Royal Reboot: Level up, Your Majesty!

Chapter 68: Queen vs. The Intricate Art of French Press

Queen vs. The Intricate Art of French Press

The Sin of Greed.

It was never just about wealth or power. Not about conquering nations, but conducting them. A maestro bending the world to its will, composing a symphony where every note was consumption, every pause was decay.

The melody never stopped. Not until there was nothing left.

And even then, it played on.

Its attack was the same as its essence. Greed didn’t just consume; it curated destruction. One touch, and the wound festered. A graze? That could heal. A hole in the abdomen? That, she could have undone.

If only she’d been awake. If only her mana hadn’t played dead, conveniently forgetting its own existence.

She had overestimated herself.

So to say she disliked Greed was an understatement. She had hated it long before she ever knew its face. Not that it had one. None of the Sins did.

They were shadows, older than language, older than history. And those who could undo Greed’s corruption?

There were two: the Bearer of Greed and The Saintess.

Callista.

A title, not a person. Like Eydis.

Oh, Eydis knew the legends. The Light, ever predictable, anointing a single mortal each generation with the touch of godhood, blessing them with power over life and death. The chosen victor of the Celestial Empire’s sacred trials. The worthiest.

Though worthiness had little to do with fate and everything to do with careful curation.

The so-called divine favour only ever shone upon those of the Light. Platinum blonde, silver-haired, silver attire. A divine bloodline, indistinguishable from itself.

They called it divinity. A gift. But what was divinity if not another form of binding?

A leash, silken and golden, but a leash nonetheless.

(Because originality is dangerous. Next thing you know, people might start questioning things. Madness. Best to handpick a champion, dress it up as prophecy, and call it a miracle.)

The Shadows, at least, had a touch more nuance. They didn’t appoint a champion; they elected a Sin. Pride. The first and oldest, nestled deep in the marrow of mortal minds.

And of course, Pride needed a vessel. It chose a vessel. And it was never satisfied.

Because how could shadows command humanity without wearing its face? Without becoming one of them? And Pride… Pride was nothing if not vanity incarnate.

It could claim the fairest of them all—for now. Until another came along, more radiant, more cunning, more magnificent. More… worthy of its indulgence.

It was not just the soul that bound Pride. Not merely the sigil-binding ritual. It was the spark. That was what fed Pride, what anchored it to its chosen champion.

And when that spark dimmed? So did its favour.

A game of thrones, played by the throne itself.

Fickle. Unpredictable. And the Shadows wouldn’t have it any other way.

Light and Shadows were meant to stay in their respective corners, never interfering. One never overpowering the other. One never reaching across the divide. And the Keepers of this sacred balance?

A Saint or Saintess of Light, bound by divinity.

A Queen of Shadows, crowned by Sin.

Destined. Chosen. Trapped.

But fate—or, more precisely, the current Queen of Shadows—had other plans.

By ‘current,’ of course, that meant her.

Eydis.

The Queen of Shadows who refused to stay in the dark, or in her designated corner. She never cared for rules. She never cared for boundaries. She bent them, remaking them in her own image.

Because this was never just about power. Never just about defying fate.

Winning was the only way to prove the world wrong—to tear apart the illusion of sacred balance, to expose it for what it truly was. A noose. A judgment. A system designed to decide who was worthy and who was not.

Just as this world decided who was Gifted… and who was nothing.

It was personal.

“Eydis.”

Astra’s voice sliced through the haze of her thoughts.

“That’s my name,” she murmured, the words a purr more than a statement. Then she blinked, refocusing.

Astra stood at the kitchen counter, her posture straight, composed, but the tension in her neck betrayed her awareness of every inch between their bodies.

The kind Eydis lived to provoke until it snapped.

She caught herself standing too close to Astra, close enough to notice details she shouldn't: the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, the gentle slope where pale skin disappeared beneath her collar. A single silver strand had escaped Astra's ponytail, drawing her eye.

“You’re not listening,” Astra said.

She wasn’t.

“Of course I am,” Eydis replied, voice as smooth as the coffee they were about to ruin. “Balance, control, and…” she breathed, “precision.”

Astra shot her a sharp glance before refocusing on the French press. She began to press the plunger down, the deep brown liquid separating from the grounds, darkening as it sank.

Eydis took her time. A shift forward, until one hand braced against the wooden counter and the other drifted lightly to Astra’s waist.

A tease. Nothing more.

Except Astra went still. Felt still, beneath Eydis’s fingertips.

So, perhaps, not just a tease.

Eydis’s grin widened as she let her fingers slide lower, covering Astra’s hand, guiding the plunger down in a motion far too slow to be necessary.

"Too much?" Eydis asked, her voice dropping low as she pressed forward, pinning Astra between her body and the counter. "Or not enough?"

The heat rolling off Astra was as instantaneous as it was intoxicating. She sucked in a breath, her free hand flying out—not to push Eydis away, but to brace against the counter.

Eydis felt the shift before she saw it, the faint tremor in Astra’s stance, the way her weight adjusted instinctively. Eydis’s hand moved without thought, sliding from the counter to Astra’s waist, steadying them both.

A sharp gasp. A growl. Astra tilted her head slightly.

“If you ruin another batch—” she started, but her breath hitched as Eydis’s fingers skimmed just above her hip, pressing lightly. She swallowed hard, shooting Eydis a glare that might have been intimidating if her voice hadn't wavered. “Last I checked, I’m the one teaching you.”

“Then surely,” Eydis purred, “you wouldn’t mind demonstrating precisely how much pressure I should be applying?”

Astra didn’t move at first. Didn’t shove her off. Didn’t even exhale. Crimson eyes dipped to Eydis’s hand.

A calculation. A hesitation.

A choice.

Eydis watched as a flush creeping high on Astra’s cheekbones.

Then, finally, Astra exhaled slowly, as if she had made her decision. And instead of pulling away…

She repositioned their hands. This time, she didn’t just correct Eydis’s technique.

She interlaced their fingers.

Eydis barely suppressed the sharp current that shot up her spine.

“Your problem?” Astra murmured softly, her voice infuriatingly amused. “Too much pressure. Too fast. Too impatient.”

Fast? Eydis frowned. Was Astra even talking about the coffee?

Astra turned her head slightly, just enough for Eydis to see her eyes. Deep. Intense.

Hunger.

Eydis nearly lost her grip on more than just the plunger.

And that—that—was the moment Eydis knew she was in trouble. Hunger. The very thing that had birthed every sin that clung to her.

She couldn’t pretend she didn’t see it, even if she wanted to.

Before she could process that dangerous thought, Astra tightened her grip. Her smirk promised trouble as she guided their hands down.

Slowly.

"Steady. Controlled. Measured." The words barely disturbed the air between them. "Not everything is a battle, Eydis."

Eydis’s lashes fluttered. She cleared her throat, but it didn’t help. Her voice still came out too low.

“I disagree, Astra.”

She pressed just a little harder—just enough to prove her point. Just enough to see if Astra would flinch.

Instead, Astra matched the pressure perfectly, their movements synchronising.

“I like my coffee the way I like everything else,” Eydis continued. “A little unpredictability keeps things exciting, wouldn’t you agree?”

Astra hesitated. For a second, their movements stilled. Then, she leaned back.

Not away. Back.

A mistake? Or a deliberate act of recklessness.

Because the last breath of space between them vanished. Eydis felt every point of contact: hip against hip, back against chest, fingers still tangled on the plunger.

Eydis’s smirk faltered. Just slightly.

Her pulse, however, did not. It thundered, loud and insistent, betraying nothing on her face, but everything beneath her skin.

Astra’s voice was lower now. But there was a dare threaded through it.

“Who said," Astra breathed, turning until her lips ghosted against Eydis's jaw, "I don't enjoy a little... unpredictability?"

And Eydis felt the full weight of Astra’s gaze. The intensity. Her mind screamed at her to break the moment before it became something else.

But her gaze betrayed her first. Dropped.

To Astra’s lips.

And stayed there.

She'd memorised so many things already: the silk of Astra's hair between her fingers, the subtle shifts in her voice when she was amused or irritated or caught somewhere in between.

But this—this was unfair.

The way Astra’s lips looked impossibly soft. The way they parted just slightly, teasing without meaning to. The way her breath fanned warm against Eydis’s skin, carrying the scent of cherries. Her lip balm.

Would she taste like that, too?

The thought burned Eydis. Her fingers twitched against Astra's hip. A tiny, treacherous motion.

And Astra noticed.

Eydis knew.

She knew because Astra drew in the faintest, sharpest breath. Because her fingers flexed around the counter, gripping harder. Because the pulse at her throat betrayed her, a quick, erratic thing against the smooth line of her neck.

But the hand above hers remained still. As if Astra feared what its next movement might mean.

Eydis moved first. Or rather…

She slipped. (She never slipped.)

The plunger jerked, just enough to break the seal, sending a ripple through the liquid. The settled grounds stirred, then surged up, swirling into the coffee in an unfiltered mess.

Astra blinked, just once, before her eyes flicked back to the beaker. But her hand didn’t leave Eydis’s.

“At this rate,” Astra muttered, voice a touch unsteady, “I won’t have had a single decent cup of coffee before nightfall.”

She exhaled—like she had just remembered to breathe—before stepping back. Too fast. Like she was forcing herself to move away.

Eydis should have tossed out a teasing remark, just to see if Astra would snap back. That was how this game worked. She pushed, Astra resisted, the balance remained.

(Did Astra even resist?)

But Eydis didn’t.

Because this, whatever this thing between them was, had shattered the moment coffee grounds swirled into the steaming water.

And in that instant, clarity struck.

For the first time in years, she wasn’t thinking about binding Sins, or Light, or Darkness, or the fragile, enforced balance of the world.

No. That wasn’t true.

She was thinking about balance, about what happened when shadows crept too close to light. Especially when that light burned this bright. When it bathed Astra’s profile in warmth, silver strands of hair almost shimmering.

So brilliant it made her want to shield her eyes.

Or reach for it.

Would it be selfish? To pull Astra into the dark? To let her own shadows cover that light?

Especially when…

When Astra was Callista.

The Callista. The Saintess.

And Eydis knew it, felt it, had felt it from the moment their paths first crossed. Perhaps even her own doppelgänger had sensed it. Celestial Goddess? That…

Wasn’t far from the truth. At all. She realised that now.

The Saintess. Someone who should have hated her but didn’t. Who should have killed her but healed her instead. And Astra? She had turned her back without hesitation, without a sliver of doubt. As if Eydis wasn’t a threat at all.

The thought mirrored Astra’s concern—utterly absurd.

But what was even more absurd was knowing all this. Knowing it, and yet…

Eydis was letting her teach her how to make coffee.

That was the part that got her. This quiet, senseless moment. This thing between them that had no name but felt far too much like…

Connection.

Astra exhaled slowly as the coffee steeped. She cleared her throat, but it did little to steady her voice.

“Want me to show you… again?” she murmured. She didn’t turn around.

Eydis blinked.

It wasn’t the words themselves, but the way Astra said them—low, careful, almost cautious. Like she knew exactly what she was asking, and also… didn’t.

The scent of coffee. The heat of it. The way Astra’s presence lingered too close. It was all pressing in. Too much.

Eydis took a step back. Then another.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll wait outside.”

Her voice was smooth. Collected. A perfect lie.

“I see,” Astra’s voice was barely audible.

Eydis didn’t hesitate, but she could feel it—that stare, searing into her back, dragging against her skin as she turned on her heel and left.

She wasn’t running.

She only needed fresh air.

She was running. But not from fear.

This couldn’t be happening. Shouldn’t be happening!

*

But if it wasn’t fear, then why was her heart still racing?