Regulus twirled the knife between his fingers, the blade catching the morning light as he smirked at the young maid before him. "So, miss, you want me to show you my flawless technique?"
The courtyard went deathly still.
Behind him, the junior maids who had been watching his demonstration snapped to attention, their postures rigid, their breaths held. Even the birds in the pavilion's rafters seemed to pause mid-chirp.
The maid—no, the senior maid—did not react at first. She simply stared at him, her gray eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, she reached up and unpinned the silver brooch at her collar.
"Do not think," she said, her voice colder than a midwinter stream, "that this is enough to earn our respect." She set the brooch aside, revealing the Hebe Familia's crest etched beneath—a mark of rank. "They are merely fascinated by your learning speed."
Regulus' smirk faltered.
"I see," he said carefully, lowering the knife. "Well then… do you know when the next training matron will arrive?"
The senior maid stepped forward, her shadow stretching long across the cobblestones.
"I am your next matron, Sir Regulus."
Oh.
Oh no.
Regulus' mind raced. He had just insulted a senior maid—one who clearly outranked him by several tiers. His grip on the knife tightened as he scrambled for damage control.
"Wow!" he blurted out, forcing admiration into his tone. "It's amazing that you were able to reach such a high rank at your age, Mistress—?"
"Sonia Sidelfi." Her lips thinned. "But unfortunately for you, buttering me up like this won't spare you from your violation of respect."
She snapped her fingers.
From the pavilion's upper balconies, six senior maids stepped forward, crossbows already loaded.
Regulus swallowed.
This was going to hurt.
---
Blood dripped from Regulus' split lip onto the training courtyard's cobblestones. His ribs screamed with each breath—definitely bruised, maybe cracked. Somewhere between the seventh volley and Sonia Sidelfi's "adjustments" to the exercise, his perfect form had shattered along with his pride.
He slumped against a pillar, watching the senior maids file out. The youngest—the one who'd called him out earlier—paused to toss him a clean handkerchief. Her expression wasn't quite pity. More like... professional disappointment.
Worse.
As the courtyard emptied, Regulus pressed the cloth to his bleeding forearm and let his mind circle back to the critical mistake:
Sonia Sidelfi.
The name clicked now. Sidelfi. Same surname as Sitri, the junior maid from the Rosewind party. Sisters? Cousins? Either way, he'd walked blind into a family web within Hebe Familia's hierarchy.
Nyx's voice slithered from the shadows: "Tsk. And here I thought I was the cruel teacher."
Regulus didn't bother looking up. "You're enjoying this."
"Immensely." She materialized beside him, her violet eyes gleaming as she examined his injuries. "But do consider the lesson, little moth. That woman didn't punish you for disrespect."
A bolt of pain shot through his side as he shifted. "Could've fooled me."
"She punished you," Nyx purred, "for being obvious." Her shadow tapped his temple. "Numquam Itineris gives you perfection, not subtlety. And perfection without control?" She gestured to his wounds. "Is just a pretty way to bleed."
Somewhere in the manor, a clock chimed. Sonia would return at dawn.
Regulus closed his eyes.
Tomorrow would be worse.
---
Regulus winced as he dabbed the handkerchief against his split knuckles. "Hey, Nyx. How does one earn the title of 'Master'? Mistress Elaina mentioned it like it actually means something here."
Nyx's shadow stretched lazily across the courtyard stones. "Oh, it does. To Hebe Familia, 'Master' isn't just some mortal handing out paychecks." Her violet eyes glinted. "It's a covenant."
"A covenant?" He pressed the cloth harder, watching fresh blood bloom through the linen. "Like a contract?"
"Like a vow." She snapped her fingers, and the shadows coalesced into the shape of a scale—one side holding a sword, the other a teapot. "Any fool can employ a maid. But to be named Master?" The teapot shadow tipped, pouring darkness that swallowed the sword whole. "You must prove you'd bleed for them as fiercely as they'd die for you."
Regulus stared at the dissipating shadows. "That's... unusually sentimental for gods."
"Hardly." Nyx's smile turned razor-edged. "Hebe's favorites have slaughtered armies for their Masters. Burned cities. Even," she added, tapping his bruised ribs, "broken cheeky little boys who ask too many questions."
A chill ran down his spine—not from pain, but realization. "That's why Elaina emphasized 'few truly earn the title.'"
"Mm. Most employers get 'Patron' or 'Client.'" Nyx plucked the bloodied handkerchief from his hand, examining the stains with perverse fascination. "Cornelius? He's barely a 'Sponsor.'"
Regulus exhaled slowly. The pieces fit now—why Hebe's maids moved through Babelonia's nobility like ghosts, why even kings couldn't command their true loyalty.
A dangerous thought struck him. If the title of Master was this sacred... what would it mean if someone proved worthy of becoming the Master of Goddess Hebe herself? Would that make them master of the entire Hebe Familia? The implications sent his mind reeling—an outsider gaining command over the most disciplined network of spies and warriors in the nation.
Somewhere above, a shutter clicked open. Sonia Sidelfi's voice carried down: "Ten hours until dawn, Sir Regulus. I suggest you sleep while you can."
Nyx vanished with a laugh, leaving him alone with his thoughts
Sonia absolutely intended to break him tomorrow.
And now, another thought lingered, more dangerous than the last:
What if he could earn that title for himself?
Regulus exhaled slowly as the pieces clicked together. If the title of Master was this sacred... if it represented an unbreakable covenant...
His bloodstained fingers tightened around the handkerchief.
Becoming Goddess Hebe's Master wouldn't just mean commanding her loyalty - it would mean inheriting authority over the entire Hebe Familia. Every blade, every spy, every meticulously trained maid across Babelonia would answer to him. The political power would be staggering - enough to make kings tremble and Cornelius rethink every meticulous plans.
Nyx's voice slithered through his thoughts: "I can hear you scheming from here, little moth."
Regulus didn't deny it. The vision was too clear - Hebe waiting on his hand, the Sidelfi sisters bowing not out of discipline but devotion, Elaina's veil finally lifting in his presence...
Somewhere above, a shutter clicked open. Sonia Sidelfi's voice carried down: "Nine hours until dawn, Sir Regulus. I'd stop fantasizing and start resting."
The shutter snapped shut with finality.
Nyx vanished with a laugh, leaving him alone with three truths:
Hebe Familia's loyalty was the most valuable currency in the kingdom.
Sonia would break every bone to keep him from attaining it.
He wanted it anyway.