“Lola…” I grumbled like a woman heading for her execution. “You seriously can’t expect me to—”

  Before I could finish complaining, she shoved a neatly folded package into my hands. It was suspiciously light, suspiciously soft, and suspiciously… shiny.

  “Absolutely,” she said with a smile way too smug for someone not being forced into cosplay. “You need to wear your cosplay!”

  “It’s not needed!” I pouted, my arms already halfway tearing open the glossy synth-wrap.

  Stupid traitor arms.

  Inside was a carefully folded outfit that practically sparkled. Not the good kind of sparkle either… like a glitter bomb had a baby with a royal court and this was the lovechild’s prom night.

  After seeing Riker, this almost feels too tame.

  Apparently, it was made from an ultra-rare synth-thread designed to resist sword slashes. Which was cool. You know, if it covered anything at all. I held it up and nearly dropped it. “Lola, this is even worse than the Rimelion one!”

  And that one had thigh slits and sleeves pretending to be shoulder armor. She didn’t even deny it. Just gave me her best this is for your own good face.

  I unwrapped the thing fully and laid it across the bed like I was preparing for a drink marathon at Patrick’s. Same elaborate color palette… blue and white, trimmed in gold. Enchanted-looking silk layered with sparkly edges, embroidered runes dancing along the hem like someone went full anime budget on it.

  Maybe we did…

  The full-body bodice was tighter than my sanity, laced in the back like a corset designed by someone who hated internal organs. And of course, the cleavage dip was so deep it practically whispered “come hither” in Elvish.

  “You can veto it,” she whispered, like she actually thought I would. “But I think you’ll look amazing.”

  Then, like a magician, she pulled a long, flat box from under my bed and set it on the covers with reverence.

  “And… a crown. Not a tiara, but a crown,” she said, her tone suddenly solemn. “Sadly, you’re still wearing a tiara in Rimelion. We need to do something about it.”

  I stared at the clothes as if they were going to bite me. “Lola. I almost lost a battle against stockings. You really expect me to win against… this? This absolute ultimate boss of fashion?”

  She stayed quiet, so I kept talking.

  “Yeah, and I’ve got a crown. It’s with Twirs. Thought I’d make it a duchy crown, but I see no reason not to upgrade it for a kingdom.” I shrugged. “It was some long-dead emperor’s. Might as well reuse the assets, right?”

  Lola, who’d been nodding along helpfully, suddenly blinked like her brain short-circuited. “You… what?”

  Oops.

  “Jerry, we broke our human support unit.”

  Uhhhhhz. Uhhhhhz!

  Jerry actually laughed at my joke. Well, whatever that was supposed to be. I turned my head and pouted dramatically toward the window like some tragic queen denied chocolate. That would distract them.

  Bad Charlie. We do not talk… about me… in the third person. Bad Charlie!

  I sighed, unhooked my top, and began stripping, making the very rational decision that if I was going to suffer, I was going to suffer fast. Lola, predictably, turned around with a soft squeak and pretended the wall was suddenly fascinating. Her ears turned pink.

  Honestly? Adorable.

  “Please help me get into it,” I said after trying and failing to even figure out where the front of the bodice was. It was a literal puzzle box of fabric, and I did not have the cheat codes or exploits at hand.

  Thankfully, I had underwear. And no shame. At least not around Lola. She was near the top of my trusted humans who wouldn’t make fun of me for being bad at clothes list.

  Lola turned back around with professional grace and very gentle hands and immediately started untangling me from the mess I’d wrapped around myself. “This string goes here… and this part folds under, not over. That’s the second layer of the skirt, Charlie.”

  “How many layers are there?” I muttered as she worked.

  “Three,” she said, with the kind of patience that suggested she’d already mentally prepared for this. “You’ve got the underskirt, the overlay, and the veil skirt.”

  I stared at her as if she were speaking fluent goblin. “Okay, well… I just call them Layer One, Layer Extra, and Layer Frilly Mess.”

  “You mixed Layer Two and Three,” she said, adjusting the veil-like third skirt with the expertise of someone who did not wake up this morning planning to wrestle satin. “We have to redo it.”

  “Ughhh, I was fine with it,” I groaned, slumping a bit.

  “You were incorrect,” she said with a smirk, already tugging me out of the mess like an agitated older sister dressing a toddler for a wedding.

  Round two went a lot smoother… mostly because she did all the hard parts and I just stood there doing dramatic queenly sighs.

  And then… I turned toward the full-length mirror.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Okay. Wow.

  For once, I had to shut up.

  The dress shimmered as I moved, like liquid magic stitched into fabric. The bodice hugged my waist just right, cinched but not suffocating, with the skirts flaring out like a spell in motion. The white and blue layers flowed as I turned, and those subtle golden accents glinted every time the light hit just right.

  I looked taller!

  And, okay, a little sexy. In the I’ll bless your crops and also maybe vaporize your enemies kind of way.

  “Yeah…” I murmured, smiling faintly. “This is amazing. Thankfully, it works like that tennis skirt, right?”

  Lola nodded, not even blinking anymore at my complete ignorance of fashion names. I didn’t know what the skirt was called. Didn’t care. I just liked that it let me move, and twirl a little, and kick ass if needed.

  We stepped into the elevator, and Lola was already watching me with that look. You know the one… like a kid who just handed you a mystery-flavored lollipop and was waiting to see if you gagged or ascended to flavor nirvana.

  “What?” I asked immediately suspicious. I glanced sideways at the mirror in the elevator. Makeup? Still passable. Lipstick holding the line. No emergency mascara smear.

  She sauntered up to the number panel with the swagger of a drama student about to unveil their final act. “We’ve got this,” she declared, tapping it with exaggerated flair.

  I squinted at the panel. Numbers. Cool. Very... numeric.

  But then… click. The bottom half of the panel slid downward like a secret bookcase in a haunted mansion, revealing three extra buttons. Unmarked, and backlit.

  “Hidden floors!” My eyes lit up. “Not sure I want to know who was here before us… another sacrificial cult? Damn Lola, do we have a secret basement?!”

  “We do!” she giggled, doing her best impression of a cartoon villain’s overly loyal sidekick. “Yup! Nobody knew who had installed it. The real estate agency didn’t even list it. But Pearl found it last night. We’ve been working nonstop to get it ready. It’s gonna be perfect!”

  When we rode the entire way down, the elevator dinged as if it had no idea what it was about to reveal. The doors parted… and we stepped straight into a closet.

  Literal closet, that had hangers, velvet… A dozen suspiciously identical black blazers.

  “We put your private elevator entrance into the closet!” she said, absolutely beaming. Her joy was so contagious that my sarcasm took five seconds off and let me be genuinely excited.

  I had a closet elevator now. A secret one. Me. Riker wasn’t the only weirdo in the city with a flashy elevator anymore.

  Lola pushed the closet door open and… bam.

  “What the heck?!” I blurted, because my brain had just short-circuited trying to process what I was seeing.

  We had entered… a throne room. A big one. Like someone had gone full fantasy-core in the middle of Earth. Stone-textured walls with modern lighting, tall gothic-style windows that had to be holograms. Because I knew for a fact that we were still underground. Also, the ceiling was painted like a star map, constellations shimmering faintly with LEDs or maybe fairy dust.

  Honestly, it could’ve been either.

  The floor was polished wood, probably installed long before us, but it fit perfectly, and long banquet tables stretched across the room like we were one turkey away from hosting a medieval diplomacy summit. Platters of snacks were already out: fruit skewers, mini cakes, sparkling drinks in fluted glasses.

  Somewhere, a subtle orchestral track was playing, classy and just low enough to make you wonder if it was in your head.

  At the far end of the room—well, technically the front, but we entered from behind like dramatic rebels—there was a throne.

  And not a budget cosplay throne either.

  This thing was massive. Partially assembled, sure, but already ridiculous. Six feet tall, gold-trimmed, hopefully with fake gold, padded seat that looked like it had memory foam tech fused with royal dignity. A black velvet backrest arched up into twin horns like whoever designed it wanted it to whisper both “Queen” and “DPS main.”

  Cables snaked along the floor from someone’s forgotten toolbox, and a couple of levitating drones were still putting the final touches on the ornamented canopy above it. One drone gave a soft beep as we entered, like it was judging me for arriving early.

  “This…” I breathed, stepping forward slowly, the hem of my skirt whispering across the floor. “This is excessive. I love it.”

  Lola’s grin widened. “We thought you might.”

  “Cute princess!”

  Before I could do anything, like breathe, I was crushed in a flaming hug. Literally. Lisa’s arms wrapped around me like twin torches, pulling me against her chest with the kind of force normally reserved for hydraulic presses.

  “I’ve missed you so much! School’s so boring!”

  I was already trapped in her favorite hug, my face smooshed into the warm fabric of her robe and, uh, directly into her chest. Which, okay, yes, I missed.

  “Don’t worry, Lisa; now we’ll have a party!” I mumbled, voice muffled somewhere between her cleavage and the shoulder seam. Of course she didn’t hear me, because she was too busy radiating joy. I had to gently, regretfully pry myself out of her grip before I melted. “Okay, okay…” I gasped, trying to re-inflate my lungs. “So everyone’s ready?”

  I looked around, half-expecting a crowd. But instead of people, I was greeted by the buzz and hum of a lot of drones… zipping around like caffeinated bees. Laser measuring things. Painting with ridiculous precision. Hanging fabrics as if they feared their operators might sell them for scraps.

  “…Or?” I finished, blinking.

  “Oh!” Lisa beamed. “My father owns a side business! We do on-site decorations now. I helped design the throne!”

  She puffed her chest out proudly, which, yeah, that was very Lisa. She was dressed in her Rime-Con cosplay again, flame-themed from head to toe. Long, vivid red hair in twin ponytails. Flowing crimson robes trimmed with gold. Runes were stitched onto her sleeves. Her staff was strapped across her back. She even had the tiny, flame-like paintings on her cheeks again.

  “Oh, that’s amazing…” I murmured, spinning slowly to take in the room. “…I guess those twin horns were your idea?”

  “Exactly! You do know me well!” Lisa chirped, and then before I could dodge… hugged me again. This one was slightly gentler, more emotional. Still squish-heavy.

  Yup, I was a hugger now.

  Apparently.

  But even I had limits.

  Lola cleared her throat… strategically. “I think we should slowly start moving to the VIP elevator and let Lisa work.”

  “Awwww, I hate working…” Lisa whined dramatically, drooping like a wilting daisy in the middle of summer. Still, she let me go and trudged back toward the throne with theatrical reluctance. “I’ll talk to you later, Charlie!”

  I vaguely waved after her, letting Lola drag me toward the other side of the room like a queen being abducted by her own assistant. “…VIP elevator?” I asked.

  “You’ll meet the VIPs, of course,” Lola said in her most duh tone.

  I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t… sell VIP slots with a meet-the-queen tagline, did you?” Her face flushed just enough to give her away. “Oh, dear Saevrin, you did.”

  She muttered something about “brand-building” and “outreach,” which I ignored in favor of sighing dramatically. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with. But don’t give Damon a VIP slot. Let him come in through… I don’t know. A coal chute.”

  Lola tapped her tablet. “Still not sure if he’s coming. Also, we don’t have a coal chute.”

  “Then give him pleb access,” I smirked as we approached a stone arch inlaid with embedded gems that shimmered in blue and violet. “Wait. I got a dusty closet, and they get this?”

  Lola ignored me with the grace of someone used to my complaints. The elevator dinged just as we reached it, perfectly timed. “…Damn,” I muttered. “You really are efficient.”

  “That was me,” Jerry buzzed from my wrist. “Let’s not forget I exist.”

  “Never, Jerry. You’re unforgettable,” I deadpanned as the elevator doors parted.

  Inside was a single figure.

  Even on Earth, she was small-framed, delicate… probably around sixteen to eighteen if I had to guess.

  Long white hair tumbled down her back. Her skin was pale. One eye was a glowing crimson; the other a pale and shimmering blue.

  And both of them locked onto me with quiet intensity.

  “Lunaris…” I breathed.

  Arguably one of the best sword-fighters in Rimelion and she… sat in a sleek black wheelchair looking up at me with her eyes the same color as she had in Rimelion.

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