Side Story 3 – Lily’s Friend

“Wow.”

Brie withdrew her needle at the young lady’s exasperated sigh and turned her head slightly. Miss Danielle was hunched over, clutching a piece of fabric tightly in her hands. A needle for embroidery dangled at the end of a thread that hung limply from the fabric.

Even without looking closely, it was clear that the object in her hands was struggling to maintain the appearance of a handkerchief. Even if it were carefully ironed and flattened… well, with all four corners wrinkled, it seemed unlikely. Brie set down her own patchwork and stood up. Miss Danielle hesitantly held out the handkerchief she had been clutching to Brie.

It was a plain handkerchief purchased from a high-end embroidery shop. Designed for noble ladies to use as practice for embroidery, it was a practical handkerchief durable enough to withstand slightly clumsy stitching. From the beginning, Brie had opposed Miss Danielle’s idea of embroidering grapevines around the edges. The design and area were far beyond what Miss Danielle’s skills could handle.

Although stubborn, Miss Danielle was surprisingly quick to admit her mistakes. Now, holding her hands together as if still clutching the handkerchief, she twisted her fingers nervously, stealing glances at Brie.

“So… what do you think?”

“There’s always another handkerchief.”

Brie looked down at the dejected Miss Danielle with a warm gaze. Though only five years apart in age, Brie had practically raised her.

These days, embroidery was no longer considered an essential skill for noble ladies. It was something to do if one wanted to, or not at all. Even for someone like Danielle Odillon, the youngest daughter of a powerful northern noble family who had been wielding a sword since childhood and was highly sought after by the knights, it was unlikely she had ever sewn a single stitch herself.

Having been served by the deft hands of Brie for over ten years, Miss Danielle first picked up a needle about a month before her knight, Sir Cyril Frey, was to participate in his first tournament duel.

‘When he was knighted, you just ordered something custom-made from the embroidery shop.’

‘Well, even though he didn’t show it, he seemed a bit dissatisfied.’

Was it the lace? 

Watching Miss Danielle regretfully reflect, Brie stifled a laugh. Although Brie, being not much older than them, couldn’t claim to understand what went on in the mind of the reserved young man, guessing which part he might have disliked was a matter of common sense.

However, if Miss Danielle thought the lace was the issue, it was Brie’s job as a servant to accommodate that belief. Suggesting slight modifications to ensure the recipient’s satisfaction was Brie’s way of extending kindness to the young man. After all, a gift she had embroidered for her own lover had recently been well-received. It wasn’t a handkerchief… but rather a more intimate item.

‘Beloved Brianna’ had cleared her throat unnecessarily and suggested a handkerchief as the next gift. Believing that Miss Danielle, who had never failed at anything before, would easily manage simple embroidery.

Had she known Miss Danielle had such lofty ambitions, she would have prepared the design herself from the start.

Brie set aside the crumpled handkerchief and brought out a few items borrowed from the Marquis Odillon’s maids. The slightly yellowed fabrics, aged with time, made Danielle wrinkle her nose slightly.

“What are these crooked things?”

“They’re gifts Madam made herself before her marriage.”

“Oh.”

From Brie’s perspective, if Danielle could produce something of this quality, it would be a considerable success. Despite the slight discoloration, the handkerchiefs were of good quality. One corner bore the initials of Alexander Odillon and the Odillon family crest—a winged arrow.

The oversized initials weren’t just a matter of perception; they reflected the amateurish skill of the embroiderer. Brie selected one of the simpler designs and held it out to Miss Danielle.

“How about this layout? You could compromise with just two grape leaves for Sir Frey’s crest. If you want something fancier, you could add grape clusters.”

“…”

“With all the practice you’ve had, it’ll turn out much better than this. You’re good at anything you do with your hands, Miss.”

“…Brie, that’s enough encouragement. Could you bring me a new handkerchief? Let’s try the design we discussed.”

“Of course, Miss. Why don’t you have a snack while you wait? I’ll inform the kitchen.”

Brie gathered her embroidery supplies and Miss Danielle’s materials before standing up. Danielle glanced at Brie’s basket. Amid the seemingly ragged scraps of fabric and cotton, a neatly arranged pattern of what appeared to be grape leaves or ivy caught her eye.

***

Brie’s embroidery project was coming along smoothly. Miss Danielle’s embroidery, well, was much better than her previous attempts. Compared to the turmoil she had caused outside the mansion, the grapevine pattern was practically fit for the royal banquet hall—or at least the Odillon family’s drawing room.

Brie trimmed the frayed edges of the fabric with scissors and pulled out a similar-colored scrap to patch it. If it were something like an apron, she could have patched a small hole without much thought, but this project required more care.

Scraps of fabric, gathered from sewing kits across the mansion, were scattered across Brie’s lap. She matched colors and selected patterns, considering the final appearance of the piece. Although the fabrics varied in type and texture, it likely wouldn’t be a major issue. As she snipped the thread with small scissors, she chuckled, prompting Danielle to look up curiously.

“By the way, what are you making?”

“Nothing special. I’ll show you when it’s done. But more importantly…”

“Ah, don’t ask. I’ve been hounded all day.”

“Still, everyone in the household is curious.”

Today was the deadline for submitting applications to the Knights Order, and Danielle had returned home early after spending the day idling around outside. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the Knights Order had eagerly awaited this young prodigy throughout the ten-day application period. …Though they seemed to have taken out some of their frustration on Sir Cyril Frey, a first-year knight.

Meanwhile, Danielle, who had retreated to her room to finish the handkerchief for Sir Cyril, appeared refreshingly unconcerned. Thanks to Brie’s assistance, the grape leaves were neatly arranged, and the light golden thread beneath them was slowly forming the name of its intended recipient. While purple would have been more striking for the lettering, Danielle had chosen a color that matched Sir Cyril’s hair.

Brie picked up another scrap of fabric to patch and paused. She was, after all, carrying the curiosity of the entire household on her shoulders. Brie herself was curious. Why?

“Are you really not joining the Knights Order?”

“When did I ever say I would?”

Danielle pouted slightly, stabbing the needle into the fabric only to pull it out again before it fully pierced through. The thin lettering required precise needlework, as even a slight mistake could ruin the design. Concentrating, Danielle carefully pulled the thread through the correct spot and sighed before looking up.

“Everyone’s so ridiculous. Last year, I attended Sir Cyril’s knighting ceremony as his lady. If I join the Knights myself, wouldn’t that look absurd?”

“You said being a knight’s lady was an outdated custom and that it was ridiculous.”

“Still, we’re engaged, but he had me as his lady when he was knighted, and I don’t even have anyone to play that role for me…”

“Well, why don’t you ask Sir Cyril to play the part?”

“Would he do it?”

Why don’t you try asking?

Brie thought about teasing her, but she decided to stay silent. Sir Cyril was the type who would do it if asked, and that was precisely why Miss Danielle avoided answering, shifting her eyes.

In truth, the tradition of knights having ladies had long since faded. Even Prince Marcelan, the Commander of the Knights Order, didn’t have a lady. Among the knights knighted last year, only three had ladies: two noble youths with fiancées, including Sir Cyril, and one commoner who wanted to give his lover a special memory. It was either an outdated tradition or an old-fashioned romantic gesture.

For female knights, the Knights Order had yet to reach a conclusion on how to replace the concept of a “lady” for over a century. In the meantime, even male knights were gradually forgetting such customs, which now seemed like something out of a storybook. Brie still remembered how Miss Danielle had been genuinely horrified when Sir Cyril asked her to attend his knighting ceremony as “his lady.”

And yet, it was also Miss Danielle who insisted on preparing a lace handkerchief, claiming that a token of affection should be something feminine. Both Sir Cyril and Miss Danielle had a way of never doing anything halfway. Brie suppressed a laugh and tried to appear serious. There was no way someone would decide their lifelong career based on such trivial reasons.

Miss Danielle’s status alone afforded her countless opportunities to contribute without needing a professional career. The fact that she had wielded a sword for over ten years was a clear signal in itself. 

No wonder the Knights Order is so desperate.

Brie thought, deciding to ask just once more on behalf of everyone in the household.

“The knighting ceremony was quite splendid, wasn’t it? You seemed to enjoy it.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted to do it myself.”

“But you did enjoy it.”

“Brie, you’re making a doll, aren’t you?”

It had only been a few minutes since Danielle had asked what Brie was making. Brie, startled, realized belatedly that Miss Danielle had deliberately changed the subject. 

So, she wasn’t planning to be honest at all… 

Brie silently apologized to the curious staff of the Odillon estate and adjusted her needle.

“Yes, it’s a doll. Ever since I fixed Lily, I’ve been wanting to keep working with stuffing.”

“Did you throw it into a fireplace or something? It looks like there are patches everywhere.”

“Could you call it mending instead of patching? Besides, there’s a certain charm to old dolls.”

At least Danielle’s childhood stuffed rabbit, Lily, had been restored piece by piece, rather than being patched up in such a haphazard manner. Danielle, eyeing a scrap of fabric that could be an arm or a leg, suddenly smiled brightly.

“If you attend as my lady and give me that, maybe I’ll consider becoming a knight.”

“Miss! That’s a curse!”

The idea of offering a patched-up doll while talking about curses was almost frightening, even to Brie. Danielle quickly shrank back, muttering, “Who’s cursing whom?” She carefully adjusted the needle and, undeterred, continued to prod.

“It’s quite the honor, you know. When a knight kneels before their lady, offering their sword, the lady accepts it and performs the same ritual as His Majesty.”

“Touching the knight’s shoulders with the sword, you mean.”

“Since I’m decent with a sword, I ended up bringing the one His Majesty bestowed upon me. Others brought lightweight ceremonial wooden swords instead.”

Despite her words, Danielle would have been offended if she had been handed a wooden sword. She had gracefully received the heavy real sword, touched both of Sir Cyril’s shoulders with it in turn, returned it to him, and then tied the lace handkerchief she had prepared to the sword’s hilt. Finally, the knight would kiss the lady’s hand respectfully.

Though smaller in scale and simpler in form compared to the main knighting ceremony conducted by Her Majesty, it still had all the elements to make a young girl’s heart flutter.

One reason many speculated that Danielle might join the Knights Order was her expression whenever she spoke of the knighting ceremony. Despite rarely saying anything positive about her betrothed, Sir Cyril Frey, she looked genuinely happy whenever she recalled the event. Perhaps their relationship would have drastically improved if they became comrades in the Knights Order.

In hindsight, their relationship had worsened after their engagement. Perhaps it was a mistake to bind children, too young to understand such commitments, to such a heavy relationship. Brie pondered this as she patched another hole in the fabric. She glanced up to see Miss Danielle quickly finishing the last letter of her embroidery.

“In any case, thank you for the suggestion, but I’ll have to decline. I don’t want to hand a ragged doll to a knight instead of a lace handkerchief.”

“Fine. Just know that it’ll be your fault if I don’t become a knight.”

“That’s so unfair… Miss, you need to reverse that part to make the folds come out nicely.”

“Oh, thanks. By the way, what exactly is that doll for?”

“I told you, I’ll show you when the time comes. It’s still far from finished.”

Danielle, already flustered by her own secret, couldn’t press further and focused on her stitching. The golden thread spelling out “Cyril Frey” and the pink thread mending the rabbit doll’s burnt holes seemed to compete with each other as they moved busily.

Brie had retrieved the doll directly from Marquis Alexander Odillon’s vault about two weeks ago. To be precise, it wasn’t a doll but the remnants of one—burnt limbs, to be exact.

The poor rabbit, which had been part of a bombing incident when Danielle was ten, wasn’t even a single rabbit anymore. The remnants of the two dolls Danielle had received as gifts that day were being stitched and patched together into one whole rabbit as Danielle engrossed herself in her clumsy embroidery.

Combining two into one—thinking about it like that, it did seem a bit eerie. Brie tilted her head, then shrugged and pushed the thought aside.

Brie’s idea of “when the time comes” wasn’t when a new handkerchief was handed to Sir Cyril during a tournament duel, nor when Danielle finally joined the Knights and asked Brie to be her lady. It was when the two got married. Then, and only then, would she place this patched-up doll next to Lily.

Stitched and patched, made from scraps of fabric from all over the Odillon household, this doll seemed fitting for their marriage. With that mischievous thought, Brie tied a knot and cut the thread.

The golden letters under the grape leaves, spelling “Cyril Frey,” were nearly complete.