Adel Has Become a Trend
Adel has become a trend. It sounded like a strange thing to say, but it was true. People no longer saw her simply as the fearsome Grand Duchess of the North. The black horse galloping down the track. The way she wove through the inner gaps. The moment she crossed the finish line. Those scenes still lingered in everyone’s minds. And above all, the sight of Adel leaping over the fence from the stands and walking straight toward me. That was the moment being talked about most of all.
An act of offering up victory. At some point, people had begun to accept it as something rather magnificent, almost like a ritual. Dedicating one’s victory to their greatest patron. Revealing exactly who they had raced for. Publicly declaring whose name they had carried on their back to the win. It no longer looked like simple gratitude; it seemed like an act that elevated honor itself. It felt like a knight’s tale, like poetry, romantic. For whom had this victory been won? To whom was the glory offered? Who had been the one pushing that person forward?
Only a few days later, people began copying the behavior. A young noble who won a minor equestrian contest bowed his head to his father. A young rider who took first place in a friendly match approached his sponsor and bowed deeply, then accepted the sponsor’s handkerchief and tied it around his own arm. One noble youth, right after victory, dedicated his win to the young lady who had cheered the loudest for him. She hid her face behind her fan while the nobles around them laughed.
Victory had never belonged to one person alone. The one who prepared the horse, the one who provided the money, the ones who cheered, the one who called out the name—everything was intertwined. Publicly acknowledging all of it clearly looked like an act that raised one’s honor. For the rider, it was a chance to display loyalty and humility. For the sponsor, it was proof that they had recognized talent and nurtured it. For those watching, it was a brief but intense spark of romance.
And it didn’t stop there. Stories about northern-style riding attire began circulating everywhere. Young nobles showed special interest. The older aristocrats snorted in displeasure, but their children were already dispatching servants to the tailors. Black riding clothes. Short cloaks. High collars that wrapped the neck. Practical gloves. Silver decorative cords. Less ornate than the capital’s usual garments, yet far more comfortable to move in, with sharp, clean lines.
I sat in my room eating snacks and listening to the chatter the maids let slip.
“They say the young lady of House Lowell ordered a set of black riding attire.”
“Already?”
“Yes. She even asked for the silver decorative cords.”
Quick footsteps echoed down the corridor, and a maid announced carefully from outside the door.
“Your Highness, Viscountess Lac has arrived.”
“Come in!”
At my call the door opened. Elena entered with an expression full of excitement. Both her hands were loaded with a thick stack of documents.
“Your Highness.”
Elena offered a polite greeting.
“Are you well today as well?”
“Hello.”
Elena sat down beside me as if it were the most natural thing in the world and unfolded her papers.
“Which design looks best to you, Your Highness?”
I looked at the booklet she held out. A small silver-feather emblem was embossed on the cover, and beneath it neat lettering read:
Northern-Style Riding Attire Special Pictorial
I stared at the cover for a moment.
“What is this?”
I turned it over and over as though examining some rare curiosity. I could feel the maids leaning in to listen. Elena caught my intent and answered with a bright smile, playing along perfectly.
“It’s called a pictorial.”
“A pictorial?”
I deliberately tilted my head.
“What’s that?”
“A booklet that shows photographs of the clothes actually being worn.”
Elena smiled gently.
“It lets you see at a glance what the outfit looks like, what sort of atmosphere it creates when worn, and in which poses it appears most beautiful.”
This was different from the usual approach. Though photographs had been used before, most simply displayed the garments alone. Even that had been considered unusual; illustrations were the norm. Photography itself still carried a negative reputation. It was too honest. For nobles with plenty to hide, it was apparently poison. Not every aristocrat had grown comfortable with it yet. Portraits were tradition—an artist’s careful, time-consuming work that displayed a house’s dignity, wealth, and artistic discernment. The painter’s subjectivity usually beautified the subject. A photograph, however, captured reality in an instant. No effort, no time, just a click. Nobles found that vulgar. Especially when their own faces were used for commerce; they considered it an insult. That petty pride, honor, and dignity—they attached endless meaning even to a single photograph.
“We photographed the Grand Duchess of the North wearing the attire.”
“Then what makes it good?”
“Rather than simply laying the clothes out, this shows the atmosphere they create when actually worn.”
Elena tapped the cover lightly.
“You can see the color, the lines, the decorations, and the posture all at once. It’s far easier to understand than looking at the garments alone.”
She smiled as she turned the pages.
“It will be quicker if you see for yourself.”
The first page showed Adel in the most basic black riding attire. The jacket had a clean, fitted waist, and the high collar rising to her neck gave a neat, disciplined impression. She stood half-leaning against her horse, one hand lightly holding the reins while the other fussed with the cuff of her glove.
The second page featured a deep navy outfit. Softer than black, yet the lines were even sharper. A short cloak draped her shoulders, its inner lining embroidered with delicate silver thread. Adel had one knee resting on the saddle as she adjusted her boot. Her head was slightly lowered, a few strands of her bound silver-gray hair slipping down beside her cheek. Gloved fingers loosely held the bootlace.
Next page. A gray riding suit the color of winter mist. Short fur trim lined the inside of the collar, and a slim belt circled her waist. Adel sat in a chair with her legs lightly crossed, reins resting across her knees. Her back was straight, but the crossed-leg posture made her look far more relaxed and leisurely than usual. The long line of her legs extending beneath the jacket hem especially drew the eye.
I turned the page. This time she wore a short black cloak over the riding attire. The cloak ended at mid-thigh, its neck secured with a silver cord. The photo caught her in the exact moment of fastening it. Her head was turned the slightest bit, fingers brushing just beneath the collar. The motion made her neckline stand out beautifully. The neck half-hidden by the high collar. The neat jawline flowing beneath it. Slanting light made her skin appear even paler.
The following page showed a more active design. A jacket tailored closely from shoulder to waist. Black boots rising to the thigh. Gloves fitted tightly to the wrist. Adel sat mounted, body twisted halfway around. The fitted jacket clearly defined her waist, and her upright posture made her back look perfectly straight.
What was this feeling? The more it was concealed, the more it tugged at my attention. I absently picked up another snack and ate it.
“When did you even take these?”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“She gave permission more easily than expected.”
I eyed Elena suspiciously. Confess.
Seeing my look, she lowered her brows as if wronged.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Did you give Adel candy too?”
“Do you really think the Grand Duchess can be bought with candy?”
I remembered the way Adel’s face had completely melted when I handed her some.
“It seems possible.”
“That only works for Your Highness.”
“Why?”
Elena smoothly changed the subject.
“I paid a proper price.”
She held back a laugh for a moment, then added quietly,
“And I simply told her that His Highness Noel would like it.”
“So what? What does it matter if I like it?”
“Well. Why indeed?”
“Tell me!”
“Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be something I may speak of.”
Cheap. I turned my eyes back to the booklet.
This particular riding outfit differed slightly from the rest. The color was black. The high collar wrapping the neck, the neat sleeves reaching the wrists, the silver decorative cords—none of those elements strayed far from the previous pages. The issue was the lines. The clothes clung far too closely to the body. There was almost no looseness anywhere. It was labeled as practical wear designed not to hinder movement, yet somehow practicality was not what caught the eye first. The jacket, molded tightly to the upper body without a single unnecessary inch, firmly traced the line from shoulder to waist. Most blatant were the pants that embraced the lower body without any gap. The leather pads reinforcing the inner thighs—meant to endure friction—paradoxically emphasized the soft curves of that region even more. The leather boots that tightened all the way to the knee mercilessly hugged the graceful line of the calf. The heavy sense of restraint that came when the zipper was pulled fully up made the legs appear straighter and more taut.
My face flushed on its own. I immediately pushed the booklet away a little.
“This one.”
My voice came out oddly.
“I think we should remove this one.”
“Huh? Why?”
“It’s strange.”
“What part feels strange to you?”
“Just.”
“Just?”
“Yeah. It’s just strange.”
Elena didn’t press further and simply nodded.
“Understood. Then I’ll take it out.”
I turned my gaze aside. My face was still burning.
“So shall I take the booklet back with me?”
When Elena reached for it, I hastily clutched the booklet to my chest.
“Hmm~.”