Chapter 56: Clothes

By the afternoon, we were in Kingsmere.

Father had decided that there was no point wasting another day, and Mother had apparently agreed with him before I had even been given the chance to object. Sera came along as well, though I suspected she was mostly there to make sure I didn’t somehow choose something terrible and embarrass the family in front of the King.

Mr. Rowan accompanied us.

He walked a few paces behind, dressed as neatly as always, his posture perfectly straight despite the growing crowd around us. The moment we stepped out of the carriage, he adjusted his gloves and looked toward Father for instructions, while I stood on the pavement and stared at the street ahead.

Kingsmere never looked particularly ordinary.

The buildings were larger here. Tall windows stretched across several floors, framed by carved stone and dark polished wood. Brass signs hung above expensive establishments, while finely dressed men and women moved between shops with the effortless pace of people who had never needed to count every coin before spending it.

Father led us down one of the busier streets.

"There’s a shop nearby that should have what you need."

"How much is this going to cost?" I asked.

Father glanced back at me.

"That depends entirely on what you choose."

Sera smiled faintly. "Which means you should choose carefully."

"I was planning to."

"You say that now."

I ignored her.

We eventually stopped in front of a tall building whose entire ground floor consisted of enormous glass windows. Behind them stood mannequins dressed in formal clothing, each outfit arranged beneath warm golden lamps. There were suits with silver buttons, dark coats with embroidered collars, waistcoats patterned with subtle threads, gloves displayed inside glass cases, and polished shoes resting on raised wooden platforms.

Above the entrance hung a simple brass sign.

Father opened the door.

A small bell chimed.

The interior immediately felt several levels removed from the street outside.

Everything was immaculate.

The floor was made of dark polished wood that reflected the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The walls were covered in deep-colored fabric, broken by tall mirrors framed with carved wood. Racks of clothing stood in perfectly measured rows, while several glass cabinets displayed watches, cufflinks, tie pins, gloves, and other accessories that seemed designed more to demonstrate wealth than serve any practical purpose.

A man in a perfectly fitted black suit approached us almost immediately.

"Good afternoon, Baron Rhys."

Father gave him a polite nod.

"Good afternoon."

The man’s eyes shifted toward me.

"Is this for the young master?"

"It is."

The man’s smile became slightly wider.

"Then we should find something worthy of the occasion."

I resisted the urge to ask whether clothing could actually be worthy of a ceremony at the King’s Palace.

He led us farther inside.

The first outfit he showed me was dark blue, almost black, with silver embroidery running along the edges of the coat. The fabric was smooth enough that my fingers slipped over it when I touched the sleeve.

"This is one of our newer formal designs," he said. "Fine wool beneath the outer layer, reinforced stitching at the shoulders, silk lining, and hand-finished embroidery."

I looked at Father.

He simply nodded.

I moved to the next one.

This coat was black with a subtle charcoal pattern woven into the fabric. The design wasn’t obvious from a distance, but when the light struck it at an angle, thin geometric lines appeared across the surface.

"That one," Sera said.

I looked at her.

"What?"

"It suits you."

"You’re surprisingly decisive."

"Someone has to be."

The shopkeeper brought it down.

I tried it on.

The coat settled over my shoulders almost perfectly. The sleeves stopped exactly where they should and the collar sat neatly against my neck.

I looked into the mirror.

For a second, I didn’t recognize myself.

Not because the clothes were extravagant.

Because they weren’t.

There were no ridiculous decorations, no enormous buttons covered in jewels, no unnecessary layers of fabric hanging from my body. It was simply well-made clothing, cut properly and constructed from materials that were clearly expensive.

Father stood behind me in the mirror.

"That will do."

Sera nodded.

"I agree."

I turned toward Mother.

She smiled.

"I think it looks wonderful."

I sighed.

"So that’s it?"

Father raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like to continue looking?"

I looked around the shop.

There were certainly worse ways to spend an afternoon.

"Maybe."

That turned into another half hour.

I tried on several coats, two waistcoats, and enough shirts to make me question whether anyone actually needed that many varieties of white. Sera had an opinion about nearly everything, while Mother occasionally corrected her whenever she became too particular.

Father, meanwhile, seemed perfectly content to let the three of us decide.

Eventually, we returned to the black coat.

The shopkeeper adjusted the shoulders one final time and stepped back.

"Excellent choice."

Father reached into his coat and handed him the money.

"Fifty pounds."

The shopkeeper counted it carefully before giving a small bow.

"Thank you, Baron Rhys."

’Fifty pounds.’

I glanced at the outfit again.

It was certainly more money than I had ever casually spend on clothes, but Father didn’t seem remotely troubled by it. To him, this was simply what the occasion required.

Sera leaned toward me.

"Try not to spill tea on it."

"I’ll try."

"You’re going to."

"I won’t."

"You always say that."

I looked at her.

"I have never spilled tea on formal clothing."

"You’ve never owned formal clothing this expensive."

"That’s a very specific accusation."

She smiled.

We left the shop a little while later.

Mr. Rowan was carrying the neatly wrapped clothing in both hands, the package tied with a dark ribbon. He handled it with the same care he used for everything else, holding it securely against his side as we made our way back toward the carriage.

The afternoon sun had begun descending over Kingsmere, casting long golden reflections across the windows of the buildings. People continued moving around us, conversations blending into the steady rhythm of wheels, footsteps, and distant bells.

Mr. Rowan opened the carriage door.

Father entered first.

Mother followed.

Sera stepped inside, then looked back at me.

"Coming, Sir Edmund?"

I stared at her.

She smiled innocently.

"I told you I would call you that."

I shook my head and climbed into the carriage.

Mr. Rowan placed the wrapped clothes carefully inside before taking his seat.

The carriage began moving.

Kingsmere slowly passed beyond the window, its grand buildings glowing beneath the late afternoon sun.

I leaned back against the seat.