I already regret it a little

"Revenge is a dish best served cold, Ren. And I have the patience of the frost."

A shiver ran down my spine, and I groaned again. "She's going to kill me. Or worse—publicly humiliate me back."

Great. First day of school and I already had a target painted on my back. Fantastic start.

When I reached my room, I pushed the door open with a sigh, trying to shake off the ominous cloud of doom hanging over my head.

My room was exactly as I'd left it plush carpets, warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, and my bed calling my name like a siren luring a sailor to their doom.

But then I saw it.

The uniform.

It was laid out neatly on my bed, and I couldn't help but grimace as I walked closer. The top half was fine white blouse, navy blazer with silver embroidery, complete with a crest stitched over the left side. Very formal, very noble. But the bottom half?

A skirt.

A skirt.

I picked it up, holding it at arm's length like it might burn me. Sure, it was pretty a pleated design in navy to match the blazer, with silver trim along the hem but that wasn't the point.

The point was that I hadn't worn a skirt since... well, since my last life, and even then, it was under protest.

"I am not wearing this," I said firmly, glaring at the offending piece of clothing. "Nope. Not happening."

My reflection in the mirror didn't offer any solutions, just the same look of annoyance I was feeling. I set the skirt down and ran a hand through my hair, letting out a long sigh. Maybe I could just... sneak out in pants? No one would notice, right?

But my mother would.

She always noticed.

"Fine," I muttered, snatching up the skirt and storming out of my room. "We'll do this the hard way."

Downstairs, my mother was in the sitting room, sipping tea and reading through what looked like correspondence from other nobles.

She looked serene, regal as ever, her long auburn hair perfectly styled, her gown flowing like something out of a painting.

"Mother," I said, marching in with purpose.

She glanced up, her expression softening into a smile. "Yes, dear?"

I held up the skirt. "I can't wear this."

Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of confusion. "What do you mean? It's your uniform, Ren. All the girls at the academy wear skirts."

"Well, I'm not 'all the girls,'" I said, crossing my arms. "I want pants."

She raised an eyebrow, setting her tea down. "Ren, the uniform is standard. You can't just change it because you don't like it."

"But pants are practical!" I argued. "What if I have to run? Or climb something? Or—" I searched for a better argument. "Or fight?"

"Ren, you won't be fighting anyone at school," she said, her tone patient but firm.

"You don't know that," I muttered, thinking of Xyra.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, then held the skirt up again. "But seriously, pants are better. Why should I have to wear this? It's restrictive. What if there's a fire?!"

She gave me a flat look. "You control fire, Ren."

"Fine, bad example, but you get my point."

My mother sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Ren, this isn't about practicality. It's tradition. Girls wear skirts, boys wear pants. That's how it's always been."

I groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. "That's such an outdated rule. Who even came up with that? Probably some old guy who never had to wear a skirt in his life."

"Ren..."

"I'm serious!" I said, sitting up. "What if I promise to look presentable? I'll pick nice pants. Fancy ones! With embroidery or whatever. Just... no skirts."

She regarded me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed again, shaking her head.

"You are the most stubborn child I have ever met," she said, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Does that mean yes?" I asked hopefully.

"Fine," she said, waving a hand. "I'll speak to the tailor. But you'll still need to look polished and appropriate. No running around in trousers that look like they belong to the stable boy."

"Deal!" I said, grinning.

She gave me a look that said she wasn't entirely convinced this was a good idea, but I didn't care. I'd won. No skirts for this Everaine.

Now, if only I could convince Princess Xyra to forget about that whole banquet incident...

Let just not think of that right now.

But the moment my mother agreed, I jumped up from the couch, clutching the skirt like it was some kind of trophy for a battle well fought. I felt like I'd conquered the world or at least the ridiculous skirt tradition. 

"Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret this!" I exclaimed, twirling in place like an over-caffeinated child. 

My mother sighed again, giving me a look that was equal parts amusement and exhaustion. "I already regret it a little." 

But I didn't care. The idea of wearing pants, of walking into the academy without feeling like I was wrapped in a frilly prison, had me practically bouncing with excitement.

I could already picture myself in sleek trousers, striding confidently past my peers, a blazing fire sword in one hand and an equally fiery comeback for anyone who dared question my choices. 

"You won't even recognize me," I declared dramatically, tossing the skirt onto the nearest chair. "I'll look amazing. Like... like a fire mage who means business!" 

"Ren, you already look like a fire mage," my mother said dryly, though her lips twitched like she was trying not to laugh. 

I ignored her, pacing the room as my excitement bubbled over. "This is going to be great. I'll have pockets! Actual pockets! Do you know how revolutionary that is? I can carry things! Useful things! Like... like snacks! Or—" 

"Ren." 

"—or extra matches! Not that I need them, but you never know! Or maybe—" 

"Ren!" my mother said, louder this time. 

I stopped mid-ramble, blinking at her. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Do something with your hair. They look bad." 

I froze, my hand instinctively flying to the messy strands that had escaped the loose ponytail I'd thrown together this morning.

I glanced at the mirror across the room and winced. She wasn't wrong. My hair was a chaotic mess, sticking out at odd angles like I'd just survived a tornado. 

"Right," I muttered, my excitement dimming just slightly. "I'll, uh, go fix that." 

"Good idea," my mother said, picking up her tea again. 

Still, as I made my way to my room, the grin stayed firmly on my face. No skirt. Pants. Victory was mine.