The attaché approached us again—completely calm now, as if his earlier rage had been nothing more than a momentary lapse in an otherwise composed existence.

  Too calm.

  “Thank you, Princess, for your patience,” he said smoothly. “As per protocol, I defer to your command until I can contact my superiors.”

  Then, to my utter surprise—he bowed. Bowed. To me. For one full second, I was so caught off guard that I forgot to speak. I blinked, my brain scrambling to process this new development.

  Then, realization settled in like a dull weight. I glanced at him, suppressing a sigh. This was the game, then. He was my enemy, along with some enemy faction that hated me, and a bureaucrat down to his very soul. And yet, here he was, offering deference because—for now—he had no other choice.

  And I had to play along.

  Because I knew the same. Plastering on my best empty, practiced smile, I inclined my head. “I apologize for my earlier outburst,” I said smoothly, the words tasting slightly bitter. “I may have… gone a little overboard.”

  There. Diplomatic. What an improvement from my test days, when I would have punched him without hesitation. Personal growth, right? I forced myself to exhale slowly, as I was calming myself.

  Behind us, the mages were still arguing, their voices overlapping in a chaotic tangle of magical theory and excited speculation. Lola found a table with a chair near us and was scribbling furiously in her papers, completely absorbed in whatever notes she was taking.

  And Mila?

  Mila, who had far too much experience with war, with politics, with the sheer inevitability of what was coming, simply nodded. “It is as you said, Lady,” he murmured, his voice edged with quiet resignation. “We are on our own.”

  “Oh, come on, Imperial Doan-Commander Mila!” I flashed him a bright, overly confident smile, emphasizing his full title just for fun. “We can hold out for a few hours!”

  Mila didn’t return the enthusiasm. Instead, he let out a slow, measured breath and glanced at the broken teleportation circle—the arch of cold silvery metal, its once-glowing runes now nothing more than lifeless carvings.

  “We can hold the advanced party, yes,” he admitted. His voice was even, but there was something unsettlingly pragmatic about it, like a man carefully measuring the weight of each possible outcome. “We can even stop the demon horde for a few hours.”

  He turned to me, golden afternoon light catching on the edges of his armor, the steel reflecting faint amber hues. “Scouts reported numbers, and they look bad. But we have a defensive position.”

  I cocked my head to the side, letting his words settle before reaching out and patting his shoulder with exaggerated cheerfulness. “See?” I grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

  But he didn’t smile back. Instead, he hesitated. And then—“…But there is the issue with Queen Irwen.” The dread in his voice was palpable.

  My smile faltered, just for a second, but I inhaled deeply, steadying myself. “Leave my mother to me, Mila,” I said, my voice firm.

  A faint, knowing smile played at his lips as he shook his head, but before he could say anything, the attaché cut in. “Lady,” he began, his tone painfully formal, “per protocol, as the highest-ranking member of the empire’s nobility present, you are barred from direct combat. Failure to comply may incur further penalties—” his voice sharpened slightly, “—when Count Itzel arrives.”

  Mila nodded at the attaché’s words, his expression grim. “Lady, with all due respect, I don’t think you can face her.” His voice was measured, but beneath the calm was certainty. “Nobody here can. She’s on a level that transcends humanity.”

  I scoffed. “Well, she’s not human—she’s an elf.” I grinned, fully expecting the joke to lighten the mood, but it landed completely flat. Except for Lola, who let out a small giggle, because she at least appreciated quality humor.

  Mila, on the other hand, did not look amused. I sighed. “Have you forgotten about my two scrolls?”

  Mila frowned, his brows pulling together as he searched his memory. Then his eyes widened. “Yes. I did.” Lola giggled again, clearly enjoying this more than me.

  I grinned, fully victorious.

  Mila exhaled, rubbing his temple like a man who had just realized he might need to reevaluate everything. “…That,” he admitted slowly, “changes things.”

  “Okay, so, if I am…” I cleared my throat and mimicked the attaché’s overly formal tone, “the highest-ranking member of the empire’s nobility present…” The attaché’s eye twitched.

  I ignored it.

  “We need to get things in order,” I continued, shifting to my normal voice. “Imperial Doan-Commander Mila, I task you and your officers with creating a battle plan—with alternatives and back-ups.”

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  Mila nodded immediately, already thinking, already moving pieces into place in his head. He hadn’t needed the command. But it was still good to say it. I turned to the attaché, ready to give him something menial to do just to keep him out of my way. “Attaché, you—”

  He cut me off with a slight raise of his hand, his expression bored, as if he had already anticipated the conversation. “There is nothing I can do to aid you, Lady,” he said flatly. “During a crisis, protocol dictates that I spend my time in my chambers until Count Itzel arrives to reinforce us and take over command.” I bit my lip. I did not punch him.

  Personal growth.

  “Very well,” I muttered, spinning toward the mages instead. “Master Mage Maara?” I called, raising my voice slightly.

  Nothing.

  The man was too deeply engrossed in a conversation under the massive runed ring, absorbed in whatever magical nonsense was currently fascinating him. I sighed, striding over and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Master Mage Maara?”

  He startled, his body jerking slightly as he snapped his head up to look at me, his face flushed, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. “Yes?” he asked, still half-distracted.

  I glanced around, my gaze sweeping over the other mages. “Are the mages under your command?” I asked.

  Maara shook his head immediately. “I’m a high-ranking member of the guild, but we’re structured—”

  And just like that, he launched into a full-length dissertation on how the imperial mage guild was organized. Ranks. Factions. Specialized departments. Endless, intricate bureaucratic nonsense that I absolutely did not need to know right now.

  I nodded occasionally, pretending to listen. But half my mind was elsewhere.

  Count Itzel.

  The attaché’s loyalty to him had already been too obvious, and now it was crystal clear—they had been waiting for me to fail. And honestly? If Irwen hadn’t shattered the world itself, their plan might’ve worked. But the battle was coming, and after it was over…

  I needed to leave.

  The Imperial Capital was my best bet. I knew the city like the back of my hand, like home. And there? I could shield myself. I could start working toward something more than survival.

  A countess.

  I wasn’t going to fight for scraps anymore. I was going to take the whole table. And my uncle, he had said he would protect me. As far as I remembered, he was honorable.

  “…So no,” Maara finally finished, his voice rushed, as if realizing he had been talking for too long. “I can’t just force them to do whatever you wanted.” Then, after a slight hesitation. “Lady,” he added, as if suddenly afraid I would be angry at him.

  I stifled a giggle, a soft breath of amusement slipping past my lips. “Oh, I don’t need you to force them,” I said smoothly. “I just wanted to know if you can ask them if they’d like to join the battle.” My grin widened slightly. “As volunteers.” I winked.

  Wait. What the hell? When did I get so playful?!

  Maara looked genuinely taken aback. “Uh, that…” He hesitated, clearly struggling with the sheer concept of it. “I don’t think we are battle mages.”

  I waved a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter if the answer is zero—I won’t be forcing you to fight.” I nodded, more to myself than to him, and with a casual wave, I turned on my heel and strode toward Lola.

  She was still diligently buried in her paperwork, quill scratching rapidly over the parchment, her entire posture perfectly poised despite the absolute madness unfolding around us. I leaned forward, placing both hands firmly on the table, tilting slightly into her space. “So, hi, Lola,” I greeted, flashing her an easy smile. “How do you like the game so far?”

  She barely glanced up, still engrossed in whatever very important thing she was documenting. “Honestly, Lady?” she asked, flipping a page with effortless precision.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Naturally. That’s what I’m asking.” I took a brief glance around the tent. With my orders given, the entire place was finally moving—officers strategizing, scouts relaying intel, mages discussing short-range teleportation possibilities. That was… a nice feeling. A very nice feeling.

  The feeling of power.

  Lola, however, was wholly unfazed by the shifting energy in the room. “Since I came,” she started, her voice matter-of-fact, “I’ve been going through report after report, writing reports about reports, making excerpts from those reports, compiling inventories of our assets, reconciling logistical discrepancies, drafting official correspondences, cross-referencing supply chain records, verifying resource allocations, annotating tax ledgers, and…” She continued, rattling off an endless list of high-level imperial clerk duties with the enthusiasm of someone discussing fine art.

  I blinked.

  That sounded horrible. Like, painfully horrible. I opened my mouth—to say what, exactly, I wasn’t sure—but then, before I could find the words, she grinned.

  A real, full, beaming grin.

  The first one I’d seen since I met her. “I love it,” she declared, her eyes practically sparkling with pure, unfiltered joy. “It’s amazing how it’s sooo realistic! This is what I’ve always wanted to do—ever!” I stared at her. Lola, apparently, had entered the game and discovered her ultimate dream job.

  What the hell.

  “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, desperate for a subject change. “Do you know about players? We’re kinda the ones who should be organizing them.” Lola, still radiating joy from her bureaucratic bliss, perked up slightly at the shift in topic, but I was still struggling to recover from witnessing that level of dedication to paperwork. “I love you,” I whispered.

  Silence.

  Lola’s face went red in an instant, her quill freezing mid-stroke. “Uh… what?” she blinked rapidly, flustered. “I thought we said that in the bed—”

  “Wait, what?!” Horror slammed into my face like a spilled whiskey. “Did I—? I said that out loud?!” I felt my soul physically leave my body. Lola’s wide-eyed stare only made it worse. “I—I meant,” I stammered, waving my hands frantically, “I love to have you—as my assistant! You get so much work done! Efficiently! It leaves me free to do what I do best and not get bogged down by bureaucracy!”

  Lola visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping slightly. But there was still a hint of suspicion in her gaze, as if she wasn’t entirely convinced my love was purely professional.

  I groaned internally.

  “That aside, Lady,” she said, finally regaining her composure, “my people have taken account of the players.”

  I blinked. “Your people?”

  “Yes!” she nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, they’re in your service, but the clerks who help run East Klippe.” She swiftly pulled out a paper, her fingers expertly sliding it into position like a seasoned professional delivering a battle report.

  “I have the full report upstairs,” she explained, “but I asked for a summary.” She tapped the document. “So far, we can count on about one and a half thousand players.”

  I exhaled slowly, my fingers tapping against the table. “That’s… not much.” I had expected more. Hoped for more. We needed numbers to defend the fortress.

  Lola’s eyes narrowed. With dramatic force, she yanked another paper from her stack, nearly tearing it in her enthusiasm. “I mean the processed applications,” she snapped, waving it at me like an offended accountant prepared to duel over fiscal integrity.

  She practically radiated indignation at my lack of faith. “More than that is still in the queue!”