The corridor outside Regina's chambers was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that pressed on the ears until even breathing felt intrusive. Paige stood before me, her posture soldier-straight, her silver-white hair pulled into the regulation-tight ponytail she'd spawned with. It made her look more like an officer preparing for inspection than a maid about to meet a bored noble girl with a taste for games.
Which is exactly why I stopped her.
"Sit," I ordered, tugging her toward the stool by the wall.
She blinked at me. "Why?"
"Because," I said, gathering the shimmering strands of her hair, "if you walk in there looking like a cadet fresh from parade ground, Regina will smell the lie before you open your mouth. You're supposed to be a maid, not a marshal."
Her brow furrowed, but she obeyed, stiff as a statue. My fingers worked automatically—braiding, weaving, pinning. The System hummed in the back of my head, feeding me snippets of memory, old flashes of hairstyle diagrams from books I'd skimmed and promptly forgotten. Muscle memory without the memory.
Efficient, the System noted. Practical deduction plus aesthetics. Impressive.
"Also annoying," I muttered aloud, tightening a ribbon at the braid's base. The crown of silver gleamed under torchlight, regal and soft, reshaping her severity into something closer to grace.
"I don't need to meet her," Paige said suddenly, eyes fixed ahead. "I could hide. Or return to stasis. Vanish until you need me again."
"You could," I admitted, tying the ribbon into a neat bow. "But that's worse. Regina's like a bloodhound with nothing better to do. If she finds you hiding, she'll assume I've been lying. And if she decides I'm lying, she'll flip the board just to watch me scramble."
Paige shifted. "So you'd rather gamble by showing her?"
"Better she learns through me, where I control the story, than stumble on you by accident."
She nodded slowly. "Smart. But risky. She may want to keep me. Or use me."
I gave a half-smile. "She keeps everything else. Secrets. Trinkets. Names. Why not a pawn?"
Paige glanced at me then, and for the first time since she'd spawned, her severe expression softened. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For giving me one—a name. Paige feels… less disposable than H2."
The words snagged something in my chest.
"You're welcome," I managed, avoiding her gaze. "But don't let it get to your head."
She smiled anyway, serene and knightly, like a sworn retainer pledging her sword. "I will live up to your expectations, my lady."
Gods. Her chivalry made me feel like I was running a cult.
---
The door to Regina's room creaked open at my knock.
She was exactly as I'd expected—lounging like a queen without a throne, mismatched eyes gleaming with lazy amusement. A leather-bound book lay discarded at her side, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. She sipped rose tea with absent grace, as if every gesture were a performance.
And in her other hand? A delicate shortbread cookie, bitten halfway through.
Of course. Regina von Edelstein would interrogate me the way others sampled pastries—slow, deliberate, and with relish.
Paige and I sat on her bed, side by side, like children hauled before the headmistress. I felt absurdly aware of how much this looked like a guilty tableau. Regina didn't even speak at first, letting silence stretch, letting my nerves tighten.
Finally, she exhaled, her voice slicing through the quiet like a blade lifting from its sheath.
"So…" Her gaze flicked between us, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. "What's this?"
Right. Showtime.
I cleared my throat, painfully aware of how dry it was. "You said it yourself—I'm not normal. Turns out, I have this… ability. To summon people. She's one of them."
I carefully avoided words like System, pawn, or scholar's mate. Those belonged to me alone. Better to let Regina draw her own conclusions. Better to keep her guessing.
Her eyes narrowed, catching every twitch, every pause. "She looks like you."
"Yeah," I said flatly. "There's that too."
"Is she a twin?"
"No."
"A clone?"
"No."
Her eyes glinted with mischief. "A cursed mirror you kissed?"
I almost choked. "What—no! Gods, definitely no!"
Her laughter was low and quiet, a predator's chuckle at prey that had tripped over its own feet. She leaned back, savoring another bite of her cookie as though tasting my discomfort.
"So you want me to hide her," she said, voice soft but edged. "After everything in town, after all the games we've played, you still hand me this little gift of leverage. I'd think you'd hate me by now."
And there it was. The blade beneath the lace.
I forced myself to meet her gaze, steady. "I don't trust easily. But you already know enough to be dangerous. If someone else found out about Paige first…" I let the words trail off like smoke. The implication was enough.
Regina tilted her head, eyes glittering. "Smart girl. You're learning how to play."
Her tongue brushed the crumb from her lip, deliberate, mocking. She set her teacup down, silence hanging like the final beat before a verdict.
Then, with a sigh far too dramatic to be genuine, she waved her hand. "Fine. I'll keep your secret."
Paige straightened beside me, instinctively formal. "Thank you, Lady Regina."
Regina gave her a bored little wave, mismatched eyes already sliding back toward her tea. "Whatever. You're prettier than most of the maids. Keep Luna from dying. Try not to bore me."
Relief threatened to slip out of me in a sigh, but I smothered it. Showing relief around Regina was like showing blood to a shark.
"And Luna?" she said suddenly.
My shoulders stiffened. "Yeah?"
Her smile returned—crooked, sharp, unsettlingly genuine. "I don't hate you."
The words hit harder than I'd expected, curling like hooks in my chest.
"You're more fun than most things I own."