Regulus arrived at the training grounds with brisk efficiency—only to immediately realize something was very wrong.
Three maids stood in perfect formation, their smiles serene, their eyes gleaming with something that made his instincts scream.
"Begin," said the one in the center.
Regulus tried to dodge—only to find his body locked in place. His muscles refused to obey. What the hell—?
Then the assault began.
Measuring tapes slithered around him like living things. Pins flashed in the light as fabric was draped, tucked, and adjusted with terrifying precision. Buttons popped. Seams were stitched before he could blink.
When the whirlwind of tailoring hell finally ceased, Regulus looked down.
And froze.
A maid uniform. His maid uniform. Perfectly fitted. Disturbingly well-tailored to his frame, hugging every contour with scandalous accuracy.
His head creaked toward the three maids, his voice hollow:
"No."
"Yes," said the first maid.
"No no no!"
"Yes," "Yes," "Yes," they replied in unison.
Regulus ran.
He barely made it three steps before the immobilization magic seized him again. But this time—he was ready. With a flick of his wrist, the projectile he'd prepped earlier whizzed through the air, striking the exact spot he'd calculated as the spell's anchor point.
...Nothing happened.
But the maids paused. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to frantically self-diagnose the magic clinging to him—
Oh.
Oh no.
This wasn't just immobilization. This was high-tier enchantment. The kind usually reserved for restraining rogue dragons.
He opened his mouth to chant a counter—
A measuring tape wrapped around his lips like a gag.
The maids advanced.
Regulus' scream was muffled, but the meaning was clear:
I WILL HAVE REVENGE.
Regulus's muffled protests were drowned out by the maids' delighted cooing.
"Ohhh, look at the frills on his apron!" one squealed, clapping her hands.
"The lace accents really bring out his eyes!" another agreed, adjusting the ribbon around his waist with a tug that made him stiffen in indignation.
"And the fit—" The third sighed dreamily, tracing a finger along the scandalously tailored seams. "Perfection."
Regulus made a strangled noise behind his gag, his face burning crimson.
Then she arrived.
The fourth maid stepped into view, her uniform slightly different—darker fabric, silver embroidery tracing arcane patterns along the hem. A staff was strapped to her back, its crystal pulsing faintly in time with the magic still pinning Regulus in place.
"Aww, he's blushing!" the mage maid (no, that did sound lame—spellbound attendant? Enchanted housemaid? Ugh, whatever) giggled, poking his cheek. "I told you the immobilization hex would work! Even if he did almost break free."
Regulus's glare could have melted steel.
The first maid sighed. "Don't pout, dear. You look adorable."
"Absolutely precious," the second agreed, patting his head.
"We should take him to meet the others!" the third chimed in.
The mage maid (fine, fine, Mistress of Household Hexes—happy now?) snapped her fingers. The measuring tape gag dissolved—
"I WILL BURN THIS DRESS," Regulus roared.
The maids burst into fresh giggles.
"He's even cute when he's angry!"
Regulus strained against the invisible bonds, his mind suddenly hyper-aware of every brush of fabric against his skin—fabric that had been put on him while his original clothes were...
His thoughts screeched to a halt.
"D-Did you... see?" he demanded, voice cracking slightly.
One of the maids tilted her head. "See what?"
Regulus's eye twitched. "You girls stripped me earlier," he hissed through gritted teeth.
The maid's expression shifted—lips parting, eyes darkening with something decidedly unprofessional. "Oh, that," she purred, tracing a finger along the frilled collar now snug around his throat. "Don't worry... I'll take full responsibility tonight. In your room."
"I'll help~" sang the second maid, adjusting his apron strings with deliberate slowness.
"And me," added the third, her smile razor-sharp as she plucked imaginary lint from his shoulder.
The mage maid simply winked, her staff glowing faintly in agreement.
Regulus's face burned nuclear red. "T-That's not—I didn't mean—!" His voice climbed an octave. "I WAS ASKING IF YOU LOOKED!"
A beat of silence.
All four maids exchanged glances.
"...Yes."*
"Obviously."
"Extensively."
"For professional tailoring purposes, of course," the mage maid added, utterly failing to sound convincing as her gaze dropped to his cinched waistline.
Regulus made a sound somewhere between a tea kettle and a dying seagull.
Somewhere in his mind, Nyx's laughter echoed throughout his skull—a merciless, heavenly chorus bearing witness to his utter defeat.
Regulus's breath hitched as the silk restraints tightened just enough to emphasize every curve the maid uniform clung to. The fourth maid—the one with the staff—traced her fingernail along the lace hem riding dangerously high on his thigh.
"Such... thorough measurements were necessary," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear as her hands somehow found his waist again. "Every. Inch."
Regulus's pulse hammered against the ribbon at his throat. "T-That's—"
"We even checked your flexibility," the second maid sighed, draping herself over his immobilized arm, her lips brushing his shoulder. "For seam allowance, naturally."
The third maid's laugh was pure sin as she rolled a stocking up his other leg. "Oh, don't look so shocked. You must have noticed how hands-on our training is~"
Regulus's brain finally connected the dots.
They were dead serious.
The first maid's teeth grazed his earlobe. "Tonight's lesson is practical application," she whispered, one hand sliding down to—
"I YIELD!" Regulus's voice cracked. "ANYTHING! I'LL WEAR THE APRON, THE BONNET, WHATEVER—"
The mage maid's staff flared. "Too late~"
He felt hands where no one but him has touched, bloodflow increases.
"Oh~"
"So big~"
The mage maid stepped closer. She cupped his chin, her lips parting as she enunciated with devastating charm:
"The Little King isn't so little anymore, especially when we're done with him. Look forward to it, Sir Re-gu-lus~"
Each syllable dripped like honey laced with arsenic, her breath hot against his jaw.
Regulus's knees nearly buckled—or would have, if the immobilization hex wasn't already turning his bones to liquid.
The other maids fanned themselves dramatically.
"Oh, she used the honorific," one whispered.
"That's three demerits for improper address," the second sighed, scribbling on a clipboard that hadn't existed moments before.
The third leaned in, her teeth grazing his earlobe as she matched her colleague's cadence: "Shall we... correct youuuu?"
Regulus made a sound no butler should ever make.