The Atelier at the End of the Alley

And so it was that, in the present day, the beastmen had fallen to the status of slaves to humankind.

Raw strength alone was never enough. Sometimes one had to hide, to draw near under the guise of friendliness—of friendship itself. So long as he failed to understand that, setting Sion free would only see the same tragedy repeat itself. Sion, for his part, didn't seem to be following any of it.

I offered him a soft smile and spoke.

"I'm going out. Want to come with me?"

"Out?"

At the word, Sion's expression darkened a little. I nodded.

"I think I need to buy a dress."

Something lavish, and expensive. Something that would make it impossible for anyone to look down on me.

"If you'd rather not, you're welcome to stay—"

"No! I want to go...! I'll follow you, Master!"

Sion shook his head in a rush and seized hold of me. The blanket slipped away as he shifted into his wolf form, and his clothes tore, baring a fair amount of skin.

Startled, I whipped my head aside. Heat flooded my face.

Next time, I'm putting him in something stretchy and oversized. Honestly.

"Sion, could you pull the blanket back over yourself...?"

"Huh? Oh! I did! So take me with you!"

I let out a heavy sigh. Sion wanted to be with me far more than he wanted to be alone.

"All right. I'll take you. Then could you wait in your room for now? I need to get ready too, and I still have to eat breakfast."

"Yeah, yeah!"

At that, Sion hurried back to his room.

Left alone, I cooled the heat still lingering on my face and called for Rita. She must have been lingering nearby, because she returned at once.

"What are you doing out there instead of coming in?"

"My lady... I'm so sorry..."

Rita cracked the door and peeked in, on the verge of tears. Sion's transformation must have shaken her badly.

Well. She couldn't have known he was a beastman.

It hadn't been malice, only ignorance, so I couldn't lay all the blame on Rita. When I told her it was all right and to come in, she crept inside at last, glancing around as if to confirm whether Sion was still there.

"He's gone back to his room, so come in."

Only then did Rita relax and step fully inside. Even so, the way she kept watching my face made me feel a little sorry for her, and I softened my expression as I spoke.

"I think I need to go buy a dress."

"A dress, my lady?"

"Mm. I'm going to a tea party."

"Goodness! What's gotten into you, my lady? Every day it's nothing but the slave auctions or horseback riding— I'm sorry!"

"...I just thought I'd try going, for once."

Rita really was tactless and simple. The moment she relaxed, she said exactly what she thought. The original Aine would have been offended, but it wasn't even wrong, and I'd already grown far too used to that sort of thing to take offense.

"But what should we do? Marianne's atelier is under construction right now..."

"Marianne's..."

I racked my brain as hard as I could. Fortunately, the author of Fairy's Garden loved dressing characters up, so the ateliers were described in considerable detail. Among them, Marianne's was Aine's regular shop—the largest atelier in the capital. Rita watched my reaction, because Aine wore nothing but dresses from Marianne's.

"Then we'll go somewhere else."

"What? Are you serious?"

"What choice do we have? You said it's under construction."

Wearing a gown from a famous house would have been nice, but if I thought about it, every young lady there would be in a Marianne dress too. Better, then, to show up in something from an entirely different atelier.

And then a particular shop came to mind. In time it would become one of the capital's most successful houses, but for now it was utterly unknown. The designer's eye was exceptional, yet it didn't match the current fashion, and the place might close its doors as soon as tomorrow. That designer would only rise to fame after the heroine—the imperial princess—wore one of the atelier's dresses to her return banquet. Word would spread of a gown that suited her perfectly, and the shop would soon grow into a house that rivaled Marianne's. In truth, the heroine would only find it while exercising her thrift, hunting for a dress that was both inexpensive and well made.

A month from now, though.

If it was that atelier, I was sure they would find a dress that suited me as well. For the moment, it was the only place I actually knew.

"I know a place. Have the coachman take the location. Before that, please find something Sion can wear."

I hastily sketched a rough map from memory and handed it to Rita. It was hard to make out, but I had no doubt a seasoned coachman would find the place all the same. While Rita delivered the map, I prepared to go out, gathered the clothes that had been readied, and headed for Sion's room.

The moment I opened the door and stepped inside, Sion came bounding over and settled right in front of me.

...Is he actually a dog?

"Sion, let's get ready to go."

I held the clothes out to him and turned my back while he changed.

"I'm dressed."

When I looked back, Sion stood neatly attired. Mm. I liked it. Unlike the clothes he used to wear—gaudy and nothing but uncomfortable—these were cut for ease, and he looked comfortable in them. Just in case, I asked him,

"You won't suddenly turn into a wolf or anything, right?"

Transforming into a wolf out in public would be a considerable headache. Fortunately, Sion shook his head.

"Not unless I sense danger..."

So that was why he had felt threatened and transformed when Rita tried to touch him earlier. Relieved, I nodded and said gently,

"You'll be fine as long as you stay by my side."

For now, I was the young lady of a powerful noble house, and no one could lay a hand on me—which meant no one could lay a hand on the Sion standing beside me, either. I'd only said it out of worry over his transformation, yet for some reason Sion's eyes sparkled as they fixed on me.

"Yeah. I won't leave. I'll stay right beside you, Master."

...I have the awful feeling I just did something enormous.

The thought sat uneasily with me, but we couldn't delay any longer, so I shoved it to the back of my mind. I took Sion and left the room. It was early, so few servants were about, but here and there a handful of them caught sight of him. Sion pressed close against me. I'd told Rita not to say a word for now, but I was starting to think I would have to invent some kind of status for him, one way or another.

And had Aine really meant to keep Sion locked away until he grew old and died?

The thought sent a chill through me either way, and my pity for him only deepened.

When I led Sion toward the rear gate, a waiting carriage came into view. The same coachman as always was there for me today. He glanced once at Sion, then opened the carriage door as if nothing were amiss.

"You got the map?"

"Yes. It looks to be somewhere around Krevel Alley. Is that right?"

"Mm, more or less."

It rang a bell, so it was probably right. I had Sion climb in first, then got in myself, and the carriage slipped quietly out through the rear gate.

Ordinarily a maid would accompany me when I went looking at ateliers, but Sion would obviously hate that, so I had come out alone. Rita's face—half hurt, half relieved—was still vivid in my mind. The memory of her sighing in relief as she propped her chin by the window drew a little puff of laughter out of me.

Then I felt a gaze from across the carriage and turned my head. For some reason, Sion was staring straight at me.

"What's wrong? Feeling cramped?"

Thinking the carriage might be stifling him, I cracked the window. Wind rushed in through the gap and set my black hair fluttering. I tucked it behind my ear and looked at Sion again—and something was odd. His face had gone red. Worried he might be ill, I reached for his forehead.

The carriage jolted.

I lost my balance and tipped toward him, planting a hand on the wall at once so I wouldn't collide with him. Sion's widened eyes were right in front of mine. He looked startled, and I tried to pull back, but the road was rough enough that the carriage kept bouncing. With no other choice, I braced both hands against the wall to steady myself—and Sion was caught between them. Afraid I might have frightened him, I apologized at once.

"Sorry. The carriage shook."

"Ah..."

Sion couldn't seem to finish the thought. I studied him, then pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Strange. You don't have a fever."

I tilted my head.

"Why is your face so red?"

Sion's face was flushed as if it might burst at any moment. I watched him with concern until the carriage reached a smoother stretch, then straightened again. He had gone rigid, staring straight ahead. I looked at him—and my eyes went wide.

At some point, two wolf ears had pricked up atop his head.

"Sion, your ears..."

I'd never expected to see, in the flesh, something I'd only ever encountered in comics. Flustered, I pointed, and Sion hurriedly pressed the ears down. Only after a moment did they vanish. I sat back in my seat and asked, worried,

"Did I just make you feel threatened? You said you only transform when you sense danger."

It wasn't a full shift—only the ears—so maybe he'd only felt a little threatened?

I asked out of worry that I'd frightened him for no reason, but Sion couldn't bring himself to lift his head. He only murmured, in a small voice,

"It's nothing."

"Hmm. Is that so?"

If he said it wasn't, I couldn't press him any further, so I nodded. The blush that had spread all the way to his ears still worried me, but Sion looked as though he wanted to avoid the subject, and I didn't ask anything more.

Or was it just me? Why did the inside of the carriage feel so warm? It was autumn. To cool the heat, I opened the window a little wider, and cold air rushed in at once. And in that awkward silence, the carriage rolled on.

"We've arrived."

With those words, the coachman opened the door.

"I don't think the carriage can go any farther than this."

"You've worked hard. Wait here. Only Sion and I will go in."

At my words the coachman stepped back, and Sion and I headed deeper into the alley. Sure enough, an atelier set in a district of cheap rents sat tucked into a corner—the sort of place one would only find by getting lost.