Chapter 46
Freya, Inès, and Paul sat together in the boutique’s reception room.
“Once we sign this contract, Paul and I will be bound as patron and exclusive luxury tailor for the next year and a half. Inès, you will be my business partner. Do you have any questions?”
“Why a year and a half? Why not one or two years?”
“That is….”
Because by then, those who threaten you will be gone.
“It’s a duration I chose arbitrarily. A year felt too short, and two years felt a bit too long.”
“Inès, stop nagging! Let’s just sign it already. Where? Do I sign here?”
Freya looked at Paul with a flustered expression. An embarrassed Inès explained instead.
“I was impressed by Freya’s news, but Paul… he was completely enamored after hearing about Freya’s achievements. Plus, with the dress receiving so much attention, he might just pester you to extend the contract even after it ends.”
“Oh, is that so?”
Having finished signing his name in beautiful calligraphy with a quill, Paul snapped his head up. Freya stared at him with a slightly exhausted expression.
“Paul… honestly, your reaction is so different from before that I’m taken aback. Weren’t you the one who wanted to sign with the Imperial Palace?”
“That was back when I thought the Imperial Palace was the highest and most successful place in Grandcen.”
“Is it different now?”
At Freya’s question, Paul looked at her meaningfully. He picked up the fan next to him, snapped it open to hide half his face, and mimicking a woman’s voice, said,
“Tell them to bring money if they want information on the men that woman has bedded. They’d know well enough, right? I’m quite thorough when it comes to back-investigations.”
Hearing the events of that day recounted in Paul’s frivolous tone, he sounded like nothing more than a common fixer. So this was why they called him Madam Mafia. Freya gave a bitter smile and signed the contract Paul held out.
Taking the signed document, Freya said,
“Then, shall we move on to the next step?”
✦ ✦ ✦
Three days later, the Russell Family carriage headed toward the Imperial Palace, carrying Freya, Paul, and Inès.
While Paul had cheered with joy upon receiving the invitation, he was now sitting with his head held high and a composed face, as if that excitement had never happened. He wore the neat suit he had crafted specifically for his entry into the palace with Inès. Inès, too, sat elegantly in the dress Paul had made for her.
Sitting opposite them, Freya had traded her usual bourgeois-style dress for attire befitting the dignity of a high noble.
The carriage paused briefly to have the invitation verified by the guards at the gate before following the central road to the front of the main building.
Usually, a guide would be waiting for visitors. However, when Freya’s party arrived, the entrance stood empty. Had this happened among fellow nobles, it would have been a grave insult. Freya remained calm, but Inès sensed the hostility, her expression darkening. Only Paul busied himself by rolling his eyes, taking in the grand architecture.
Ten minutes passed before someone finally came to receive them. But the rudeness did not end there.
“Your Highness.”
It was Princess Isabelle who appeared at the main entrance. Freya bowed, bending her knee toward the Princess and her retinue of maids. Inès and Paul followed suit.
“Thank you for coming willingly when I called you on such short notice.”
“It is a great honor.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Even Paul, unaccustomed to the nuances of court language, felt the blatant contempt in the Princess’s attitude, let alone Inès. Only Freya continued the conversation unbothered.
“I didn’t know Your Highness would be joining us today.”
“I will not… be joining you.”
The Princess’s expression hardened for a moment, then softened into a smile.
“That is why I volunteered to guide you myself. I really wanted to have a conversation with Freya.”
“I also wished to see Your Highness.”
“I thought so. We have things in common, after all. Freya has a talent for discovering things I might like even before I do.”
“I am humbled.”
“It’s alright, Freya.”
The Princess leaned in, whispering softly into her ear.
“It’s a bit off-putting since it used to be yours, but I will treasure it well.”
The Princess, her red-gold hair styled gorgeously, stared deep into Freya’s face with her dark green eyes. Freya scoffed inwardly, recognizing the behavior of those who sought to gauge her reaction by picking at her old wounds.
“I am grateful that you would treasure it, but I am not sure if I possess anything that would truly please Your Highness.”
As Freya feigned ignorance, the Princess’s expression stiffened.
“Don’t worry. If it pleases me, I will take it myself.”
The Princess’s gaze swept over Paul, who trailed behind. Paul flinched when he met her eyes and lowered his head. The Princess, appearing as if she wished to say more, stopped walking with a look of regret.
“The maids will be waiting up ahead. Let us part ways for today here.”
“May God be with you.”
As Freya bowed her head, the Princess whispered one last thing:
“Lady, do learn to know your place.”
Her place. Certainly, her former self had been far too ignorant of her position. The Princess’s advice was, in its own way, quite useful.
Walking further inside, they found several noblewomen waiting.
“Madam Inès Pernel, Freya Russell, Paul Charlo. Her Majesty the Empress is waiting. Follow us.”
The Empress’s maid scanned Freya’s party with arrogant eyes before turning to lead the way. The slights that had begun with the invitation were now confirmed: the ‘Freya Russell’ written on the parchment, the Princess who refused to use her name, and the maid who deliberately omitted the honorific. The Imperial staff was intentionally treating Freya like a commoner.
Inès looked at Freya with a tense face, sensing the trap. Paul, too, could no longer hold his head as high as he had in the carriage.
They were not led to a garden suitable for a tea party, but to the reception room used for official audiences. It was a space so gaudy it was painful to behold; to flaunt their wealth, every surface, from the relief carvings on the walls to the gilded frames, shimmered with excess.
The Empress sat on the throne at the innermost center, watching them.
“Your Majesty.”
Freya, Inès, and Paul bowed respectfully. They waited for the Empress to speak, remaining in a kneeling position as the silence dragged on. Paul remained still, but the bodies of Freya and Inès began to tremble slightly from the physical strain.
“You’ve come.”
Looking down at the three, the Empress finally spoke. Inès swayed slightly but did not fall. Paul’s face was deathly pale, his spirit seemingly crushed by the pressure.
“Freya, I heard you made your debut in high society recently.”
“Yes, thanks to Your Majesty’s grace, I have grown and made my name known as a member of a noble family.”
“You haven’t made your name known yet. You are just Freya Russell right now.”
At these words, the blood drained from Inès’s face.
“Now that I think about it.”
The Empress abruptly shifted to the main topic.
“The dress you showcased at the ball was beautiful.”
“You are too kind.”
“I heard you brought the tailor who made the dress to this place today.”
All eyes in the room turned toward Paul. Paul, as he had been coached, stepped forward and bowed.
“Paul Charlo, born in Gascony, offers his greetings to Her Majesty the Empress.”
The Empress’s expression softened into that of a benevolent saint.
“Raise your head, Charlo.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
As Paul lifted his head, the Empress praised him in a voice dripping with feigned pity.
“To think that a craftsman who knows how to make such a beautiful dress remained unknown until now simply because he was a commoner.”
“I am humbled.”
“Come closer.”
As Paul walked forward a few steps, the Empress sighed.
“At such a young age. Truly a god-given talent.”
Everyone in the room anticipated the next move.
“I should like to give you an opportunity, if you so desire.”
Paul’s face turned white. He could not open his mouth; he could only tremble, his hands clasped tightly. The ‘briar patch’ Freya had warned him of was reaching out to ensnare him.
“The position of Imperial Chief Tailor happens to be vacant, I believe.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I will prepare for his appointment as Chief Tailor.”
It was the moment his future was to be decided, without even a gesture of asking for his opinion.
“Your Majesty.”
A clear voice, small but distinct, rang through the room.
“Freya.”
The Empress called her name like a warning. Instead of backing down, Freya stepped forward to stand beside Paul.
“Your Majesty, I am deeply sorry, but Paul Charlo is my personal luxury tailor. He cannot be affiliated with any other place until the year and a half specified in the contract has passed.”
With Freya’s audacious remark, the atmosphere in the reception room froze.