Cassian had an agenda, always. He didn’t live a casual, flippant life. There was no room for anything less that’s utmost seriousness in every aspect of his existence. At least, that was how he lived.

This matter concerning Regan was no different. His Huntsman was a commoner and, even with her promotion and the pay raise, was nowhere near to being wealthy. H Those things aside, Cassian was sure that without intervention Regan would miss the opportunity the ball tonight was providing her. So he intervened.

The guard at the door was expecting her. He opened the door before she needed to knock. Cassian was inside with a large woman, one easily twice the size of Regan.

“My, my,” were the first, frank words from her mouth as her critical gaze traveled up and down Regan’s person. Cassian stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back. His expression was ever severe, but his eyes on Regan were smiling in their way.

What greeted Regan on the other side of the door was the last thing she was expecting. Her eyes fell on the woman first—quite the shock, as she was expecting her stoic king and not the severe judgment of...who exactly? The surprise showed on her face, color rising in her cheeks as the portly woman looked her up and down.

Regan's eyes snapped to Cassian. Confused and vaguely frightened.

Ah the confusion. She was distracted by the people before her. Perhaps her eye had yet to fall to the room (that I didn’t describe, my b) that was laden with the finest fabrics in the land, along with racks of various garments, from dresses to tunics to shawls to cloaks and more. It was like an explosion of color and pomp. Cassian was a figure of darkness in the room. The large tailor was in a deep yellow that did nothing for her complexion.

“Oh darling, come forward, let me give you a measure.” She leaned towards the king and murmured loudly, “You were right about this one.”

Cassian didn’t move. His eyes remained on Regan.

It did take the witch a moment to put the pieces together, but once the witch moved for her and the garments were put into view, Regan started to understand. That only added to her embarrassment, her cheeks burning scarlet as the woman whispered (unsubtly) to the king. Right. She could only imagine just what he was right about, and Regan likely wouldn't have argued the matter.

As if her feet were made out of concrete, Regan dragged herself forward. Her eyes danced between the woman, then Cassian, then back to the woman again. "Uh..." She said, swallowing, "What is it that you want me to..." She held her arms up a little, but it felt awkward so she put them back down.

“Lady La’May.” She bobbed a cute curtsy, presenting the name she’d fabricated for herself and chosen to maintain for the sake of the presentation. Not Cassian’s choice of individual, but she wasn’t in charge of dressing him.

“Arms up, just like that.” Her breath smelled of cheese and cinnamon, and she broke all personal boundaries as she surged forward, thick arms encasing Regan’s torso as she looped her measuring tape around Regan’s back and brought it forward, going first for the bust.

“Ooo!” She exclaimed in delight as if she’d found an apple tree in a dark forest. “Tonight surely will be your debut,” she murmured towards Regan’s chest, “And yours too.”

Cassian, who had been watching, let his eyes drift away.

Lady La’May. Right. Sure.

Regan went stiff as a board as this ‘Lady La’May’ started to drag the tape measure around her like a boa constrictor sizing up its prey. She held her breath, both because of the stench of Lady La’Mays breath and the sheer mortification of it all. The woman’s assessment of Regan’s attributes only made things worse. The witch tried to smile at Lady La'May's joke, but it looked like a grimace instead. She glanced again at Cassian, as if he might save her, but he had averted his gaze elsewhere.

Regan didn’t know if that made things better or worse.

La’May was one of the best at what she did, even if she was raucous and obnoxious. It was the only reason Cassian was tolerating her now. He should have left, but he’d seen the discomfort in Regan’s eyes. Some stretching was good, but some was unnecessary. He held his ground.

“Let’s get all the measurements out of the way with, hmm?” She would progressively work down Regan’s body, always making a comment when she could, such as on her muscled arms or her lack of a petite waist. In between her commentary she asked,

“What color and style are we thinking for the gown?” She didn’t direct the question to anyone in particular.

Cassian’s gaze flickered back to Regan then. His gaze moved over her face, bounced down to La’May’s measuring of Regan’s rear, then returned to the young woman’s face.

As La'May worked down her body, Regan decided to treat this like a training exercise. One didn't stop doing push-ups just because their arms started to ache. You soldiered on, and that's what Regan intended to do now. She level her chin and took a deep steadying breath. When La'May lobbed her question from her place down near the floor, Regan found herself a little caught off guard.

“I—” Regan's eyes drifted over the fine fabrics and frocks that were lined up like patisserie in a display case, each one more beautiful than the last. Something softened in her then, as if until that moment she didn't fully realize what she was being offered. Regan didn't desire fine material possessions. If she had, she would have found her life quite disappointing indeed.

But the person whose eyes drifted over the dresses now weren't those of Regan the soldier. They were those of a little girl, one who'd long ago given up hope of her appearance being anything other than purely functional, who was now being offered the chance to be something more. Something pretty. And what girl didn't want that (no matter how much they pretended otherwise)? A small, hesitant smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.

"Nothing too..." Her eyes stopped on a marigold gown with fur trim, "Much. Like that. Just something, uh—" She struggled to find the words, "Nice. But simple." She looked at Cassian then, starting to relax.

The king watched as his huntsman beheld the dresses around her. He didn’t understand the depth of what he was witnessing, but he certainly saw something. It pleased him. There was great value in versatility.

La’May was oblivious to the moment.

“Simple? I wouldn’t have guessed.” Her tone dripped with the sarcasm she didn’t have enough wit to hide. “How about simple with a shine?” She finished measuring and moved over to a rack from which she snagged a simple silver gown with a loose neck. It was bedazzled with sequins that caught the light from the window and cast a glare directly into Cassian’s eyes. He flinched back and raised a hand of protection.

Regan was starting to find La’May’s manner…well, not endearing, but at least humorous. She was like a puffed-up bird, squawking and clattering around her jeweled cage. When offered the gown, Regan reached out and touched it like she was stroking a wild horse that would turn and kick her if she moved wrong.

She, like Cassian, squinted as the gown caught the light. Even if the dress suited her, Regan wondered if anyone would be able to look at her long enough to notice.

“I, uh, don’t know…” Regan’s eyes traveled across the racks, searching until they stopped on a dress tucked toward the end. “What about…” She stepped forward, gently liberating the dress from the stack, “This one?”

Regan had only ever been wrapped up in Nevermerean navy and silver, and this dress was neither. The slinky gown was a green so deep it was almost black, covered in weaving patterns of tiny, darkly glittering beads. Her eyes lit up as she held it in her hands.

La’May tutted when Regan rejected the gown, but she knew to satisfy the customer, especially with the king standing right there. At the selection of the green gown she made a face.

“So dark.” Her eyes immediately jumped to the king, her expression turning apologetic, but to cover what she considered a blunder she urged, “Put it on, put it on. I’ll see where it needs to be taken in when I do.”

Another man might have been inclined to turn or leave the room, but Cassian had seen Regan naked enough that it didn’t phase him. Whatever La’May might assume from the king’s steady presence was surely just affirmation to what she’d already suspected from the start of his interest in outfitting her in the first place.

“So dark.”

Regan didn’t care. This was the one. With more excitement than she’d ever admit to, Regan started to undress. She stood naked before the woman, a scarred and muscled soldier not entirely fit for such finery. Lady La’May held the beaded garment carefully for Regan to step into. She did, shimmying the dress up her body before La’May fastened it in the back. Regan could feel without looking it needed some tailoring; it pulled in some places, sagged a little in others. But even so…

Regan looked to Cassian, wide-eyed and hopeful, like a beggar holding out their hands for spare coins.

La’May was a little quieter and accommodating, disappointed the pigeon she was turning into a dove insisted on looking like a raven, but here they were and she had the feeling this was more in keeping with the king’s taste, too.

Cassian didn’t stare at her moments of nakedness. He let his eyes drift once more, though did nothing to prevent his peripheral vision from observing their actions. Let rumors fly as they may. This was not one that would hurt him. After all, for years there were rumors about himself and Alys—and those ones had been true. It was not unusual for a king of Nevermere to have a mistress. A mistress like Regan? Well, that was another discussion entirely.

When the dress was on her and two pairs of expectant eyes turned his way, Cassian was ready to give his judgement. He would not lie to her. His dark gaze traveled slowly, assessing the gown and what it did or didn’t do for Regan’s form. After a thoughtful pause he said,

“It is fitting.” The decree of the king. La’May was pleased with herself, though she’d done virtually nothing. With a flourish of her hand she motioned Regan closer to her work table so that she could start pinning.

“Shall we add cloth wings to the gown?” Not literal wings, but the sheer fabric that hung over each arm. A little flare for the dull bird.