The tailor's studio was nestled in the eastern wing, its arched wooden doors cracked open and the scent of pressed linen, powdered chalk, and cedar curling into the hallway. Aylin stepped inside and paused.
It wasn't what she expected.
The room was flooded with natural light from a row of tall windows, the kind she imagined once belonged to a noble library. Swatches of fabric hung from carved hooks like banners, ranging from deep forest green to sunrise gold, each shimmering slightly in the pale northern sun. Several half-finished garments stood on mannequins, their shoulders draped in pinned silk or heavy velvet. It was chaos, but a curated kind, like everything had its place, even the mess.
On the other side, in a larger room, a few women sewed and prepared materials with precision. Aylin was surprised to learn that Sasha had a tailor in the fortress, especially one who was knowledgeable about current fashion. The fortress never bored her, and she had yet to leave the manor.
