Chapter 155
Choi Jihun
Our fight is cut short when we're dragged away for final fittings of the tuxes.
Two servants appear at the edge of the training yard, looking nervous. They don't come closer—no one comes closer when we're sparring—but they wave frantically until we stop.
"The final fittings," one calls out. "For the tuxedos. You're both needed. Now."
Daelan and I exchange a look. Neither of us wants to go.
We go anyway.
*
The fitting is a production.
Madam Vee herself is there, along with a team of seamstresses who circle us like sharks. They pin and measure and mutter in a language I don't recognize.
They fit perfectly.
We're removed from them just as fast.
"Don't wrinkle them!" one of the seamstresses hisses, shooing us away like errant children. "The wedding is in hours!"
I adjust my collar and step out into the hallway.
Daelan follows, his expression unreadable.
A servant approaches, bowing low. "Mr. Crowe? Mr. Morne requests a word."
