"I'm telling you, Lord Cherion, the Duke is going to absolutely lose his mind! He'll love you even more in this outfit, if that's even possible at this pace!"
Reiner was talking a mile a minute, full of energy. It was bright, loud, and honestly kind of exhausting for this early in the morning. He kept moving nonstop, hands everywhere as he tugged at the hem of Cherion's shirt and smoothed down the shoulders of the vest. Meanwhile, Cherion just stood there like a wooden mannequin, trying to process the weirdly soft weight of the fabric against his skin.
No stiff, high-collared silks today. No gold-threaded embroidery scratching his collarbones raw. No suffocating layers of prestige. Instead, Reiner was fussing over a pair of sturdy dark trousers and a linen shirt so light it actually felt like his skin could breathe for once.
"What is this even supposed to be?" Cherion croaked, voice still rough from sleep as he let Reiner tighten a leather belt around his waist.
