They said the role was cursed.
But she wore it anyway.
Chapter One
The Beginning
Once upon a thread…
a girl was chosen to serve.
B-Line is not just a fashion line.
It is a story worn.
The Lady-in-Waiting Gown
A soft royal silhouette for the girl chosen to serve.
Designed with structure, romance, and quiet defiance.
60% Linen
40% Cotton
Some roles were never meant to be worn twice.
Each chapter of B-Line follows the rise of a girl no one expected to survive the court.
They don’t expect her to survive.
That’s why they chose her.
She doesn’t remember her name.
Only the stone.
The cold.
The blood under her nails.
She didn’t ask where she was going.
She didn’t ask for anything at all.
A maid brought her a dress.
Not a gift.
Not an honor.
Just another leash.
She put it on anyway.
She doesn’t pretend anymore.
The others cry where no one can hear.
They hope.
They kneel.
She doesn’t.
She eats slowly.
Speaks plainly.
Rolls her eyes.
If today is her last — fine.
Let someone else clean it up.
She didn’t ask for it.
She didn’t want it.
But when they brought it to her… folded, heavy, cold from the stones… she didn’t flinch.
The gown wasn’t a reward.
It was a warning.
The role that came with it had killed every girl before her.
But she put it on anyway.
And when they told her to bow,
she looked them in the eye instead.
Journal Entry
Day unknown.
Still alive.
This seems to disappoint several people.
The king called for me again this morning.
Not for tea.
Not for instruction.
Not even to scold me properly.
He wanted my opinion.
The court calls him terrifying.
The maids lower their eyes when he passes.
The guards stand straighter if he breathes too loudly.
And yet, in my experience, the “Mad King” is mostly a bored royal brat who asks questions he already knows the answer to.
Today he asked whether the council chamber should be painted blue.
I told him I did not care.
He smiled like I had given him a crown.
“You don’t care?” he asked.
“No.”
“It is my council chamber.”
“That makes it your problem.”
A servant dropped a spoon.
No one moved to pick it up.
The king leaned back in his chair, eyes bright with the sort of interest sane people tried not to inspire.
“Everyone else prefers blue.”
“Then ask everyone else.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“They lied.”
She looked at him.
He looked delighted.
This was the thing about him.
The whole court trembled under his silence, but he seemed most entertained when she gave him none of the fear he had been promised.
“You think I should choose another color,” he said.
“I think you already have.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
“What did I choose?”
“Green.”
His smile widened.
“Why?”
“Because you’re asking me while standing beside the green samples.”
For one moment, the room went still.
Then the king laughed.
Not politely.
Not softly.
A real laugh.
The council looked horrified.
She looked tired.
That was how it began.
Not with a dance.
Not with a promise.
Not with love.
With questions.
Small ones at first.
Which color?
Which flower?
Which seal?
Which treaty sounded the least pathetic?
The court thought he was testing her.
She thought he was avoiding his work.
Both were probably true.
He asked because everyone else praised him.
She answered because she did not care if he liked it.
And somehow, that became the most dangerous thing she could have given him.
Not obedience.
Not beauty.
Not fear.
An honest answer.