Before them was utter, organized chaos.
Dozens of racks were crammed with dresses of every color and style.
Sisters and maids hurried back and forth, helping one another into gowns, adjusting ribbons, fastening corsets, tying bows.
Others applied makeup, brushed hair, or fetched new shoes and the air smelled of perfume, fabric, and excitement.
And admist the hustle and bustle, Cassius was unmistakably the center of it all.
He stood in the middle of the room, sleeves rolled up, a pin cushion strapped to his wrist, a small needle case hanging from his belt, and a patient smile on his face as woman after woman surrounded him, each calling for his help in a flurry of dresses, ribbons, and hems.
A maid hurried over first, clutching the side of her gown nervously.
"Young Master, the seam tore here—just a little—but it's right before I have to walk!"
Cassius didn't even hesitate.
"Hold still."
