that back!”
Rosylin immediately stood.
Irina held the dress away from her.
“What’s so special about this ugly thing?”
“Nothing.
Just give it back.”
Yeon seized one of the sleeves.
“Perhaps we should try it on.”
“Don’t!”
Rosylin reached for the dress, but Irina stepped backward, laughing.
“Why are you getting so upset?
It’s only an old dress.”
She tossed it toward Yeon.
Yeon caught it by the sleeves and held it against herself.
“Oh, how charming.
I look like a poor village girl.”
Irina laughed.
“No, even village girls dress better than that.”
Rosylin approached them.
“Please.
I spent all day fixing it.”
For an instant, something in her voice made Yeon hesitate.
Irina, however, only smiled more cruelly.
“All day?”
She grabbed the opposite side of the dress.
“Then you must be very proud of it.”
“Let go!”
The fabric stretched between them.
Rosylin heard a small, terrible sound.
A seam tore.
She stopped breathing.
“Don’t do that.”
Irina pulled harder.
Another stitch snapped.
Rosylin lunged forward, trying to rescue the dress, but Yeon suddenly released her side.
The fabric slipped from Irina’s hands and fell onto the wooden floor.
Before Rosylin could pick it up, Irina stepped on the hem.
“There.
Now it looks more like your usual clothes.”
Yeon laughed and deliberately dragged her shoe across the blue fabric.
Something inside Rosylin went very still.
She looked at the dress beneath their feet.
The beautiful blue material was gathering dust from the floor.
The sleeve she had just repaired was torn again, and the carefully stitched hem had come loose.
“Move,” she said.
Irina raised her eyebrows.
“What?”
“Take your foot off my dress.”
“Or what?”
Rosylin bent down to retrieve it.
Irina pushed her hand away.
“Don’t touch me!”
For years, Rosylin had learned to endure their insults.
She had endured their laughter, their cruel remarks, the things they stole and the things they destroyed.
She had learned to lower her head because fighting back usually meant suffering even more afterward.
But she had spent the entire day sewing that dress.
She had wanted one beautiful thing.
Just one.
When Irina lifted her foot as though preparing to step on the fabric again, Rosylin suddenly caught her wrist.
“I said, stop!”
Irina gasped.
“Let go of me!”
Rosylin pulled her away from the dress and shoved her backward.
Irina stumbled several steps, catching herself against the edge of the wardrobe.
Yeon stared at them.
“How dare you!”
She rushed toward Rosylin and grabbed at her shoulder.
Rosylin turned and pushed her away as well.
Yeon stumbled onto the bed.
For a moment, the bedroom fell completely silent.
Irina stared at Rosylin as though she had never seen her before.
“You…”
Rosylin stood between them and the ruined dress, breathing heavily.
“Get out of my room.”
Irina’s eyes widened.
“You pushed me!”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised even Rosylin.
Yeon scrambled to her feet.
“Have you gone mad?”
“Leave.”
Neither cousin seemed prepared for her refusal to apologize.
Irina’s face reddened.
Tears suddenly filled her eyes, partly from shock and partly from outrage that Rosylin had dared to resist her.
“You’ll regret this!”
Yeon began crying too.
“We’re telling Mother!”
Rosylin didn’t move.
Irina hurried toward the door, with Yeon close behind.
“Just wait until she hears what you did!”
They ran out of the bedroom, crying loudly enough for their voices to echo along the corridor.
Then they were gone.
Rosylin remained standing in the middle of her room.
Her hands were shaking.
She could still hear her cousins’ footsteps retreating down the corridor, followed by their increasingly dramatic sobs.
She knew exactly what would happen next.
They would tell their mother.
Their mother would believe them.
And somehow, whatever they had done to her would disappear from the story.
Rosylin looked down.
The blue dress lay crumpled on the floor.
Slowly, she bent and picked it up.
The sleeve had torn along the seam she had so carefully repaired.
Dirt marked the skirt, and the delicate lace around the neckline had been pulled loose.
She brushed the dust away with trembling fingers.
Her throat tightened.
All morning, she had imagined what it would feel like to wear the dress tonight.
She had pictured herself standing before the mirror, perhaps looking a little less shabby when Sylvan came to see her.
Now she couldn’t even bear to look at it.
She took a deep breath.
Then another.
Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry.
Not over a dress.
Not over Irina and Yeon.
Not when she already knew that her tears wouldn’t change anything.
She carried the dress to her bed and laid it down beside her.
Her needle and thread still waited on the little table.
For a moment, she considered sitting down and beginning again.
She could repair the sleeve.
Perhaps the stains would come out.
If she worked quickly, she might even finish before nightfall.
But her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
Rosylin slowly pushed the dress aside.
She climbed onto her narrow bed, drew her knees against her chest and wrapped both arms around them.
Then she buried her face between her knees.
Her extraordinarily long burgundy hair spilled forward, hiding her face from the empty room.
She pressed her lips together.
Why couldn’t they leave me alone?
Just for one afternoon.
Just long enough for her to enjoy something she had made with her own hands.
She had asked for so little.
A quiet room.
An old dress.
A few hours without anyone hurting her.
And perhaps one pleasant evening with the strange prince who kept appearing in the most unexpected places.
Her eyes filled again.
Rosylin pressed her face harder against her knees.
She wouldn’t cry.
She wouldn’t give them that, even though no one was there to see her.
Outside her window, the afternoon sunlight slowly began to fade.
The blue dress remained beside her, untouched.
Meanwhile, in the mansion’s elegant tea room, Lady Sia Valemont was enjoying a quiet afternoon with her sister-in-law.
A silver teapot stood between them, accompanied by delicate pastries and small porcelain cups.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the expensive carpets and polished furniture.
Their conversation was interrupted by hurried footsteps.
“Mother!”
Irina burst through the doorway.
Yeon followed immediately, already sobbing.
Their mother nearly dropped her teacup.
“What happened?”
Both girls hurried toward her.
“Mother, Rosylin attacked us!”
“What?”
“She pushed me!” Irina cried.
“She grabbed my wrist and pushed me against the wardrobe!”
“And she pushed me onto her bed!” Yeon added.
Their mother immediately rose from her chair.
“That girl did what?”
Irina buried her face against her mother’s shoulder.
“We only went to visit her!”
Yeon nodded through her tears.
“She suddenly became angry and told us to leave.
When we asked her why, she attacked us!”
Their mother examined Irina’s wrist.
“My poor darling!”
Then she turned toward Lady Sia.
“Did you hear that?”
Sia had already put down her cup.
She looked carefully at the two girls.
“Rosylin pushed both of you?”
Irina nodded vigorously.
“Yes!”
Sia’s expression grew troubled.
She knew Rosylin had never been quick to defend herself, even when others treated her cruelly.
The idea that she would suddenly attack both her cousins without provocation seemed strange.
“What were you two doing in her room?” Sia asked.
Irina hesitated.
“We went to visit her.”
“Why?”
Yeon wiped her cheeks.
“We just wanted to talk.”
Sia studied them.
“And what happened before she pushed you?”
Irina looked at her mother.
Sia continued, her voice quiet but firm.
“What did you do to Rosylin?”
Their mother’s expression changed immediately.
“Excuse me?”
Sia turned toward her.
“I’m asking them what happened.”
“They’ve already told you!”
“But they haven’t explained why Rosylin became angry.”
Irina began crying even harder.
“Mother, Aunt Sia thinks we’re lying!”
Their mother wrapped an arm protectively around her.
“Of course she does.
Apparently, my daughters can’t even visit their own cousin without being accused of something!”
“Sister, that isn’t what I said.”
“Then what exactly are you suggesting?”
Sia looked at the girls again.
“I simply asked what they did to her.”
Their mother slammed her hand against the table.
“Why are you accusing my daughters when Rosylin is the culprit?”
The porcelain cups rattled.
Yeon flinched at the noise, then immediately began sobbing again.
Their mother drew both daughters closer.
“My girls came to me crying because your daughter attacked them, and instead of showing the slightest concern, you start interrogating them!”
“I’m concerned about all three of them.”
“Then perhaps you should be concerned about teaching Rosylin some manners!”
Sia’s face tightened.
“Please lower your voice.”
“Why should I?
Are you embarrassed that your daughter has behaved so disgracefully?”
Irina clutched her mother’s sleeve.
“She was so frightening, Mother.
I’ve never seen her behave like that.”
“And she told us to get out,” Yeon added miserably.
Their mother looked furious.
“Unbelievable.
After everything this family has provided for that girl, this is how she behaves?”
Sia’s fingers tightened around the edge of her chair.
“What do you mean by everything this family has provided?”
“Oh, don’t start defending her now.
Your daughter has always been ungrateful, and today she has finally shown her true nature.”
“Rosylin isn’t someone who becomes violent without a reason.”
“Then are you calling my daughters liars?”
“I haven’t called anyone a liar.”
“You might as well have!”
Her voice rose sharply.
“I want that girl brought downstairs immediately.
She will apologize to both my daughters, and she will learn that she cannot lay her hands on them whenever she pleases!”
Sia remained seated.
She looked at Irina and Yeon, who were clinging to their mother and avoiding her gaze.
Something was missing from their story.
And she intended to find out what it was.
Only a short distance from the tea room, Sylvan Ashford stepped out of his guest room.
He had spent much of the afternoon attending to correspondence he could no longer postpone.
Now, with the evening approaching, he intended to visit the mansion’s library.
There was a particular book he wanted to find for Rosylin.
The previous night, she had complained so passionately about the foolish prince in the legend he had lent her that Sylvan had been tempted to bring her another book simply to hear her argue with him again.
He had already selected several possibilities in his mind.
Perhaps something about ancient kingdoms.
Or an adventure in which the heroine possessed enough common sense to satisfy his relentlessly critical little reader.
The thought brought the faintest smile to his lips.
He adjusted the cuff of his dark coat and started toward the library.
As he approached the tea room, raised voices reached him through the door.
Sylvan paid them little attention.
Family disagreements were hardly unusual in noble households, and he had no intention of involving himself in the Valemonts’ private affairs.
He continued walking.
Then a woman’s furious voice rang out from inside.
“Why are you accusing my daughters when Rosylin is the culprit?”
Sylvan stopped.
His expression changed.
Slowly, he turned his head toward the closed tea-room door.
Rosylin?
His footsteps fell silent outside the room.