Regulus made it downstairs in three minutes flat, still adjusting the cuffs of his Hebe-issued tabard as he stepped into the manor's courtyard. Dawn hadn't yet broken, the sky a dull indigo, the air crisp with the threat of rain.
The maid stood beside a sleek black carriage, her posture rigid, her gloved hands already gripping the reins. She didn't turn as he approached, but her voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
"You're late."
Regulus blinked. "You said four minutes."
"I lied." She finally glanced at him, her gunmetal-gray eyes assessing. "You should have been ready in two."
He exhaled sharply, recognizing her now—the same maid from the Rosewind Guild party, the one who'd elbowed him for spacing out. "We've worked together before."
"And yet you still require correction." She flicked the reins, the carriage lurching forward before Regulus could fully climb in. He barely managed to grab the doorframe and haul himself inside as the wheels kicked up gravel.
The carriage rattled through Babelonia's empty streets, the rhythmic clop of hooves against cobblestone the only sound for the first few minutes. Sitri handled the reins with the precision of a veteran rider, her back straight, her gaze never straying from the road.
Regulus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So, Ms.—"
"Junior Maid Sitri Sidelfi."
"—you always this chatty?"
Her grip on the reins tightened. "I'm not here for conversation."
"Then why'd Hebe send you specifically?"
A beat. Then, grudgingly: "Because I don't tolerate distractions."
Regulus smirked. "And here I thought you just liked my company."
The carriage hit a pothole hard enough to bounce him off the seat. Coincidence? He highly doubted it.
By the time they reached Hebe Familia's compound, the sky had lightened to a pale gray. Sitri brought the carriage to a smooth halt, not even glancing back as Regulus disembarked.
"Training starts in ten minutes," she said, already turning away. "Try not to embarrass yourself."
Regulus watched her stride off, her movements efficient, her shadow sharp against the dawn.
Definitely not just a maid.
Regulus followed the gravel path toward Hebe Familia's training pavilion, the morning dew soaking into his polished boots. Mistress Elaina stood at the entrance, her silver-threaded veil fluttering as she snapped a pocket watch shut with practiced elegance.
"Three seconds to spare," she remarked, her smile serene as a still pond. "Perfectly punctual."
Regulus opened his mouth to thank her—
"Miss Sitri did excellent work." Elaina tucked the watch into her sash, her gaze sliding past him toward the stables where Sitri was already brushing down the carriage horses. "She always retrieves what's lost."
The words carried double meaning. Regulus' mouth twitched in akwardness.
Elaina's smile didn't waver as she gestured toward the pavilion. "Today's lesson: precision under pressure. You'll be serving tea while dodging projectiles."
A crash echoed from inside as a clay pot shattered against the far wall. Someone yelped.
"Ah." Elaina adjusted her veil. "It seems the senior maids have already begun warmups."
Regulus eyed the porcelain teacup in his hands, then the shattered clay embedded in the far wall. "Forgive my asking, Mistress Elaina," he began, keeping his tone carefully neutral, "but haven't we already mastered these drills back in Vespera?"
Elaina took a deliberate sip from her own cup, the steam curling around her veiled face. "Vespera's branch uses weighted beanbags for projectile training." Another sip. "The capital prefers live crossbow bolts."
A bolt thunked into the wooden post beside his head before he could process her words.
"Ah—!" He barely managed to keep the tea service steady as he pivoted, catching sight of twelve senior maids positioned along the pavilion's upper balconies, each loading fresh bolts with terrifying efficiency.
Regulus swallowed hard. "How large is the Hebe Familia?"
"1,235 maids currently serve across Babelonia." Elaina set down her cup with a soft clink. "Scattered through nineteen cities, each branch answering to a single Senior Maid." She gestured idly as another bolt whizzed past, embedding itself in a servant's tray of biscuits. "We refer to our employers as Masters, though few truly earn the title."
The casual transparency made Regulus' grip tighten on the teapot. "You're unusually forthcoming with an outsider."
Elaina's veil shifted with what might have been a smile. "The Hebe and Nyx Familias formed an alliance last week. Our Ladies have... history in Tenkai."
Regulus nearly dropped the sugar tongs. "What kind of—"
A bolt grazed his sleeve before he could finish. The stone wall behind him cracked from the impact, spiderweb fractures radiating outward.
"Focus," Elaina chided, refilling her cup. "You'll serve three rounds without spilling a drop." She nodded toward the courtyard's center. "And do mind the Senior Maids' wager—if any projectile disturbs my tea, you'll be polishing their armor for a month."
As if on cue, twelve crossbows clicked in unison.
Regulus took a steadying breath, adjusted his grip on the tray, and stepped into the killbox.
The moment Regulus stepped into the courtyard, the air sang with the sound of drawn bowstrings.
First Bolt.
He pivoted on his heel, the teacup balanced perfectly on its saucer as a crossbow bolt thunked into the ground where his foot had been. The impact sent a tremor through the porcelain, but not a single drop spilled.
Second. Third. Fourth.
Regulus wove through the barrage like a dancer—sidestepping, ducking, even using the tray itself to deflect a bolt aimed for his ribs. The senior maids weren't just shooting to test him; they were herding him, their bolts cutting off escape routes, forcing him into tighter and tighter circles.
Fifth Bolt.
This one came low, aiming for his knee. He kicked off the ground, tucking into a flip that sent the teapot's lid clattering to the cobblestones. Mistress Elaina's eyebrow arched.
Shit.
Sixth. Seventh.
Regulus snatched the lid mid-air, sliding it back into place just as another bolt shattered the saucer in his left hand. Tea sloshed dangerously—but he caught the cup before it fell, transferring it smoothly to his remaining saucer.
Eighth. Ninth.
The maids were adjusting now, their bolts coming in synchronized volleys. One grazed his sleeve, another nicked his earlobe. Blood trickled down his neck, warm and insistent.
Tenth.
This one wasn't aimed at him.
Regulus' eyes widened as the bolt streaked toward Mistress Elaina's teacup.
—Polishing armor for a month—
He moved.
The world narrowed to the bolt's trajectory, the weight of the tray in his hands, the way his muscles screamed as he *threw* himself between the projectile and its target.
CRACK.
The bolt embedded itself in the tray—dead center, inches from the teapot's spout. Not a single drop spilled.
Silence.
Then, slow, deliberate applause. Mistress Elaina set down her cup, her veil hiding all but the barest curve of a smile.
"Acceptable," she said.
From the balconies, twelve senior maids lowered their crossbows in unison. One—a woman with a scarred lip—tossed a small bag of coins to her neighbor, grumbling.
Regulus exhaled, his hands steady despite the adrenaline.
Then a shadow fell across the courtyard.
Nyx leaned against the pavilion's archway, her violet eyes gleaming. "Oh, don't stop on my account," she purred. "I do love watching my little moth get shot at."
Regulus didn't lower the cracked tray. "I thought you were busy."
Nyx pushed off the archway, her shadow stretching unnaturally across the courtyard. "And miss you playing target practice?" Her violet eyes flicked to the bolt embedded in the tray. "Though I'd have let it hit her cup. Watching you polish armor for a month would've been divine."
Mistress Elaina cleared her throat. "Lady Nyx. To what do we owe the—"
"Your goddess requested me," Nyx interrupted, examining her nails. "Something about 'finalizing our accord' over wine and threats." She grinned at Regulus. "You're invited too, little moth. Assuming you survive the next round."
As if on cue, the senior maids reloaded their crossbows with audible clicks.
Regulus' eye twitched. "There's a next round?"
Elaina sipped her tea. "The first volley was standard speed. This one will be at the capital's... festival pace."
Nyx laughed as the maids pulled lever-action repeaters from their skirts. "Oh, this I have to see."
Regulus barely had time to grab a fresh tray before—
TWELVE BOLTS WHIZZED AT ONCE.