While I was still mulling over what Eri had just whispered, our moment of quiet was interrupted by the arrival of Brígh, Arian, and Monica. It was Brígh who spoke first, her tone warm and composed.

  “May we join you, Lady Hertel, Lady Voschell?”

  “Of course!” I replied with a smile, motioning to the empty seats around our table. “Please, come and sit.”

  Monica’s eyes sparkled as she took the seat across from Eri. “Lady Hertel, I meant to say this earlier but didn’t get the chance—your dress is absolutely stunning! The design suits you so well!”

  “Right?” Arian chimed in, turning toward Eri with a grin. “It’s one of Madame Diana’s pieces, isn’t it?”

  “Thank you, everyone!” Eri beamed, her cheeks pink with the sudden attention. “Yup—it’s one of her newer designs. I actually asked her to make something inspired by one of my favorite tarantus.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  Monica blinked. “...A tarantu?”

  Eri nodded cheerfully. “Yes! The pattern on the underskirt mimics its abdomen markings. And this shimmer here—” she lifted the hem gently, revealing a glint of embroidered thread “—Madame Diana used silk to capture the iridescence. Isn’t it cool?”

  Arian leaned in, eyebrows raised. “Honestly? I never would’ve guessed. It’s really clever.”

  Brígh ughed softly. “Very you, Lady Hertel. Strange and elegant all at once.”

  Eri beamed. “Exactly what I was going for!”

  I smiled, watching the moment unfold. Somehow, Eri had turned her passion into fashion and not only were the girls open to it, they were genuinely impressed.

  Brígh turned to me next. “We mustn’t ignore your dress either, Lady Voschell. It’s so airy—it almost floats. It reminds me a bit of Lady Bourdelle’s gown!”

  “Thank you!” I replied. “Lady Celestine’s and my dresses were actually inspired by Countess Hertell’s summer gown—the one she wore during the Imperial Garden Soirée. Do you remember it?”

  Monica gasped. “Oh, the pale blue one with the vine embroidery? That was iconic.”

  Arian blushed lightly. “It emphasized the… uh. The womanly shape. Really beautifully.”

  “The Countess is such a trendsetter,” Brígh added. All three girls gave a dreamy sigh.

  I ughed softly. “She even had Diana design our dresses in that same elegant spirit—simir in flow and style, but distinct enough to suit us both.”

  “Well, it worked,” Brígh said, giving my gown an approving gnce. “You both look like you stepped out of a portrait.”

  Not long after, Cece finally rejoined us, her usual grace still perfectly intact. She approached our table with a radiant smile, Ofelia trailing behind her like a silent shadow.

  “Oh? What do we have here?” Cece teased as she reached us.

  “We were talking about our dresses,” I said, returning her smile.

  Cece sat down and gestured for the attendants to refresh the table. They moved immediately, refilling our tea and offering another round of pastries.

  “I’m so happy with how everything came together,” Cece said. “But don’t sell yourselves short, dies—your gowns are breathtaking.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Lady Monica, those gemstone accents? Stunning. Lady Brígh, the ribbon detail ftters your waist perfectly. And Lady Arian—those embroidered roses are so vivid, I thought they were real.”

  The girls ughed, fttered and smiling. For a while, it was lovely.

  Then, as Eri spoke again—this time about jewel beetles and their shimmering, gem-like shells—the three girls leaned in, once again showing genuine interest, not the least bit repulsed. In fact, they seemed intrigued, already musing aloud about how such iridescence might inspire future dress designs.

  It was going surprisingly well.

  And then, Ofelia cut in.

  “Lady Hertel,” she said, her voice light and polite, “I mean no offense, but… insects?” She gave a soft, practiced smile. “Do you truly think it’s proper for a young noblewoman to discuss such things in public?”

  The table fell silent.

  Eri blinked. “Oh. I suppose it’s not for everyone,” she said carefully. “But I find them fascinating.”

  Ofelia tilted her head slightly. “I was raised to believe a dy’s charm comes from refinement. Not... eccentric hobbies that involve creatures from the dirt.”

  Her tone was even. Her smile never faltered.

  But that didn’t make it any better.

  I sat back slightly, my gaze cooling.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t understand her. Ofelia was speaking from the viewpoint of a girl sculpted by tradition, by the same rigid standards that dictated what noble girls could and couldn’t be. But understanding didn’t make it acceptable. Not when it came as a barb, disguised as etiquette.

  Cece shifted slightly beside me, her eyes flicking toward Ofelia, but she didn’t interrupt.

  I set my teacup down gently—deliberately. “Lady Ofelia,” I said, my tone calm but clipped. “While your upbringing is undoubtedly impeccable, I do recall that proper etiquette also discourages one from correcting others publicly, especially when they are speaking with civility and passion.”

  Her eyes narrowed—subtle, almost imperceptible. Her smile twitched, then wavered, just for a heartbeat. She recovered quickly, but the sting lingered in her gaze.

  “I only meant to offer advice,” she said lightly. “Some girls do appreciate being guided.”

  I tilted my head. “And some girls don’t need correction at all.”

  A pause. The air felt thinner.

  Cece chimed in then, her tone still sweet but ced with edge. “I happen to think Lady Hertel brings a unique charm to the party. And I’d rather host a table of different colors than one filled with perfect copies.”

  That shut it down.

  Ofelia didn’t argue again, but her eyes didn’t soften, either. She sat a little straighter, her hands perfectly folded, her face unreadable.

  Conversation slowly restarted. Monica asked about fabrics. Brígh offered up a funny story about a dress disaster. The tension eased, but something still hung in the air—like perfume that lingered just a little too long.

  Eri gently bumped her knee against mine under the table. I looked at her, and she smiled—grateful.

  I smiled back.

  Across from us, Ofelia said nothing.

  Then, without a word, she rose from her seat.

  The table quieted once more.

  She brushed a nonexistent wrinkle from her skirt and offered a shallow curtsy. “Please excuse me. I think I’ll take a moment to walk the garden.”

  Her tone was smooth. Her posture, immacute. But her eyes never met mine. Or Eri’s.

  Cece tilted her head. “Would you like an attendant to accompany you, cousin?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  She turned and walked away—measured, graceful, and silent. But I didn’t miss the slight stiffness in her shoulders. Or the way her hands curled slightly at her sides before she forced them back to perfect stillness.

  Monica blinked. “Did she just... leave?”

  Brígh shifted uncomfortably. “She didn’t like being challenged.”

  “Barely held it together,” Arian murmured behind her fan.

  I said nothing.

  She didn’t sh out. Didn’t argue. But walking out? That wasn't a retreat. It was pride. A warning.

  A faint whisper drifted from the next table over.

  “Wasn’t she hoping to co-host this event with Lady Celestine?”

  I gnced in the direction of the voice—but it had already vanished into the soft rustle of silk and flower-sweet breeze.

  Ofelia wasn’t just here to sip tea. She was here to measure the room—and maybe, in time, to own it.

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