The maidens and one challenger

A dozen or so of the maids were already seated around the table, eating in perfect silence. Their movements were synchronized down to the lift of a fork, the dab of a napkin at the corner of the mouth. No sound of chewing, no clink of silverware that wasn’t deliberate. They wore the same black-and-white uniforms as the ones in the entry hall, but these had small variations, lace cuffs here, a different brooch there, like ranks or roles no outsider could guess.

At the head of the table stood an older maid, taller than the others, face sharper, eyes narrower. Her hair was pulled into a large severe bun without a single strand out of place. She wore the same uniform but in charcoal grey instead of black, apron starched to cracking. She moved behind the seated maids with slow, measured steps, pausing to correct posture with a light tap of her finger on a shoulder or the small of a back. One maid straightened instantly. Another lowered her fork half an inch. The older maid never raised her voice, never changed expression. Just corrected and the correction stuck.

Elizabeth came in right behind Dheris. The moment she crossed the threshold her gaze flicked up to the floating orbs. The invisible counter only she could see blinked: 7,124 viewers and climbing. More than their last three streams combined, even counting the one where she’d “accidentally” torn her skirt during a goblin chase. Her stomach twisted, excitement and nausea at the same time. She **** her usual bubbly smile anyway, gave a tiny wave to the nearest orb and kept her voice light.

“Wow, fancy place,” she said, loud enough for the stream but not loud enough to disturb the table. “Guess the master likes his meals posh.”

Chell slipped in next, ears already twitching. She kept stealing glances at the transformed Roisin, who had sauntered through the portal last and now leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed under her newly leather-bound tits, red eyes glowing faintly in the chandelier light. Roisin’s smirk never quite left her face. She watched the maids eat like she was studying a mildly interesting painting.

Chell’s nose wrinkled. Something smelled wrong, sulfur and smoke clinging to Roisin like cheap perfume. The tiefling didn’t smell like earth and herbs anymore. She smelled like brimstone and hellfire. Chell’s grip tightened on her moon-etched staff. She didn’t like this at all.

Elizabeth caught Chell’s eye across the short distance. The bard’s smile stayed in place for the orbs, but her eyes were serious. As a witch who’d signed more than one demon contract, she could feel the shift in Roisin too, dark, hungry, no longer tethered to the maternal druid they’d known. Elizabeth gave the tiniest nod. Chell returned it, ears flicking once in acknowledgment.

If things went sideways, they’d handle it. Together. No words needed.

Roisin noticed the exchange. Her smirk deepened. She licked her lips slowly, tail curling lazily behind her, but said nothing. Just watched.

The older maid at the head of the table finally looked up. Her eyes passed over the newcomers without surprise, without warmth. She set down the small silver bell she’d been holding and rang it once, sharp, clear.

The seated maids stopped eating in perfect unison. Forks lowered. Napkins folded. Chairs pushed back half an inch.

The older maid spoke, voice low and clipped.

Her gaze settled on the empty chair to her immediate right, the one closest to her own position at the head of the table. She lifted one gloved hand and motioned toward it with a single, precise flick of her fingers.

“That seat is for one of you,” she said, voice low and even. “The task in this room is to showcase proper table manners. Only then can you prove yourselves worthy of dining with the great master.”

Elizabeth’s hand shot up before anyone else could speak. She kept her tone bright, almost playful, the way she did when the stream needed a little extra sparkle.

“Wait, so there are no catches this time? No tricks, no hidden magic fountains?”

The old maid turned her head just enough to look at Elizabeth directly. The porcelain face didn’t change.

“None,” she answered. “The task of this room is simple: demonstrate elegance and grace. Nothing more.”