“But before all that grandiose queen stuff,” I sighed dramatically, breaking the tension with a tired smile, “I need someone to rescue me in Altandai first.”

  The bed gave a soft whumph beneath me, cotton sheets warm against my still-damp skin, towel slipping slightly. My legs dangled over the side, one heel trailing absent-minded over the wooden floorboards.

  Lola glanced at me, her expression dreamy, eyes slightly unfocused, lips parted in thought. But then, like someone flipping a switch, her features tightened into what I privately called business-Lola?. Shoulders squared. Brows furrowed.

  The same look she had when dealing with contracts or choosing ice cream with grave intensity.

  “Lady,” she started, shifting upright and clutching a pillow like it was a clipboard, “we… I’m trying to organize things with Lucy. She even went ahead. But…”

  I stayed quiet, letting her toy with the pillow’s corner. She kept folding and unfolding the edge, hands twitching with a restlessness that didn’t reach her voice.

  “But… I’m not sure how we can reach Altandai with a meaningful army. Lucy has several theories about potential access points, but none are fast or clean. Every route’s a crawl. A grind.” Her words faltered like a failing server ping.

  I just smiled at her. That smile you give when someone’s panicking and you’re trying to convince them the ship probably won’t sink today.

  She stared at the pillow like it held a solution. I saw her knuckles whiten around the fabric. “I—”

  I hugged her before she could spiral further. Pulled her gently into my arms like she was a warm bundle of nerves and panic. She tensed at first, like a cat unused to affection. Then she melted against me.

  “I?!” she squeaked, muffled against my towel.

  “It’s okay, Lola,” I murmured, resting my chin on her crown. Her hair smelled faintly like some floral shampoo, like fake lavender. “We’ll think of something.”

  I slowly let her go, shifting just enough to create space between us. Just in case she thought I was making some weird move.

  God, please don’t think I’m hitting on you.

  The old fear slithered up my spine. That if I pushed too far, she’d pull away. Like the others. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, so my brain would stop screaming vulnerability at me.

  “You don’t need to do it alone,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “You may be my queenmaker, but even queenmakers have aides, right?”

  She nodded and leaned her head onto my shoulder like she belonged there. My heart skipped, then promptly blushed and tried to die from embarrassment.

  “There must be an exploit,” I mumbled, “some unintended mechanic that gets you to the DLC area. I mean, I got there as a player-NPC weird hybrid, and I’m basically the ‘you shouldn’t be here’ poster girl. So there’s gotta be a way.”

  “I… I will look for one!” her voice cracked, trembling on the edge of tears.

  I felt her inhale deeply beside me.

  “Hearing your conviction…” she choked. “I mean… I haven’t thought it through. You said you were enslaved, and I knew that was bad, obviously. But I treated it like a problem on a task board. ‘Here’s the issue. Here’s the plan.’ I didn’t feel it. Not really. I…”

  She broke.

  She collapsed into me, burying her face in the crook of my neck and wrapping her arms around me like I was the last thing tethering her to Earth.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, sobbing into my towel. “I failed you. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve— You face things head-on and smile like it’s nothing, and I—I just let you.”

  I blinked fast and stared at the ceiling. The plaster up there suddenly needed deep inspection. My chest was tight, like someone tied a corset around my ribcage and forgot to stop tightening.

  But I didn’t cry. Not yet. “Lola…” I said softly, gently stroking circles between her shoulder blades. Her body trembled with each breath, and I kept my touch steady. “Hey, hey… Who is here? Who’s in my apartment right now, holding me in bed? From all people in the world?”

  She pulled back slowly; her face blotchy, eyes glassy like broken starlight. “Me?” she whispered. “But… you don’t really know me. Not really.”

  “I do,” I said. “I know your actions. And they were loud enough for me to hear them. I know it’s hard to trust me, but I trust you completely.”

  Lola blinked at me. Her lip quivered, but she nodded. “Yes,” she said, barely a breath. Then she flopped onto the pillow like her system crashed mid-update, staring blankly at the ceiling.

  One arm flung over her face dramatically. “I’m never letting anyone else be your queenmaker,” she muttered into the fabric.

  I chuckled softly. “Good. You’re already level five in queenmaking.”

  She stuck her tongue out without looking at me. “Level six if I fix Altandai.”

  “Deal,” I said, and scooted closer. “Step one is to get our army gathered. Can you book some hall or room?”

  Lola blinked, eyes unfocusing for half a second as she began running logistics in her head. I could practically hear the gears start grinding, one labeled event scheduling and the other ’Charlie’s war council’. Her lips parted. “What?”

  “You meant why, and the reason is—” I rolled forward slightly, propping my weight on one arm, “—I’ll need to address them personally. In real life. And talk about… the movie too.”

  Her expression shifted from confusion to focus with the speed of a spell activation. “Yes!” she said, sitting up straighter. “That’s not now-now, though. Riker’s team hit a legal hitch.”

  Oof. That “legal hitch” came out like a gut punch. Her voice faltered, eyes slightly bloodshot. She didn’t say it, but I could feel the spreadsheet fatigue. The infinite Zoom calls. The back-and-forth hell of corporate permissions and IP licensing.

  She had been in the trenches.

  I reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Glad to have you!” I grinned, then shot her a wink like I was trying to disarm a trap chest.

  She did not appreciate it.

  She grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at me. I made no effort to dodge, just let it fwump into my chest and dramatically flopped backward off the bed like I’d been smacked by a thunder spell.

  “Charlie?!” Her eyes widened, and she leaned over the edge, only to see me sprawled across the carpet like a ragdoll. “Did I—?”

  I grinned.

  “Oh my god,” she groaned, recognizing the setup half a second too late; just as the second pillow nailed me square in the stomach. “Stop being such a drama queen!”

  “No promises!” I wheezed and rolled onto my side, reaching for my wrist where Jerry had been quietly glowing with quiet judgment.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I recommend retaliation tactics,” Jerry buzzed in his helpful tone.

  “Low on ammo,” I whispered with mock severity as I grabbed a third pillow off the floor, eyes locked on target.

  Lola squealed and scrambled backward on the bed, trying to shield herself behind both arms and a blanket. She fumbled with a giggle. “Charlie, no—”

  “[Sniper shot!]” I yelled and lobbed it.

  The pillow hit her with a satisfying fwomp, knocking her back into the mattress, where she burst into a fit of laughter, half buried under the blanket like a victorious casualty of war.

  I climbed back onto the bed, winded but victorious, arms thrown up like I had just conquered a castle. “Behold! The reign of Princess Charlie continues.”

  “You’re the worst!” Lola shouted from under the covers, voice muffled but clearly smiling. Her cheeks peeked out red as a fire-spell rune, and she tossed a defeated hand onto the blanket like a white flag.

  “You say that now,” I said, reaching over and dramatically fluffing one of the pillows behind her, “but wait until the coronation ceremony. I’m installing a ‘whiskey’ throne.”

  She sat up slowly, hair slightly tousled, and gave me a long look; one part fond, one part exhausted. “You know this doesn’t make planning the attack easier, right?”

  “Correction,” I said, wagging a finger. “This makes the attack awesome.”

  “Saevrin help us,” she sighed, flopping back down beside me, but her smile never faded.

  The soft hum of the apartment filled the quiet. “Don’t start with that bird too…” I whispered. Somewhere in the distance, the city murmured beneath a layer of glass and brick.

  We lay there in the kind of quiet you earned after a long day of Karzi breathing on your neck.

  “Yes, we have my saving to plan, and find a name for my kingdom, find how to get players there…” I said while glancing at her.

  Then I flopped dramatically again.

  “But until then, we practice pillow combat. The enemies of Altandai won’t expect a queen who can snipe from across a chamber with nothing but a fluffy pillow.”

  That Rimelion morning, I was… fine.

  More than fine, actually.

  I’d even meditated on my Earth bed, legs criss-crossed under a real blanket and not a scratchy field tarp. Kind of. Lola had been there too, lounging beside me with her tablet like some tech-wielding guardian angel, occasionally humming or scrolling.

  Hard to be spiritually enlightened with her rhythm-tapping the screen like she was composing a war march, but still… progress.

  I felt different when I woke up. Like something had shifted inside.

  Not big. Not explosive. Just… settled. My thoughts were clearer, nerves a little less on fire. Maybe it was the meditation. Maybe it was Lola. Maybe it was the placebo effect of breathing less cursed air.

  And then I saw Karzi and poof… serenity gone.

  Seriously, one look at her smug face and the calm in my soul packed its bags and left the kingdom.

  We had mystery meat for breakfast again. Afterward, she straddled her oversized war beast like a queen mounting her lava-powered throne and, of course, snapped her fingers for me to get up behind her. Because why wouldn’t she want her “most profitable possession” in arm’s reach?

  The camp vanished behind us like it had never been there.

  Tents packed, fires doused, not even a single bent fork left behind. The only evidence we’d been there was the muddy pit where broken weapons had been dumped, and even that looked disturbingly neat. These people were efficient at war, pillaging, and post-combat cleanup.

  Yay.

  “Listen!” Karzi bellowed, loud enough to send birds scattering from the nearby trees. “If we push hard, we’re two days from Altandai. That’s our payday! So much gold you can afford even a fancy Séorie escort for a month!”

  The howling started with the wolfmen. Low, growling, teeth-baring enthusiasm. But then, of course, the actual wolves joined in. Because why wouldn’t they treat this like karaoke morning in the woods? The overlapping chorus echoed around the hills, the kind of sound that made your spine twitch and your instincts ask, Hey, should we be running?

  I grit my teeth and tried to focus.

  With the pack mobilized, we galloped. A half-dozen riders on monstrous wolves, blades clinking, torches flickering, laughter echoing. Slaves… and me. The not-quite-princess.

  When we finally stopped, the sky had turned the color of bruises. We made camp on a tall hill, the grass whispering in the breeze, and from there, faint and distant, but I saw it.

  Altandai.

  Just dots of amber light on the horizon, winking through the twilight. A city. My price tag. I didn’t realize I’d stopped breathing until Karzi’s voice yanked me back to the moment.

  “Girly, tonight you sleep with no company!” she bellowed from across the fire, standing with arms spread like she was offering me a gift instead of a warning.

  “Dame Karzi, I don’t—” I started explaing, like, I don’t know, elves don’t sleep. But before I could finish, she smacked the back of my head with her palm. It wasn’t a love tap either. Pretty sure it shaved some HP.

  “Stop lecturing!” she snapped. “Tomorrow’s a big day for you!” Her grin stretched wide. Like a merchant about to sell someone a cursed mirror.

  She rubbed her hands together. Like a cartoon villain. Literally. I half-expected her to twirl an invisible mustache.

  “I’m a nice person,” she added, “so I’ll try to find someone nice.”

  “Of course, you are a gracious person,” I said before my brain could filter it. A sarcastic grenade that somehow flew right over her head. Probably too busy giggling about her own plan to notice mine.

  “Sleep!” she barked and vanished into her tent like a dragon retreating into its cave of evil spreadsheets.

  The campfire crackled. The wind picked up. I sat down in front of her tent, pulled the coarse blanket over my shoulders, and exhaled.

  Okay. Meditate. Clear your mind. Ignore your evil kidnapper matchmaker, trying to pimp you out tomorrow like it’s an auction night at the bar.

  The sky above stretched forever. The stars were… weird. Different constellations than Earth. Some shimmered unnaturally, like they had layers of color. The quiet would’ve been peaceful… if not for the buzzing thought clawing through my mind like a drunk raccoon.

  Wait! I’m stupid… I forgot to pick a lifepath!

  I yanked my hand out from under the blanket and opened the interface with a mental flick. The menu popped up and… It wasn’t a lot.¨“Okay,” I whispered, pressing the choice.

  Oh.

  Good thing this one was easy. We’d talked about it a lot. Last night with Lola, during sandwich breaks Lucy had at work, and even in the late-night call where Riker kept trying to suggest meme names like Coolandia or Heelsylvania.

  But the one that stuck?

  Rimebreak.

  “Rime” was everything. My magic, my aesthetic, my vibe. It was the frost that wove itself through my spells, the chill in my veins, that half-divine connection to the Sovereign I still didn’t fully understand. It was the crown I never asked for and the power I’d bled for.

  Lucas had pointed out that it even sounded like Rimelion. Coincidence? Ha. As if.

  And “Break” well, that one was mine.

  Break the chains.

  Break the rules.

  Break the system.

  Break the world that tried to rewrite me into a footnote.

  After Karzi. After the spell. After clawing my way through dirt and blood and walls that wanted me dead… I deserved a name that would make people listen.

  Lisa said it sounded like defiance turned into a country. And she wasn’t wrong. It was defiance. Packaged neatly into syllables.

  And just like that, the world snapped.

  Again.

  My surroundings dissolved like sugar in boiling whiskey. One second I was still sitting under a sky that smelled like wild grass and distant cities—

  —and the next, I was standing in white.

  I groaned. “Oh, for Saevrin’s sake, not again!”