Q stared at her roommate, still trying to wrap her head around what she'd just said.
The Princess Ascension.
It sounded fancy, heavy, like something that belonged in a storybook—not something people actually reached for in real life. But the look on the girl's face was anything but fanciful. She looked sharp, her eyes glinting with a kind of intensity Q didn't know what to do with.
"You're far too serious." Q muttered, more to herself than the girl. She wrinkled her nose, brushing her hands down the front of her skirt as if to shake off the awkward tension.
The girl's brow arched sharply, her lips curling in something that wasn't quite a smirk.
"And you're far too unserious," she shot back, her tone clipped. "It's a wonder you even got accepted here."
She scoffed softly and turned away, heading toward the plain door she'd come from, her braid swaying as she moved.
Before Q could think of a snappy retort, her stomach betrayed her, letting out a loud, pitiful growl that echoed in the quiet kitchen. Her cheeks burned, and she slapped a hand over her midsection, as if she could silence the noise by sheer force of will.
Her roommate stopped mid-step, her shoulders stiffening. Then, with a dramatic groan, she turned her head just enough to glare over her shoulder.
"Just eat the damn fish," she said, waving a hand toward the counter. "But you'll have to pay me back."
Q blinked, caught between gratitude and confusion. "Pay you back? I ain't got any money."
At that, the girl turned fully, fixing her with a look that could have withered an oak tree.
"Of course you don't," she said dryly, her tone dripping with disdain. "That's because you don't know anything."
"Hey!" Q snapped, straightening up. "I know plenty."
"Do you?" The girl's voice was sharp, her glare sharper still. "Then you'd know that everyone enrolled at RAPS gets an allowance. It's given monthly, straight from the institution. No one's walking around here broke—unless they're at the bottom of the star system."
"The star what?" Q asked, frowning.
The girl groaned again, pinching the bridge of her nose as if Q's very existence pained her.
"The star system," she said, enunciating each word like she was talking to a particularly dense child. "Your ranking. Your performance determines how much allowance you get, how many privileges you have."
Q stared at her, blinking slowly. She felt the weight of the girl's words settling over her, making her stomach twist. "Oh," she said after a beat. "That sounds… important."
The girl's glare deepened, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "Did you even read the manual?"
Q's stomach dropped. She thought back to the book Professor Ligarius had left for her, still sitting untouched somewhere in the dorm. She had every intention of reading it—eventually. But with the chaos of arriving, meeting her roommate, and the whole knife situation, it had completely slipped her mind.
"Uh," she started, scratching the back of her neck, "Not exactly…"
The girl threw her hands in the air, her expression one of pure exasperation.
"Unbelievable," she muttered, turning back toward her room. "You're going to crash and burn tomorrow. And I'm not helping you."
Q winced, watching her roommate disappear behind the plain door with a sharp slam. Her shoulders sagged, and she looked down at the fish still sitting on the counter.
"Great start, Q," she muttered to herself. "Real great."
As the door slammed shut behind her roommate, the chimes dangling from the handle jangled wildly, the sharp sound echoing through the quiet bungalow. Q winced at the noise, her scowl deepening as she stared at the closed door. She realized, belatedly, that she hadn't even caught the girl's name. Not that her roommate seemed inclined to share it, given how she'd stormed off without so much as a second glance.
"Fine," Q muttered under her breath, brushing her hands off on her skirt. "Don't tell me, then. See if I care."
The faint rumble of her stomach cut through her grumbling, drawing her attention back to the fish on the counter. She sighed, rolling her shoulders as she grabbed a pot and set to work. The hunger gnawing at her belly was impossible to ignore, and whatever bad impression she'd made on her knife-wielding roommate could wait.
It didn't take long to cook the fish, the aroma filling the small kitchen with a warm, smoky scent that made her mouth water. She tore into the meal with unrestrained enthusiasm, barely pausing for breath until the plate was clean. When she was done, she washed the pots and dishes at the sink, scrubbing away every trace of grease and crumbs. The cool water against her hands was a balm, and by the time she set the plates back on the shelf, the day's tension had started to ebb away.
Still, a part of her lingered on the thought of her roommate. The girl had been intense, sharp-tongued and severe, but there'd been something else there too—a kind of drive Q didn't entirely understand. It was enough to make her wonder what she'd signed up for.
But the question floated away as soon as Q stepped into her room.
Her breath caught, her eyes widening as she took it all in. The bungalow might not have been a castle, but this? This felt like magic.
The walls were painted a soft pastel yellow, warm and inviting, with a small window framed by lace curtains that offered a clear view of the stars. A bed sat in the center of the room, its canopy draped in light pink fabric that shimmered faintly in the lantern's glow. Pillows of every color and shape were piled high on the mattress, looking so plush and inviting that Q couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face.
Her bag slid off her shoulder, landing in a heap by the door. She took a tentative step toward the bed, her hand brushing against the edge of the canopy. The fabric was softer than anything she'd ever touched, smoother than the rough cotton dresses she wore day in and day out.
She couldn't resist any longer. With a squeal that came from somewhere deep in her chest, Q threw herself onto the bed, the mattress sinking beneath her weight in the most perfect way. She let out a laugh, her arms splaying wide as she sank into the pillows. The fabric was cool against her skin, the mattress firm but soft enough to cradle her.
She giggled to herself, her cheeks aching from how much she was smiling. Back home, her bed had been a slab of wood with a ragged blanket thrown over it—on good nights. On bad nights, she'd slept in the barn, the smell of hay and animals thick in the air.
But this? This was luxury.
Q wriggled into the mattress, kicking off her boots without care for where they landed. Her dirty clothes could wait. For now, she let herself sink into the pillows, the warmth of the blankets wrapping around her like a hug.
"This is mine," she whispered to herself, a note of wonder in her voice. "This is really mine."
Her eyes fluttered shut, the day's exhaustion finally catching up with her. She was just about to drift off, her breathing evening out, when her gaze snagged on the corner of something resting on the small table near the window.
Her grin slipped, her stomach sinking slightly as she realized what it was.
The manual.
The same heavy, dust-covered tome Professor Ligarius had heaved onto the desk that morning, with a knowing look that made her feel like a schoolgirl caught daydreaming during chores. It sat there now, mockingly pristine, the lanternlight glinting off its cover like it was daring her to ignore it.
Q groaned, burying her face in one of the soft pillows with a muffled, exaggerated whine. "Why'd I have to notice it?"
But the book wasn't going anywhere, and she knew it.
Pushing herself up with a sigh, Q swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cool wood floor a stark contrast to the warmth of the blankets. She shuffled to the table, her shoulders slumping as she pulled out the chair with a low scrape. Sitting down felt like defeat.
The manual stared back at her, thick and unyielding.
"Alright," she grumbled, reaching for it. The book was heavier than she remembered, the weight of it settling in her lap like a judgment. "Let's see what's so important it couldn't wait till morning."
Flipping open the cover, she was greeted by the dense, looping script of the first page. The words blurred together at first, her eyes struggling to focus on the tightly packed paragraphs. She leaned closer, her elbows braced against the table as she forced herself to read.
A Comprehensive Guide to the Training, Duties, and Responsibilities of a Lady-in-Waiting, it read in bold, ornate letters. Below that was a smaller line of text, equally formal: Endorsed by the Royal Ascension Princess School and the Noble Council.