Chapter 184: Fitting a Facade
The tailoring suite had been converted into something unholy. Swaths of fabric hung from every beam like a ritual in progress: charcoal silks, pale cream brocades, and hand-embroidered waistcoats in every shade of betrayal. The lights were too bright. The air smelled like starch and expensive fear. And in the middle of it all stood Evrin, hands on his hips, eyes ablaze with manic focus.
"Absolutely not!" he snapped the moment Lucas stepped through the door. "I told you, no blue-gray. It washes him out unless we tan him, and we are not doing that again."
"Again? What do you mean again?" Lucas asked, each question rising in pitch.
Evrin spun on his heel, already advancing like a tailor possessed. "We had the heir of Lancaster house get tanned to match his favorite color. One of my finest works."
Lucas took an instinctive step back, hands halfway raised like Evrin might actually lunge at him with a bronzing spray.
Trevor had fled the moment they reached the stairs, whispering something to Benjamin about "personal safety" and "button placement-induced trauma." Lucas now understood.
"You tanned a noble to match a color palette?" he asked, incredulous.
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Evrin didn’t even blink. "He wanted gold accents. He became the gold."
From the corner, Serathine gave an approving nod. "He looked divine, if a little... glazed."
"Like a roast pheasant," Cressida muttered, unimpressed.
Evrin clapped his hands once, and two assistants emerged from the fabric jungle with the precision of trained assassins, each bearing a garment bag so heavily embroidered it practically whispered bank account numbers.
Lucas sighed as one bag was unzipped, revealing a high-collared jacket in a shade of silver so sharp it bordered on weaponized moonlight. "That looks expensive."