The rumors showed no signs of fading. If anything, they had flourished.
Cassandra found the entire thing preposterous. In this, she and Draven were aligned.
Her relationship with Draven Montague had never extended beyond mutual respect and their shared responsibilities to the Crown. They had worked together, advised the Queen together, and disagreed often enough to dispel any notion of secret affection.
To suggest that they had carried on an illicit relationship while she remained engaged to John was so absurd that she could scarcely comprehend why anyone would believe it.
Nor did she see any reason to defend herself. Even Draven had seen no reason to directly address the rumors so why should she?
A lie did not become the truth merely because enough people repeated it, and she refused to grant such malicious gossip legitimacy by seeming affected.
An innocent person ought not to behave as though they had committed a crime simply because of what society chose to believe.
So she carried on as she always had.
She fulfilled her duties like she usually would, attended to matters brought before her and moved through the noble circles with the same composure she had always maintained.
The whispers followed her nonetheless. Conversations occasionally halted abruptly when she approached. Curious eyes lingered on her longer, like ants crawling over her skin.
Some offered polite smiles that failed to reach their eyes, while others watched her with plain disdain, seemingly disappointed that the scandal had not driven her into hiding.
She noticed how they all reacted to her and she was already at her wit’s end.
Many believed a woman whose reputation had come under such scrutiny ought to withdraw from society until the gossip subsided. Remaining visible, continuing one’s routine as though nothing had happened, was interpreted by some as shamelessness.
Cassandra could not have disagreed more.
She had done nothing deserving of shame.
Why, then, should she hide?
In her chambers in the palace, she slipped on her gloves before picking up the bonnet resting on the dressing table, completing the last touches on her outfit before visiting the modiste for the final fitting of the gown she had commissioned for an upcoming ball.
Unlike the other invitations she received, Cassandra had accepted this one with a singular purpose.
The hostess’s husband sat on the Royal Council, and many of its members were expected to attend with their families. An evening of conversation often revealed more about a person’s convictions than a formal council meeting ever could.
Cassandra, with the aid of some close allies, intended to push a reform bill in the near future and she knew that support was rarely won inside the council chamber alone. Trust was built long before the debate began, and occasions such as a ball offered the opportunity to build it.
There was a soft knock on her door and Cassandra paused what she was doing.
"Come in." She called.
The door opened, and Delphine stepped inside.
Her gaze briefly swept over Cassandra’s attire before settling upon the bonnet in her hands.
"So," the Queen said, "you still intend to go out."
Cassandra smiled as she adjusted the ribbon beneath her chin. "I do."
"I thought you might reconsider."
"I considered it," Cassandra admitted. "I simply found no reason to change my mind."
Delphine regarded her quietly for a moment, mulling over her next words
"Some of the nobles have become... rather unkind." Delphine commented worriedly, mindlessly twisting the gold ring on her finger.
Despite how unbothered Cassandra appeared, Delphine could not help but worry for her, just as she would have if it had been her own daughter in Cassandra’s place.
It was less that Cassandra was unbothered and more that she had grown numb after her argument with her family, and perhaps that was for the best. It spared her from feeling the full sting of the malicious whispers as the more spiteful aristocrats mercilessly tore her character to shreds.
Most had turned against her now, eager to distance themselves from a woman whose name had become synonymous with scandal. The same men and women who had once hovered around her, vying for her favor—and through it, the queen’s—had wasted no time abandoning her.
"They have." Cassandra agreed, securing the ribbon before meeting the Queen’s eyes. "But if I remain in the palace because strangers have chosen to invent stories about me, it will do nothing to change my current predicament. They do not control me and I will not have them believing otherwise."
"My girl." Delphine’s expression softened. "I have truly missed this side of you."
Being away from her family and spending time at the palace among people who genuinely cared for and valued her had done wonders for her confidence and self-esteem.
Now she felt like she could brave the worse storm without even flinching.
"Enjoy your fitting." Delphine said finally.
"I intend to." With that, Cassandra went on her way. Moments later, she left the palace behind as her carriage rolled toward the heart of the capital.
***
The streets of the capital city, Caldor, bustled with their usual activity as Cassandra’s carriage made its way through the commercial district.
Shopkeepers stood outside their establishments greeting customers, apprentices hurried between errands carrying parcels nearly as large as themselves, while the steady rhythm of trade filled the mid-morning air.
The carriage came to a gentle halt before an elegant, though modestly sized, dress shop.
Her footman opened the carriage door with a politely spoken, "My lady."
Cassandra accepted his hand and stepped onto the pavement.
The small brass bell above the entrance chimed softly as she entered the shop.
"My lady, it’s good to have you here! Welcome back." The middle-aged woman behind the counter immediately brightened at the sight of her visitor. Setting aside the length of fabric she had been inspecting, she hurried forward with a wide smile. "It is wonderful to see you again."
"And you as well, Mrs. Fletcher."
Mrs. Fletcher dipped into a respectful curtsy. "Your gown is ready for its final fitting. I do hope it proves worthy of your expectations."
"I am confident that it will."
The modiste’s eyes twinkled. "If you’ll follow me."
But just before she turned to trail after the older woman, a figure caught her eye.
Through the window, she saw a stranger, a man. But that wasn’t what piqued her attention, it was the fact that he stood so rigidly that he could almost be mistaken for a marble statue and he was staring intently at the dress shop, straight at her.
"My lady?" Mrs Fletcher called to get her attention.
She turned to see that the woman had paused and was now studying her with a look of mild curiosity.
But when Cassandra glanced back out the window, the man from before was nowhere in sight.
How odd, she thought as she allowed Mrs Fletcher to lead her toward a private fitting room at the back of the establishment.
The shop itself was neither the largest nor the most fashionable in the capital.
Indeed, many ladies of Cassandra’s station would have considered it beneath their notice, preferring instead to commission gowns from celebrated establishments that catered almost exclusively to the highest ranks of society.
Cassandra had never shared that preference.
She believed that the prosperity of a kingdom was not measured solely by the wealth of its nobility, but by the success of the common craftsmen, merchants, and tradesmen who formed its foundation.
Whenever quality could be found within Arden, she saw little sense in sending the kingdom’s wealth abroad merely to conform to the season’s fashion or vanity.
It was a philosophy that extended well beyond clothing.
Whenever possible, she commissioned her silks from local weavers, purchased jewellery from Arden’s goldsmiths, and sought out artisans whose skill deserved recognition regardless of the size of their establishment.
To Cassandra, supporting small business owners was not an act of charity but an investment. Charity might ease hardship for a day, but flourishing businesses sustained families and communities for generations.
That belief had earned her the respect of many tradespeople throughout the capital, none more so than Mrs. Fletcher.
By the time they reached the fitting room, two young apprentices had already laid the finished gown across a padded stand.
Both curtsied the moment Cassandra entered.
"My lady."
Cassandra smiled warmly at them. "Good morning."
Mrs. Fletcher carefully lifted the gown. "Shall we see if everything fits as it should?"