Chapter 139: Looking the Part
Silas and Leontis departed surprisingly quickly.
The panther Beastman was determined to return as soon as possible. If leaving earlier meant coming back to Mirabelle sooner, then every hour mattered.
After discussing their options, they had decided their first destination would be the temple in Zasar.
Silas was already a familiar face there. It wouldn’t seem unusual if he requested access to the temple’s library under the pretense of conducting research.
His shadow affinity gave him another advantage. While Leontis searched through books and records, Silas could quietly observe the people around them, listening for conversations and determining whether their questions attracted unwanted attention.
If the temple offered no answers, they would continue to Zasar’s Academy.
Its library was said to contain one of the largest collections of historical writings on the continent. Their excuse there would be simple: they wished to inquire whether Mirabelle could be admitted during one of the coming semesters to further her education as the Duchess of Luchsenstein.
Should even the Academy fail them only two options would remain.
The Grand Temple in Bergheim.
Or...
Bregenz.
The current High Priest of the Beast Goddess resided there.
If anyone alive understood what had happened inside the temple, it would almost certainly be him. Unlike the priests serving individual kingdoms, the High Priest owed allegiance to no ruler.
Speaking with him would therefore be politically less dangerous. Even so it remained a risk they intended to take only if absolutely necessary.
Before Silas departed, he quietly pulled Mirabelle away from the others.
Leading her into a dark corridor, he opened the door to one of the castle’s unused guest chambers. The room was quiet.
For a little while, the outside world simply ceased to exist.
He buried himself deep inside her, as though determined to leave that final sensation etched into her forever.
"Don’t you dare choose another Beastmate without getting my approval first."
He made her promise to wait for him before making any important decisions until he returned. And Mirabelle gave him that promise, between breathless moans and little more than broken sounds.
When they finally parted again, Silas rested his forehead briefly against hers.
"I’ll be thinking about you." His voice was low enough that only she could hear it.
Mirabelle laughed softly.
Yet before she could tease him in return, he kissed her once more, lingering just long enough to steal the words from her lips. When he finally pulled away, his yellow eyes searched hers with unusual seriousness.
He wanted to hear her promise again, once her mind was clear and no longer lost in the haze of desire.
"Promise me you’ll wait before making a decision that important."
She smiled.
"I promise."
Only then did he seem satisfied.
The moment they stepped back into the corridor, reality came rushing back.
From then on, everything became a blur. Mirabelle spent the remainder of the day planning alongside her mother and Lhonen.
Together they selected gifts for the Queen, rejected some proposals, refined others, and finalized preparations for the celebrations that would be announced once the military and the Council of Women had officially confirmed Mirabelle as the next Duchess.
By evening, her head felt ready to burst. There were endless decisions to make. Countless details demanding her attention.
Meetings.
Schedules.
Invitations.
Decorations.
Supplies.
And the irony wasn’t lost on her. She was helping organize festivities she wouldn’t even be allowed to attend herself.
That evening, Mirabelle practically collapsed into bed.
She was utterly exhausted. The very moment her head touched the pillow, she was already drifting into dreams.
Even so, her final thoughts were of Silas and how far he and Leontes might have traveled by now. Had they already crossed the border, or were they still within her territory?
She reached out through their bond and found a quiet, reassuring warmth. It told her everything she needed to know.
Her panther was safe.
That was all her mind needed before it finally surrendered to sleep.
_____
The next morning, Mirabelle woke feeling as though every muscle in her body had quietly filed a complaint overnight.
Cool morning air brushed across the tip of her nose where the blanket had slipped down during the night. Somewhere outside, birds greeted the sunrise with an enthusiasm she couldn’t quite share.
She remained beneath the light blanket for another minute, staring at the carved wooden ceiling while sunlight filtered softly through the curtains. The linen still held the warmth of sleep, soft against her skin, making it far too tempting to close her eyes again.
The previous day drifted through her thoughts in scattered fragments before she firmly pushed them aside.
Today was important.
The council.
A gentle knock sounded at the door. The scent of freshly baked bread drifted faintly beneath the door, carried through the castle by servants already preparing breakfast.
"Come in."
Tara entered carrying several neatly folded garments over one arm.
"I had a feeling you’d still be in bed."
Mirabelle offered her an unapologetic smile.
"I was considering pretending to be asleep."
"I guessed so."
The maid set the clothes down before picking up a silver brush.
"Today, I must insist on something a little more... duchess-like."
Mirabelle raised an eyebrow.
"You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?"
"For several days."
She laughed quietly.
"Fair enough."
Tara immediately reached for an elegant gown of heavy embroidered fabric.
Mirabelle stopped her.
"Not that one."
"It would look magnificent."
"It would also cook me alive."
The maid sighed dramatically.
Instead, Mirabelle opened the wardrobe herself and carefully lifted out another dress.
Her grandmother’s gift. Even folded, the fabric caught the morning light.
It shimmered in soft shades of pearl, cream, pale rose, and warm amber, changing color whenever it moved. Up close, the surface resembled impossibly fine scales, each one smaller than a fingernail, smooth and perfectly aligned like the skin of some beautiful mythical creature.
"It still amazes me," Tara whispered. Her eyes trailing the dress.
Mirabelle let the fabric slide across the back of her hand. It was unbelievably soft. But not quite silk. Cooler and lighter.
Whatever creature it had once belonged to, its hide had clearly been something extraordinary.
When Tara helped her slip into the gown, the material settled effortlessly around her body.
It didn’t cling. Instead, it flowed.
Wide sleeves drifted almost to her wrists, while the waterfall neckline framed both her chest and her back in elegant folds. Every movement hinted at the shape beneath without ever feeling revealing.
It breathed with every step. Perfect for the late summer heat.
"I understand why your grandmother liked this one," Tara admitted.
"It feels like wearing air."
"And somehow still looks noble."
Mirabelle smiled.
"For once, practicality and nobility seem to agree."
The rest came together quickly.
A simple string of pearls around her neck. They felt pleasantly cool against her collarbone before gradually warming against her skin.
Then matching pearl earrings. A delicate bracelet.
Nothing excessive.
Tara gathered Mirabelle’s curls into an elegant knot high at the back of her head. Almost immediately, two stubborn curls escaped and settled beside her cheeks.
The maid reached toward them.
Mirabelle caught her wrist.
"Leave them."
"They’re untidy."
"They’re me."
Tara studied her for a second before nodding.
"...Fair enough."
As the maid adjusted the last folds of the gown, Mirabelle’s expression gradually became more thoughtful.
"So..."
Tara looked up. The lynx female seemed uneasy.
"The council..."
The maid smiled knowingly:
"You’re nervous."
"I’m trying very hard to pretend I’m not."
"Yes, you tried."
Mirabelle exhaled. Evidently, her attempt to hide her nervousness hadn’t been particularly convincing.
"What are they like?"
Tara considered the question.
"They’re all very different."
"That doesn’t make me feel better."
The mouse female adjusted one final sleeve before beginning.
"Elder Brina is a goat Beastwoman. She spent decades traveling between territories as a merchant before retiring here. She sees the world through numbers."
"So she’s difficult to bargain with."
Tara laughed.
"Nearly impossible. She can predict the outcome of trade agreements before most people have finished reading them. Some say she can smell a bad investment."
Mirabelle made a mental note:
"Don’t negotiate prices with the goat."
"A wise decision."
"And the others?"
"Elder Nara is a raccoon Beastwoman. The grandmother of half the village, some people joke."
Mirabelle blinked.
"...Literally?"
"No." Tara smiled. "But it sometimes feels that way.
She understands families better than anyone. She’s settled disputes, arranged partnerships, and somehow always knows which Beastmen secretly like each other before they do."
"A terrifying ability."
"I’ve heard several young males agree."
Mirabelle chuckled.
"What about the hawk?" Mirabelle’s mother mentioned her once.
Tara’s smile became noticeably smaller.
"Elder Seraya." She paused. "Don’t stare!"
"Why?"
"Because everyone else does..
She fought beside the soldiers for years. That alone is unusual for a female."
"Does she have scars?"
"Many."
Tara’s voice softened.
"She’s proud of every single one."
Mirabelle nodded slowly.
"She isn’t cruel. Just... realistic. Some mistake that for coldness.
Also the commander asks for her opinion regularly."
That alone spoke volumes.
then Tara’s expression became almost fond.
"Elder Sesha."
"The snake?"
"Yes."
Mirabelle noticed the hesitation in Taras answer.
"People still judge her?"
"Some do."
"Despite everything?"
Tara nodded.
"Knowledge doesn’t erase prejudice."
Mirabelle looked away for a moment.
"What is she like?"
"Quiet." Another pause. "So quiet that people sometimes mistake her for shy. But she notices everything."
Tara folded her hands.
"She knows every medicinal herb that grows within the territory. Every poisonous plant. Every venom.
She once told me that poison and medicine are often the same thing."
"The dose makes the poison?"
Tara blinked surprised:
"...Yes. How did you know?"
Mirabelle smiled faintly.
"I’ve heard that before."
The maid nodded.
"Then you’ll understand why no one argues with her."
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Finally, Tara stepped back and looked her over one last time.
"There."
Mirabelle turned toward the mirror. Sunlight caught the tiny scales of her gown, scattering warm reflections across the polished floor before climbing softly up the mirror’s frame.
For a brief moment, she barely recognized herself.
Not because she looked different.
But because she looked exactly like the woman everyone else already seemed to see. And now she did too.
The future Duchess of Luchsenstein.