Puh.’

Mirabelle did not really have much of a choice.

There were countless dresses — but all of them were high-necked and cut tightly around the upper body. The lower part fell down rather plainly. The most variation in some dresses came from an underskirt that showed through a front slit in the outer layer.

Of course, all of them came in different fabrics and were decorated with embroidery. But none of it resembled what she remembered from history class.

The Duchess’s clothing differed only in one way — the neckline was visible.

That allowed her mate marks to be clearly seen.

Apparently, beastwomen had once dressed far more revealingly. Almost like cave dwellers. But as society and hierarchy developed, it had been decided that noble females should stand apart from the rest.

And unmated noble females even more so.

It was meant to signal their status — and prevent premature pairings. Without fully concealing their appeal.

Any feminist would have been outraged by all of this. And Mirabelle had no intention of simply accepting it.

For a moment, she considered going to the ball in trousers and a shirt.

But her memories told her that this would be a serious insult to her mother. And she could not bring herself to do that.

Still, these dresses — with their strange collars, tight long sleeves, and an almost excessive amount of fabric — were simply not something she could wear.

After she rejected every single dress and nearly drove Tara mad, the beastwoman finally mentioned that there were unused bolts of fabric in one of the chests.

And that the tailor might be able to create something new.

Excited, Mirabelle let out a small cheer.

While the servant opened the door for the mentioned tailor, the lynx female had already buried herself up to her shoulders in different fabrics.

One in particular caught her attention — a smooth, bluish shimmering material. She kept running her fingers over it, feeling the subtle textures beneath her touch.

It reminded her of... snakeskin?

One of her coworkers had owned several snakes, and once she had dared to touch one. Contrary to expectations, they had not been cold or slimy, but soft and almost warm.

This fabric, however, was cool to the touch.

"That one. No other," she said as she returned to the main room.

A middle-aged man stood there, with curled ram horns and a pointed beard.

His clothing was... striking. He looked more like a circus director. He even carried a cane.

She gave him a small smile, and the ram beast almost clutched his chest.

He could not remember the last time the Lady had smiled at him. He was devoted to serving in the territory of the Duchess of Luchsenstein and like everyone else, he had been deeply worried about the heir.

Seeing Lady Mirabelle like this lifted a weight from his shoulders.

Mirabelle, of course, had no idea what was going on in the ram beast’s mind.

She had her own agenda.

"I want this fabric," she said, holding it up.

"But not like the other dresses."

The tailor frowned.

Until now, she had always been satisfied with his work.

"What would you like me to change?"

"I want the fabric to fall like this around my upper body."

She tied two ends around her neck and let the fabric hang down in front of her. Then she gathered it at her waist and pulled it tight behind her.

"The back stays open.

And from here" — she gestured at her waist — "fabric falls down in the front and back. But there are slits at the sides so I can move more freely."

She grinned at them proudly.

Tara pressed a hand to her forehead and sank onto a chair. Now it was clear — the hunger strike had done something to the Lady’s mind.

The ram’s thoughts raced. Of course he wanted nothing more than to make her happy and fulfill her wishes. But this... this was impossible.

"With all due respect, that is not possible."

He gestured wildly in the air.

"The neck must not be exposed.

And the arms must be covered, and..."

"Stop." Mirabelle cut off his flood of rules.

"I don’t care what is allowed. This is what I want. Either that, or I’m not going. Then the Queen can stand on her head for all I care."

It was not just a dress — it was a statement.

The mouse woman’s eyes widened. For a moment, she thought she might faint.

"Lady Mirabelle," Tara said, her voice filled with reproach and panic.

Mirabelle realized from her reaction that she might have pushed too far.

"Maybe I’m willing to compromise," she added, while Tara fanned herself frantically.

The ram beast looked pale as well, his mustache trembling with agitation.

’Alright. Small steps. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’

"How about this: We add a scarf here around the neck? Then it wouldn’t be so tight, but still covered.

And I could wear an underskirt. The fabric would fall over it in the front and back, but when I walk, it would billow at the sides.

And we could do loose sleeves, attached here." She pointed to the space between her armpit and chest.

"Then the shoulders stay bare, but the arms are still covered."

She grinned, almost diabolically.

"There’s no rule that says the shoulders have to be covered."

Tara opened her mouth — and closed it again.

There really wasn’t. No one did it simply because everyone assumed arms had to be covered with long sleeves.

The ram beast dabbed at the sweat forming on his forehead.

"And the back?" he asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

"Of course it stays bare. Because..."

"There’s no rule that says the back has to be covered," Tara finished, resigned.

She had never expected her Lady to challenge etiquette so openly. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

But she had no argument against it.

’Rules are like boundaries. There’s always something they don’t cover’, Mirabelle mused.