"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be."
***
Her breath caught.
The sound was soft. Barely audible. But in the quiet of my chambers it might as well have been a scream. Her eyes widened. Her pupils dilated. For a moment her composure cracked like thin ice, and something raw and desperate showed through.
Pure, ecstatic devotion.
It was the look of a believer witnessing a miracle. The kind of expression that belonged in religious paintings, not on the face of a maid standing in her master's chambers past midnight.
Well. That answers that question.
She didn't just want to serve me. She wanted to own me. Or be owned by me. Possibly both at once. Some twisted combination where the lines of power blurred so completely that neither of us could tell who was actually in control.
"Yes, Master," she whispered. Her voice was thick with something that might have been tears. Or joy. Or triumph. "Yes."
I nodded once. Sharp. Dismissive. The intensity of the moment needed breaking before it consumed us both.
"Then get some rest. Tomorrow will be long for both of us."
She moved toward the window, her usual exit route. The one that avoided hallways and potential witnesses to our late-night conferences. But at the sill, with moonlight painting her silhouette silver, she paused. Looked back over her shoulder.
"Master? Thank you."
"For what?"
"For trusting me with this. For letting me be..." She struggled for words. Her usually smooth reports suddenly failed her. "For letting me be useful. For giving me purpose beyond simple service. For seeing me."
"Just don't make me regret it," I said. The words carried less warning than acknowledgment. We both knew she wouldn't disappoint me. Couldn't disappoint me. Her entire existence had reorganized itself around my will.
She smiled then. Genuine happiness. It transformed her face, made her seem younger somehow. More vulnerable. A glimpse of the girl she might have been if the world had been kinder.
"Never."
And then she was gone. Slipped through the window like smoke. Left me alone with my plans and my doubts and the growing certainty that I'd created something far more dangerous than I'd intended.
The room felt emptier without her. Shadows deeper. Silence heavier.
I blew out the candle and sat in the darkness.
The house settled around me. Wood creaked as it cooled. Somewhere distant, footsteps echoed through a corridor. Normal sounds of a noble estate at night.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. New ways to dance around disaster while maintaining my mask. I would stand before my father and perform the most important role of my new life.
The helpless fool who needed constant supervision.
And Lyra would watch with those burning eyes.
But tonight, I allowed myself a moment to think.
Three weeks. That's all it had taken. I'd turned a traumatized servant girl into a devoted intelligence operative. I'd manipulated family dynamics to position myself for academy infiltration. I'd started building a network that could potentially reshape the entire narrative I was trapped in.
Not bad for a useless third son.
Not bad for someone who was supposed to be a footnote. A cautionary tale. A name mentioned in passing before the real story began.
The question was whether I was building tools for survival or weapons for my own destruction. With Lyra, the line between those two options blurred more each day. Her devotion was a double-edged sword. Incredibly sharp. Potentially deadly to whoever wielded it wrong.
Guess I'll find out tomorrow.
When I prostrate myself before Father and beg him to let me take my pet monster to school.
When I trade the last scraps of my pride for the privilege of keeping my most dangerous asset close.
When I turn myself into such a convincing portrait of incompetence that even I might start believing it.
I leaned back in the chair and let darkness wrap around me. Started mentally rehearsing tomorrow's performance. Every word. Every gesture. Every tremor of uncertainty.
This was my masterpiece of mediocrity.
I couldn't afford a single wrong note.
===
Sleep didn't come easy that night.
I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and ran through scenarios. What if Father said no? What if Lady Vivienne threw a fit? What if Lucius caught wind of the plan and decided to interfere?
Each possibility had a counter. Each counter had a backup. Each backup had its own set of problems that would need solving on the fly.
This was my life now. An endless chess game against opponents who didn't even know we were playing.
The original novel had made it look so simple. Hero shows up. Hero overcomes obstacles. Hero wins. Credits roll.
Nobody mentioned the part where you lie awake at three in the morning wondering if your maid is going to snap and murder someone out of misplaced loyalty.
Nobody mentioned the part where you have to beg your own father for permission to be pathetic.
Nobody mentioned any of this.
I rolled over and punched my pillow into a more comfortable shape.
Three days until the Awakening Ceremony.
Three days until I found out what kind of powers this body had.
Three days until everything changed.
And tomorrow, I had to give the performance of a lifetime.
No pressure.
No pressure at all.
===
Somewhere around four in the morning, my brain finally gave up and let me sleep.
I dreamed about my old life. The cubicle. The fluorescent lights. The endless meetings about meetings. My boss droning on about synergy and optimization while I fantasized about throwing my laptop out the window.
Funny how death puts things in perspective.
Back then, I'd thought corporate politics was the worst thing that could happen to a person. Now I was navigating actual politics, the kind where losing meant execution instead of a bad performance review.
I'd trade places with old me in a heartbeat.
But that wasn't an option. Old me was dead. New me had to figure out how to survive in a world that wanted him gone.
When morning came, I was ready.
Or as ready as anyone could be for planned self-humiliation.
Time to go beg Father for a big leash.