#obi's wearing buckskins

[sabraeal]

Desert & Reward: Chapter 7

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Obiyuki AU Bingo Regency AU

Obi had been barely more than a boy when he’d put his back to Wistal, the only home he’d ever known halfway worth the name, and followed the ache in his chest north. North, to snows and stone, to warm furs and cold nights, to the girl who shone as clear as the stars above Lyrias, and was just as far out of his reach.

He’d missed it then; those months at the palace were an endless summer, a respite in a life that could only be describe in the kindest terms as a tumult. He’d missed warm breeze and sweet wine, the long rambling strolls Miss had dragged him on, the sweat on his skin after another spar with Kiki and Sir.

He doesn’t remember when it stopped. One day he’d longed for Wistal, and the next day -- the next day Lyrias was home.

Obi’s been back in the palace for two days, and already he’s got a short list of reasons why he can’t wait to put his back to it again. Number one would be this buzzing behind his brow; a tension that won’t break no matter how much he ignores it.

Number two would be these buckskins, which still cling to him like they’re painted on and threaten to tear with ever step. Heaven forfend he drops something on the floor; no matter how much of a master this maestro is, there’s no way the seams would do anything but give up the ghost the second he more to any attitude that wasn’t upright. That he made it through lunch was a miracle.

Number three would be everything else involved with this whole con, starting and ending with Izana Wisteria and his plans.

Yori leaps to his feet when Obi flings open the door to his chambers, dark eyes darting nervously over his shoulder, out into the hall, as if at any point he’s expecting Obi to produce yet another royal sibling from thin air as his dearest companion.

Obi can’t blame him; with the number of royal family members and retinue that’s paraded around him the last few days, he can only imagine the boy’s letters back home have seemed more fiction than fact. Oh, wouldn’t Morel love to hear how the prince stood up for his lord at his wedding. He’d break out the good brandy for news like that.

He huffs out a laugh. At least someone will be happy with the arrangement.

“M-my lord!” Yori yelped. “May I --?”

“What do you wear to a marriage meeting?”

That stops his valet in his tracks, blinking at him like he’s just walked from a dark room into the sun. “Sir?”

Ah, right, this isn’t -- it’s not a marriage meeting. That would be Master’s garden stroll with Miss Kiki, or even the leisurely tour of Pavilion Street he had taken with Knight-dono’s too-accommodating sister. This wasn’t about compatibility, about liking each other --

Oh no, they were far beyond things like that. This was about contracts, about trickery with words.

“I mean, a...a contract meeting, for marriage,” he clarifies, which only stymies Yori further. “You know, legal stuff.”

“But, sir,” Yori presses, brow furrowed with far more thought than the situation warrants. “Shouldn’t you have handled that at your engagement?”

The words, “My what?” burst from him before he can think better of it.

“Your engagement,” Yori says, as if he is being obtuse. “To the Mistress.”

Good thing His Majesty wants him as a lord, he’s clearly losing his edge as a spy. “The Mistress? You mean my mistress?”

“Isn’t that who you are marrying?” His valet stares him down in consternation. “How don’t you --? Oh!” He raised a hand to his mouth, face flushing a painful red. “I’m sorry, my lord, I forgot --”

That I am your boss? Obi just manages to keep down.

“--That you weren’t, well, you know...” Yori lowers his voice to a whisper. “A lord then.”

“Oh.” Obi blinks. That is...a fortuitous twist to this. “Yes. That’s...true. I would not have been. When I...”

When he proposed to Miss, before he left to collect his esteemed reward. Which he hadn’t, because she had been with Master. Which none of his staff knew because -- because --

He’s been so obvious. His chest feels three sizes too tight just thinking about it. If they had seen it, then what had His Majesty --?

“You might have told Mrs Carre what you were about,” Yori informs him primly, hands setting on his hips. “She had been hoping for a wedding at Cacciatore.”

“Had she?” he muttered, wishing there was some convenient furniture to lean on. Of course, he’d told them -- and they had all called her -- and Mrs Carre had asked were Miss would sleep --

“And don’t you leave me to tell her, my lord,” his valet warned. “She’ll take a strip out of me for letting it happen! And --”

“The question, Yori --” Obi sweeps a hand to the wardrobe -- “is what do I wear?”

“Oh!” His man considers him for a long moment. “Something comfortable.” He hurries over to the wardrobe with a grimace. “It’s my understanding these take...time.”

Obi let out a sigh. “I’m sure that will be an understatement.”

Shidnote is waiting for him when he swings open the door, luxuriating in the jamb with a casual lean. He lifts those angled eyebrows of his, and Obi can feel his blood pressure spike.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asks --

And Obi slams the door shut again.

“I do know where His Majesty’s study is,” Obi grouses as they take yet another turn through the halls. “I don’t need a guide.”

Shidnote’s mouth take a bend that Obi can only qualify as annoying, and he says, “Funny, seems Izana thinks that if he left you to your own devices, you’d throw yourself out the nearest window.”

Obi hunches, glowering at him with an intensity that had caused more than a few men of his -- albeit, brief -- acquaintance to suddenly find other countries to be in.

Shidnote just laughs.

Fine. His Majesty and Shidnote and the rest of their set can believe what they like -- the scrawny boy prickling with knives that volunteered himself into Master’s service would have done just that, would have thrown himself off the nearest balcony any made for any port leading away from Clarines -- but Obi...

He hasn’t been hovering around Makiri’s inner circle to learn nothing. He certainly has more of a working notion about arranged marriages involve, and Miss --

Well, he might make his escape, but he knows right where Miss would end up too.

“Don’t look so sour.” Shidnote grins in his infuriatingly rakish way. “I’m not here to bring you.” He jerks his head down the hall. “She is.”

They turn the last corner, and Her Majesty awaits, a slim hand pressed to her round belly, radiant.

“I’m afraid, Sir Obi,” she murmured softly, a smile softly curling her lips. “You’ll have to suffer being waylaid one last time.”

“Well.” His mouth is so dry he doesn’t know how he manages to speak. “This seems like it will be more pleasant than any of the others.”

Shidnote let out bark of a laugh. “Well, that just shows how little you know her.”

To her credit, Her Majesty does not bully him into some side room or direct him toward some cleverly laid detour, timed perfectly to allow her to discuss what she wishes. Instead, she wraps one delicate hand around his elbow, and guides him into a walk slow enough for snails to pass.

Shidnote falls in behind them, taking great care to pretend they’re going at a normal pace. Obi takes his cue that he should do the same, putting on the expression of a man quite enjoying a leisurely stroll, and not a knight vaguely concerned that his queen will trip if he walks faster than a crawl.

“I take it that you’ve never done this before,” Her Majesty asks, somehow making even a question sound like a matter of fact. He wonders whether this was a skill she had in Lyrias as well, honed to a point, or if this is part of His Majesty’s influence. Maybe both; an inclination only bearing fruit now that it’s been suitably encouraged.

Obi grimaces. This is treading dangerously close to speculating about their bedroom, and any dog knows better than to chase rabbits into their warrens.

“Been married?” It’s a better answer than, walked to His Majesty’s study? Rumor has it that Her Majesty has a sense of humor, but Obi isn’t about to bet his head on hearsay.

“I would never presume to know that much of you,” Her Majesty demures.

Ah, so she is funny. He would have never thought His Majesty the type.

“I meant a contract,” Her Majesty clarifies. “Certainly whatever your...marital status before, you hadn’t needed a clerical representative involved.”

He blinks. “Well, I signed one when I started working for Master.”

“Oh?” Her delicate brows lift.

Shidnote grunts in surprised, “Did you read it?”

Obi grimaces. Therein lies the rub, as these noble types say. “Ah...mostly.”

He’d at least read the part about being paid and having food and accommodations provided. Those had been the important bits, after all. And even though he may not have known Master, not really, he’d seemed trustworthy enough. More than any of his previous employers, at least.

“Mostly?” Shidnote shrills; an overreaction when everything turned out just fine. “You didn’t even--?”

Her Majesty holds up a hand, drawing the knight’s words up short. “There is not enough time to discuss Marquis Conti’s questionable business practices.”

It takes him what feels like a whole minute to realize she’s talking about him. “Hey, that’s not --”

“What is more pressing now is that you do not cede ground once we are in negotiations,” she tells him, firm. “No matter how tempted you may be.”

“Cede ground?” he echoes as Shidnote steps ahead, reaching for the handles to His Majesty’s study. “Negotiations? We?”

Her Majesty smiles gently, patting his arm. “Just leave everything to me, Sir Obi.”

The thing about informal negotiations when they involved royals was: they always formal. Obi might be able to dress down, just wearing his usual shirt and trousers, so long as they didn’t have holes -- that Yori could find, at least -- but they still have to wait for an official announcement to be made, and for His Majesty to graciously accept them into his presence.

“You’d think being his wife would get you past all this red tape,” Obi mutters, before he can think better of it. “Do you have to do this for bed, too?”

It takes him only a moment to realize what he said -- what he was asking -- and in a fit of blind panic, he hopes she hasn’t heard.

“My husband and I usually enter his bedchamber together,” she tells him conversationally, as if he had only asked her about the weather, or the menu for luncheon. She catches his gaze from the corner of her eyes, and her mouth tips in a sly cant. “The thing about rules, Sir Obi, is that there is usually a way to confound them. If you are creative enough.”

“He says you can come in,” Shidnote tells them, leaning out the doors. “Guess the royal couch isn’t too comfortable.”

Obi stares, but Her Majesty only smiles. “My husband is far too wise to ever find out.”

Shidnote lets out a bark of a laugh and throws open the doors. Obi takes a breath as he steps inside, and --

Oh, he is -- he’s not ready for this.

Yori might have dressed him for comfort, but Miss -- Miss looks stunning, her hair pulled back into a tail and laid carefully over a shoulder, her gown cut just as Her Majesty’s, only somehow, when she wears it, it seems --

“Sir Obi,” Her Majesty murmurs, tapping her fingers lightly on his forearm. “Please remember, we are not to cede ground.”

He swallows. Right, of course. He leads the queen over to her seat, sitting beside her, and dares another look at his miss.

Their eyes meet.

His heart sinks to somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. Cede ground? Her Majesty doesn’t need to worry about details like that.

Not when he’s going to serve his heart up on a platter.

A clerk sits at His Majesty’s desk, sandy-haired and squirrelly, a single long finger tap-tap-tapping as Their Majesties speak. Without the king behind it, the room seems -- tilted, wrong, as if Obi’s walked straight through a looking glass to the other side. Without His Majesty’s presence, the man is just a body in the chair, a puppet slouched and awaiting a hand to move it.

Obi jolts upright. Thinking like that...makes it sound as if he likes the king.

Now there’s a sobering thought. Hopefully, he’ll never have cause to have it again.

The clerk shifts in the chair, switching his finger for his pen as he waits for Their Majesties to get on with the negotiation. Obi agrees; if he has to hear another dissertation on the precise nature of is, he’ll negotiate himself right out the window. Miss too, for good measure. They could both skip the country; sail straight across the sea to Viande, or maybe even paddle out to Ivora.

Anything but this.

He sneaks a glance at Miss, watching the way her eyes glass over, staring sightlessly out the great windows before them, and he thinks she might go for it, might gleefully take his hand and leap --

If we leave you alone, Kiki’s voice wryly reminds him, Shirayuki will find some way to get you to elope.

Her jerks his gaze away, dragging it back to -- to somewhere safer. Somewhere he’s not tempted to think about that.

The clerk seems safe enough. Obi squints. “Have we met?”

The man nearly drops his pen. “Excuse me?”

He takes in the artful swept hair, the lazily aristocratic face. “You look familiar.”

“Obi.” Her Majesty lays a quelling hand on his arm, voice hardly louder than a murmur. “It’s bad manners to harass the help.”

“The duration of the marriage before legal rights.” His Majesty’s voice is too loud, now that Obi’s thoughts aren’t drowning it out. His legs cross languidly at the knees, giving the air of a careless lounge, as if he were entirely bored of this conversation he’s been dragging out for what seems like hours.

Obi glances at the clock. A half hour. He has died, and this is purgatory.

“Can we agree upon that?” His Majesty’s eyebrows lift in question, although his smile says that he already knows the answer. “Five years minimum.”

“Five years?” Obi yelps, darting a helpless look at Miss. She won’t meet his eyes, her body twisted away, face flushed and chin tucked down as if the giant globe between them is the most riveting part of the room.

“I believe,” Her Majesty drawls, shooting him a warning glance, “that Conti finds the duration too long.”

Forever would be less than enough, but Miss --

Miss’s heart doesn’t leap when he enters the room, doesn’t wonder how close she can come without him pulling away. She doesn’t compose words in advance so she won’t show more of her feelings than is welcome. She doesn’t love him.

Obi can’t stop this marriage, but he can make sure she’s not in it for any longer than she needs to be.

“One year,” he creaks out. “One year and she can go.”

Her Majesty turns to him, soft. “Obi,” she sighs, resting her hand on his. His fingers flex, only just managing to keep flat against his thigh. He’s not use to it, to gentleness. “You cannot pick so short a time. You may be a man in love, but you are a marquis, and she is no-one.”

“She’s everything,” he snaps, and oh, the way Miss is looking at him, so lost --

“If I were in love, I mean.” Every word is like a kick to the ribs. “I’d think she was everything.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Her Majesty meets his eyes; he’s grateful, it’s a safer place to keep his gaze than Miss. “But Tanbarun will have suspicions.”

Obi couldn’t care less what Tanbarun thinks, what anyone thinks, but --

But he has to. The king has to believe that Miss is well and truly married, or else all of this is for nothing.

“Two years,” Her Majesty proposes. “And entitled to half his properties and income, should the marriage fail after that time.”

Miss surges forward in her chair. “I don’t want any of that. Please.”

His Majesty shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes with two fingers. “Lady Shirayuki, I understand the sentiment, but do you think Shenezard will believe that your feelings have eclipsed your pragmatism?”

Miss sat back, eyeing the king warily. “I suppose...no.”

“Quite.” He fixes her with a look laden with meaning, and Obi wonders if they had exchange words before his arrival, too. “And even if you were too overcome, your bridegroom would doubtlessly wish for you to be seen to, even if a parting was...inamicable.”

She shrunk back, cheeks flush. “Oh.”

“Three,” His Majesty offers, louder, a counter-proposal. “Enough to seem incautious, but not so much to be foolish. A man blinded by love, confident in the match.”

Three years. Shorter than they were even in Lyrias. But it’s also forever, if his miss is unhappy.

He looks to her now, mouth too dry to manage more than, “Miss...?”

“I...” She glances at him from the corner of her yes, cheeks painfully red. “That would be agreeable. For Entaepode.”

“For you,” His Majesty corrects, so gently. “Two months ago, you would have had no inkling of your new position. It should be a surprise, even now.”

“Oh,” she breathes, small beside him. “Right.”

“Three years and half his titles and properties,” the clerk repeats, his fastidious voice a bucket of water upon the proceedings. “Should I add a proviso about lessening the amount, if she comes into her own fortune?”

“No.” His Majesty shakes his head. “They would not have any idea of Lady Shirayuki’s...sudden windfall.”

“They do know that Shirayuki’s father had been disinherited,” Her Majesty mentions, as if it were merely a curiosity, and not the basis of yet another debate. Her pale eyes spark as they meet her husband’s and Obi settles in for the long haul. “So it would not be out of the realm of possibility that Sir Obi might have considered his wife’s potential status, if he was a pragmatic man. Or perhaps...optimistic.”

Or ambitious is what she doesn’t say, but Obi can hear it loud and clear in the silence.

His Majesty straightens in his seat, mouth curling at a corner in pleasant anticipation. “We have already stated that the man in question is in love to the point of incaution. To leave the door open for shrewdness might lead to speculation.”

“However he is in the employ of the royal family of Clarines,” she counters, leaning ever so slightly closer. “Or, more accurately, he was before his elevation. And it has never been said that the king of Clarines hires fools.”

“An excellent point,” His Majesty allows, “though it will take more than flattery to cause one to forget that even a clever man may have too much pride in his intuition.”

“You make my point for me, husband,” Her Majesty nearly purrs. “For could not a man be blinded to his love’s ambition but not his own?”

The room is getting entirely too warm. “Wife --”

“Ah, I recognize you now,” Obi interrupts, his gaze fixed on the clerk. The clerk who now looks quite worried indeed. Good. “Yuuha.”

Miss’s head jerks up at the name, cheeks flushed.

“My goodness me.” Obi’s lips peel back in a grin that shows all his teeth. “It’s been a long while. What, four years? five?”

Yuuha’s mouth pulls into a thin line -- but sweat beads across his brow too. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Is that so?”

The clerk lifts up his nose, attempting to look down it. “I don’t associate with those beneath my station.”

“And yet look who’s sitting in front of the desk,” Obi remarks, airy, hooking his hands behind his head. Yuuha goes as red as a cherry, the crowning glory of a just desert. “Looks like you picked a winning personal policy there.”

“If you are quite done harassing the clerk,” His Majesty sighs, “I think we have more pressing details to discuss. Lady Shirayuki, did you have --?”

“Children,” Miss blurts out, face as flushed as her hair. “I mean -- heirs. There should -- should be one for Tanbarun.”

Obi stares.

“That’s -- that’s what marriage agreements look like, don’t they?” She turns to the king, eyes wide, voice wavering in desperation. “Obi asks for an heir for Conti, and I ask for an heir for Entaepode.”

“Yes,” His Majesty allows, looking far too amused. “A good consideration. Save that two months ago, you had no property to require an heir for. Unless,” he adds, eyebrows raised, “there is something about the positions in the pharmacy of which I am not aware.”

Her skin turns painfully red. “Ah. Oh. Right. I didn’t...this is all very confusing.”

“Of course it is,” His Majesty soothes, completely insincere. “However, it is a good proviso to discuss now.” He fixes his gaze to Obi with a smile that gives him chills. “After all, Tanbarun will certainly request it, when they hear of your marriage.”

Obi grits his teeth. “We can worry about that bridge when it’s burning.”

“Ah,” Her Majesty sighs, eyeing him with amusement. “Just the sort of sentiment I would have expected from a marquis.”

“At least this one,” her husband agrees.

Obi’s mouth pulls thin. “We should be more concerned with what Tanbarun will expect to see now, not -- not later.”

“Of course, of course.” His Majesty smiles. “One step at a time. Please take note,” he tells the clerk, not once taking his eyes off Obi, “that Marquis Conti would like to discuss heirs at a later date.”

Obi doesn’t bother to hide his glare. That was not what he’d meant.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Yuuha replies blandly. “Should I ask for it to be scheduled?”

His Majesty’s smile glints like a knife just before the stab. “If you would.”

The man nods. “We’ll be in touch, my lord.”

“Great,” he seethes. The clerk chances a glance at him before his gaze flutters away, trying to hide his fear in the business of paperwork. It’s at least a small balm to his pride.

“No rush,” the king tells him, far too pleased. “Just please be sure not to precipitate negotiations with any...material considerations.”

Miss blinks, confused. “What do you --oh.” She coughs, cheeks flushed. “Oh.”

Obi takes a deep breath, reminding himself that regicide is a capital crime, no matter how much a man may deserve it. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“I’ve found, my dear marquis, that it is best to be prepared for any eventuality,” His Majesty drawls, “no matter how probable one finds it.”

His tone, coupled with the pleased curve of his smile, implies he finds it very probable indeed.

Obi’s fingers dig into the wooden arms of his chair. “I--”

A hand comes down hard on his thigh, and Her Majesty’s smile is thin as she says, “I think we have spent enough time on hypotheticals, have we not? Let us get back to the matter at hand.”

His Majesty grins. “I must yield to the superior wisdom of my wife. Mister Yuuha, if you would read back the terms?”

It’s as the clerk begins his bored drone that Her Majesty loosens her grip on him, leaning in to murmur, “Do not start fights you cannot win, sir.”

A laugh burst from him, soft and bitter. “Why start now?”

[onedivinemisfit]

During my recovery, this has been my biggest project, no kidding. I looked but couldn’t find Obi’s witcher!AU body template so I sketched some Bruxa!yuki designs instead. <w< I’ll finalize and colour them when I’m well, or so I hope, unless I forget XD

Pls forgive any mistakes I’m not 100% yet. ^^; 

Explanations below the cut~

AnS (c) Akizuki Sorata Witcher (c) Andrzej Sapkowski TW3 models (c) CDPR Art: Me

Disclaimer: I am not a tailor and as such all my opinions are based on preference and evt pushing rules in my favour XD

The main idea with her wardrobe was to underline that whatever she’s doing, Shirayuki is feminine, and wants to present feminine, hence the skirts and ribbons and embroidery. She’s also a person fond of utility, so belts, pockets, and layers that can be added or removed as she fancied, was also an important facet to add. But she’s also bruxae, monster species, so she’s got a few blind spots, so to speak, regarding what is and isn’t proper to wear in human society. But most of all, her clothes make it easy for her to use her bruxa powers to move around swiftly, silently, and with purpose

Around half of these were referenced from the witcher 3 game, with me picking my favourite garb, and what made more sense for her in different situations. 

1. Huntress Outfit - this one I made myself, using only some of the basic wardrobe notes from tw3. I’ve a softness for overdresses/kaftans with splits, especially if they’re combined with tights/buckskins. Shirayuki is a poor bruxa living in the woods outside a small human settlement, so she doesn’t have access to a tailor other than on market day, or when peddlers arrive, hence she often has to redesign old/too-small clothing for new purposes. Another point was to reinforce her sleeves, to make it easier to brush away branches and undergrowth, and adding the Skelligan waist shawl, a gift from her half-sister, as recurring themes.

2. Winter Outfit - another I made myself, because I was dying to design something that included a sheepskin jerkin. The waist shawl helps redefine the jerkin and give it a feminine twist, and the wrapped sleeves both reduce noise and keeps her cuffs from leaking precious warmth. The wool tunic could have been a dress, but I wanted to focus on showing off her fur-tucked winter boots and knitted long socks. Shirayuki probably knitted them herself.

3. High Summer Outfit - another self-made design. Made so as to underline her non-humanness, borrowing heavily from witcher elven aesthetics, with lots of exposed skin, crossed fabric, and asymmetrical cuts. This is what she wears when the weather *won’t* allow you to dress decently or you get purged by the sun, basically. Again, since Shirayuki’s often short of fabric, a lot of refashioning going on. 

4. Commoner Outfit - A very basic woman’s dress, very presentable, very respectable, especially since Shirayuki is trying to sell the lie that she’s a normal human woman. It’s her go-to outfit for visiting human settlements, or for performing simple chores around the house, such as cooking, sewing, or spinning. Things that keep her in or around her homestead, and not gallivanting in the woods at midnight looking for prey.

5. Relaxing Outfit - merely a dusty day dress pulled over her nightgown, for those chilly nights where Shirayuki doesn’t want to undress for bed until she’s halfway under the covers. When the chores are done and all that’s left to do is sip a cup of blood, read a book beside the hearth and wait for Ryuu to return from his late night wandering, she likes to shed all those layers and relax.

6. Throw-together Outfit - referenced from the game, almost entirely (Keira Metz’ witch model) - save the shoes and headband. After the loss of her home and her more presentable clothing thanks to witcher Obi (who will later admit that yes he does in fact owe her a new dress... and blouse... and apron...) this outfit was assembled through raiding an abandoned witch’s hut. Anything that could suffice as clothing, basically, even the old curtains. Shirayuki doesn’t personally care that some of her *assets* are pretty much on display, but she would like some linen anyway, the cotton does chafe a bit. Aside from the pearl necklace, nothing she’s wearing actually belonged to her in the first place.

7. Formal Commoner Outfit - reffed from the game, (Keira Metz’ second model) the shoes being the sole exception. A dress for special occassions, perhaps May Day, Equinox celebrations, etc. Not that Shirayuki often dared participate in such events, due to the amount of people who show up even in small villages to throw tankards together and dance around bonfires. But she does pilfer the dress from the abandoned witch’s hut anyway, thinking maybe, afterall, since it’s so pretty and it had matching sleeves to go with it... keeping it wasn’t such a dumb idea. 

8. Pants Outfit - reffed from the game (juggler npc) A cross between a traveler and a city dweller, a light-weight yet very elegant outfit for strolling in the human cities. The top is presentable enough that she doesn’t look poor as a pauper, while the pants give the impression of someone on the move, a stranger. It also provides the most comfortable riding experience, the few times she does ride, as she has no need for a lady’s saddle.

9. High-Class Outfit - reffed from the game/one of my favourite tw3 modders, (New Sorceress models by Roksa) I only added the shoes and circlet. When Zen has the dress made for her, it is by FAR the most expensive thing she’s ever worn. Not a single thread of the dress isn’t well-made, the dyes are the brightest and most even-coloured, and the silk is light as a touch on her skin. While the dress itself is a demure, feminine dream, what sets the ensemble apart are the dark cat’s eye gems, just hinting at Shirayuki’s darker secrets. They’re set in gold, for obvious, unspoken reasons, as she reacts to silver much like being set on fire...

10. Evening Outfit - reffed from the game, I just changed the necklace (Ida Eméan’s Gwent card art) another very expensive dress, but surprisingly one that Shirayuki tolerates better. No stiff, itchy velvet, no heavy damask, just sheer silk with gold thread (again for reasons obvious to a bruxa) some simple sleeves, and a chain of stones, no gilded jewellry that could empty a bank vault if sold to the right people. She probably takes a fancy to this dress while attempting to woo a certain witcher, which explains the understated beauty, the most daring of cuts, one that screams “look at me, only me” and the simple-at-a-glance design. Much like Shirayuki herself.

11. Skellige Outfit - inspired by the viking-esque game design for Skellige fashion, this dress is for when Shirayuki and her family stay in the Isles, following her sister’s suggestion. A dress that signifies the matron head of a household with its pewter clasps and apron, follows Skellige fashion demanding you wear a shawl with your clan colors (Shirayuki, although clan-less, was given one by Torou) and layers. And armguards. And a split overdress. To show that this is Shirayuki’s choice wear afterall.