There is a mirror in her home.
She's never had a mirror in her home before. She's never had the opportunity to walk by at a whim, to look at herself, to see how her hair falls after a long, hot day or to check if there's dirt on her face. But Aleksei has a mirror, so Agnieszka has a mirror, and now she's looking in that mirror, with a hairdresser and a tailor behind her, fussing over her sleeves and her long black locks.
"... it's not very ladylike," fusses the woman, and the tailor is unhappy, too, and for a moment she thinks she's made a mistake and hired some of Rhaena's stooges, but that's soon over as the tailor makes a couple more cuts and measurements and she's no longer looking at Agnieszka Kaczmarek the dirty farm-girl -- she's looking at Agnieszka River the Respectable Lady. Not one of Rhaena's respectable ladies, no; this dress doesn't scream feminine fashion, but power. This is Charlotte Arryngton at a cocktail party. This is Rosamaria Rameriz at a swordfight. This is dark blue with solid lines and silver touches at the sleeves and buttons; a skirt with a slight petticoat underneath, but not large enough to significantly obstruct her movement. This is a proper swordbelt set above it, and the skirts hung so they didn't interfere too much with her scabbard. Quietly, she smooths the fabric over her stomach and watches as the hairdresser shows her how to draw her hair back, curl it and set it with pins and let it fall.
And money passes hands to the tailor, and they leave, and when she's alone she hardly recognizes herself. She breathes in, feeling dizzy for a moment.
I had no idea. I had no idea I could look like that.
And --
Two can play your game, Rhaena dear, she thinks.