ã€ŠNo Regretsã€‹


 Prologue

    The hands that held my wrists tightened and I heard, more than felt, something pop and crack. I bit down on my lip to keep myself from crying out. A copper tang washed over my tongue, a taste as familiar as it was revolting.

    This was the third time I bit myself hard enough to bleed this evening, in a pitiful attempt to keep my suffering inside. They didn¡¯t deserve to hear me crying, didn¡¯t deserve to know that I was two steps away from breaking down.

    They crossed that line long ago.

    ¡°Faster.¡±

    The word was scarcely more than a growl and the damned hands tightened. Something ground painfully against each other in wrist and bile rose up in my throat at the both the noise and the pain that laced up my arm. I struggled to keep my steps steady. It was hard enough to walk after spending a year in jail, trapped in a ten foot box of a room. I was told it was what Ideserved. The memory helped me to force down the bile, to focus on my anger instead of the pain.

    I wondered if the Knight that held me liked to see me in pain. If he liked the bruises that littered my arms, dotting my skin like rotting flowers. If he liked to hear my bones rub together in an unnatural way. My nose throbbed dully, a pain that reminded me of the first time his fist slammed into my face which sent a shock of blood down my front. He might enjoy it. He was always the violent type, this Knight, though I admit I wasn¡¯t much better.

    But at least when I hurt others, I made no excuses.

    The Knight, though?

    Everything he had done to me was for his preciousEstelle Malvoler. She had said that I had hurt her, had isolated her, and had attempted to kill her. Of course, she beingEstelleand all, she would never lie, so the Knight was justified in using excessive violence.

    Our hobbled march led us to a large audience chamber, packed to the brim with spectators to see how this historical trial would go. Trial, huh? I kept my huff of dark laughter inside. This wasn¡¯t a trial. This was just a play in which the actors would play their role to the best of their abilities.

    Take the spectators, for example. The nobility of the realm had gathered to see just how this play would end. They wore lavish masks adorned with jewels, feathers, lace made of gold, dripping with extravagance as if hiding their faces somehow separated them from the act to come. It wouldn¡¯t, for they were the faithful yet faceless audience that wouldn¡¯t be able to tear their eyes from the finale.

    The Knight forced himself back into the narrative, shoving me to the ground. My knees hit it hard and my eyes rolled back as I squeezed them shut. By god, thathurt. The pain radiated from my knees but it couldn¡¯t compare to the aching throbbing of what remained of my fingers, jostled in the shove to the ground. They were most likely infected, though I tried not to look at them directly if I could help it. Everyday I awoke with them still attached I was surprised, for the sickly yellows, greens, and purples had spread up through my wrists, darkening my skin to a point I could not see my veins anymore.

    My head was slammed into the floor, sending stars through my vision. A titter went through our captive audience as blood rolled out of my nose and my cheek started to swell. I wondered if this was how they had imagined it, if this was something they had always yearned for. Was me being their villainess in this fairytale something they expected or just a pleasant surprise?

    Someone I used to know like I knew myself cleared his throat. The Stranger stepped into center stage but I kept my eyes closed, blocking out his huff of annoyance at my continued silence. They hadn¡¯t gotten me to speak Vasterian for months, and this was not when I would break my silence. They wanted me to play the role of the villain, but I would never give in so easily.

    Footsteps brought the Stranger closer and stopped in front of me.

    There was a rustling of clothes as he moved, and then fingers looped through the rat¡¯s nest that was my hair and yanked. My head jerked at an angle that was uncomfortable but was quickly moving into painful since the Knight so kindly kept my chest pressed against the floor.

    Reflexively, my eyes opened, though I kept my gaze on his chin. The Stranger responded by pulling my head back further, making my struggle to breathe for a moment, choking on what little saliva I could produce.

    Coughing and desperate to breathe, I looked at the Stranger. Cold brown eyes burned into mine. His mouth, perfect and princely and full of lies, twisted into an ugly shape at my rebellion and subsequent ¡°giving up.¡± I thought that ugly shape, full of arrogance and scorn, suited him better than any smile he had ever sent my way, better than any secret smirk or burst of laughter shared between us. If God would be kind, they would freeze the Stranger¡¯s face like this so that everyone would see him for what he truly was.

    ¡°You¡¯re disgusting,¡± he said, the words ringing through the chamber, a dark tune playing through his melodic voice as it dripped with hypocrisy. Me? Disgusting? As if I was the one who spent years lying to each other, tricking him into thinking that we were best friends? Me?

    Our audience went silent, knowing the main event was about to start.

    ¡°You became quite bold and arrogant,¡± the hypocritical Stranger said, a sneer curling his lip, ¡°to attempt to murder Estelle in broad daylight. I wonder where you gained the gall.¡±

    I thought of the only time I ever had the gall to kill another human being. I wondered if he had forgotten it, forgotten the price I paidfor him. Did he understand what it took to even consider murder as an option?

    Of course he didn¡¯t. Why would a prince ever bloody his own hands when a perfectly good tool was around to do so?

    I had no reaction to his words, staring at him but not really seeing him anymore. An image of a friend flickered, then overlapped with this Stranger and it hurt.<del>A hand reaching out to help me up, mouth quirked up in a way that was almost mocking but held mostly good humor. Whispered conversations behind a willow, hiding laughter behind our hands, the world holding only us.</del>I blinked it away because if it lingered, I would break right then and there.

    The Stranger almost snarled at my nonreaction but caught himself. It wouldn¡¯t do for the prince in this fairytale to show such an undignified expression. He had to beperfectlike always, as if that was the only thing that people cared about.

    He let my head drop down but I twisted fast enough for my other cheek to hit the ground instead. Tears burned under my eyelids, hot and sticky and I hated it. I wished I could just turn everything off. I was so tired. Why couldn¡¯t this just be over cleanly instead of drawing out this farce of a trial? Cue the epilogue please, cue the curtain, let me take my final bow to a world that clearly wanted to wash its hands of me.

    I wondered what the Knight¡¯s face looked like, as he tightened his grip. Would it mirror the Stranger¡¯s in its hatred and disgust?

    Or, perhaps¡­

    A calm deep voice colder than winter cut through the room, announcing the next actor¡¯s arrival. It drew everyone¡¯s attention, even mine, and then we were all staring at the Doll. His appearance was impeccable as always, not a hair out place, not an emotion on his face.

    ¡°Jacqueline McGowan,¡± he began, saying my name like one would talk about rotting fish, light hitting his glasses at just the right angle to hide the hatred in his eyes. ¡°You have been found guilty of repeated harassment that increased in severity, leading to the attempted murder of Estelle Malvoler.¡±

    His face was impassive as his words started the final chapter. Emotions was never this Doll¡¯s forte, no matter how many hours I had spent studying them with him, had tried to help him.

    But I¡¯ve seen it now, his face twisted with affection and adoration. It was simply never directed my way, even after all this time. I hadn¡¯t wanted much. He didn¡¯t need to love me nor do any grand gestures. I had just wanted the Doll to smile at me occasionally and call me his friend.

    There was movement to my left and the Knight deemed me worthy enough to be allowed off the floor. I glanced towards the movement before I could stop myself and think about just who was missing from this line up.

    There he was.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    The Traitor.

    <del>My brother.</del>

    ¡°Jacqueline,¡± said the voice that once loved me, ¡°you will now answer for your crimes.¡±

    Crimes, they say. Crimes, they declare, as if I wasguilty. As if they weren¡¯t the ones who were undoubtedly bending the law to their whims in order to arrange this horrible play. Crimes, they claim, as if what they did to me was nothing compared to it.

    I let my gaze fall to the floor. Not even the Traitor could get me to accept this blasted role.

    Silence settled over the room like fog, twisting and filling up the space between the world and I, pulsing with anticipation of the next scene.

    It was my time now to speak, to curse my face, to defend myself. The Knight once again squeezed my shattered wrists, urging me to speak. He continued with his kind ministrations and jerked me roughly. There was a distinct pop coming from my shoulder, thenpain. I trembled but kept the treacherous tears at bay, squeezing my eyes closed. I had trained for so long to never let any weakness show, I had no idea why they thought I would let it happen now.

    ¡°Look at me.¡±

    No thank you, Stranger. Not in the mood.

    ¡°Look at me!¡±

    The volume of voice, coupled with another jolt of pain from being handled roughly had my eyes opening weakly and I met his eyes once more.

    He had an accessory now, one called Estelle. She clutched his arm, looking quite pitiful with tear tracks on her face and her artfully disheveled hair. They had really worked hard on casting her as the heroine, hadn¡¯t they? Too bad she wasn¡¯t sporting bruises, it would really add to the fa?ade. It would do her some good, to have her perfect beauty marred and destroyed, torn away from her and leaving her with nothing of worth besides her poisonous heart.

    ¡°Your punishment is execution,¡± the Stranger said, pride shimmering in his eyes, royal might present in his voice. After all this time in jail, I had expected this outcome. ¡°Here¡¯s the verdict, with his majesty¡¯s approval.¡± He waved the flimsy piece of paper through the air like a hunter did his first kill.

    A thought struck me dumb.

    That¡¯s what this was after all. This was the Stranger¡¯s first kill.

    A breathless laugh escaped me. I couldn¡¯t help it, not whenIwashisfirst kill¡­ this was all so deliciously ironic that I nearly gagged.

    ¡°Have you gone mad?¡± the Knight asked, allowing me the pleasure of hearing his voice speak full sentences.

    My laughter continued, growing and reaching the high ceiling of the audience chamber. It was a desperate sort of laughter, broken beyond repair at this point, straining a throat that hadn¡¯t been used like this in a long time. Long my laughter lasted, shaking my body painfully but once I had started, I could not stop. It was either laugh or cry, and I knew what I certainly wasn¡¯t doing.

    I reckoned that I laughed long enough that it might be noted down in history books, if they ever mentioned me.

    I quieted eventually, half glad they didn¡¯t use force to make me stop. But the other half of me knew that this only added to the picture they painted. What was better than a villainess? A mad villainess.

    ¡°Do you have any last words or regrets?¡± A Doll¡¯s voice hit my ears, something threading through it that I hadn¡¯t heard before. I wondered what it was. I couldn¡¯t place it, even after all these years. I didn¡¯t try to puzzle it out. It was a waste of effort.

    I thought over his question and an old lesson came to mind. Well, they wanted one last huzzah, so here.

    ¡°Regrets, huh?¡± I rasped. It was strange to speak my native tongue after months of refusing to. The vowels stretched strangely in my mouth and the consonants landed awkwardly. But, I had already broken my silence, so I shall make this ending a masterpiece.

    ¡°A man once told me,¡± I began, glancing at both the Traitor and the Stranger, ¡°that to regret is to want to apologize for the past.¡± Their eyes stayed cool without recognition. I supposed they both had forgotten about that lesson. For shame, Stranger, not remembering your uncle¡¯s words.

    ¡°I have on regret, one apology I¡¯d like to make.¡±

    This caused quite the stir, a low murmur popping up in our audience. Estelle¡¯s eyes widened, glancing between the Stranger and I, her fingers tightening on his clothes. Did she expect vindication, did they all expect me to ransom my dignity in a hopeless attempt for salvation?

    I bared my teeth in something that would never be called a smile.

    ¡°I regret being naive enough to think I was ever friends with any of you, thinking that you could be trusted,¡± I spat, relishing in Estelle''s slight recoil at the venom dripping from my words. ¡°I apologize to my youth for being wasted on people likeyou.¡±

    I looked the Traitor in the eyes, so similar to my own yet so very foreign, making sure that he knew who these words were meant for.

    ¡°I apologize to myself for caring about any of you, you worthless pieces of trash.¡±

    Before I could enjoy his reaction, my face hit the floor a third time. My vision went black for one dangerous moment and I wondered if the Knight would kill me right here and stain the floor with blood.

    ¡°You insolent little¡ª¡±

    ¡°Nothing you¡¯ll say will get through to her once she¡¯s made up her mind,¡± the Traitor said. It seems he did remember our childhood after all, despite what he¡¯s done to me. ¡°Let¡¯s get the execution over with.¡±

    I closed my eyes and let his condemnation wash over me. What wonderful last words to have for me, dear Traitor. Did I really mean so little to you, that my execution is something to simply ¡®get over with? I wished I could see inside his head, just for one moment. I¡¯d like to understand how he could be so callous.

    I was roughly dragged to my feet, the Knight uncaring of the pain he casually inflicted with every movement. We left through the door with me at the front of this procession, the prized kill on display. I wondered how they¡¯d kill me. A dull axe perhaps? Take a few swings to truly cut off my head and sever my spine? I knew poison would be too good a death for me, not exciting enough for the audience that craved my blood. Plus, it wasn¡¯t like I was unfamiliar with poison, given just how many people seemed to take offense to my existence.

    Even as my mind dreamed up ways I could be killed, a small part of me was still shocked as we approached apyre, though it was quickly swallowed by the blank numbness that had protected me from my own emotions for so long.

    They wanted¡­ I had to take a small breath to wrap my head around this. They wanted to burn me to death.

    It seemed my dear Traitor remembered my childhood trauma after all, though I couldn¡¯t discount it being the Doll¡¯s suggestion. For being so emotionless, he really did have a sadistic streak.

    There was a sound of something being removed from a sheath and then my matted curls hit the ground. Huh. They truly wanted me to look the part of the wicked woman, didn¡¯t they. Short, choppy hair added to the deranged look they wanted to cultivate and sell to the masses. I allowed myself to be dragged to the pyre quietly, even as every step sent shocks of pain through my body from hundreds of wounds.

    They tied tighter than they needed to to the pyre. I would be worried about losing a limb if I weren¡¯t about to die.

    They all stepped back and admired their handiwork. I could see each one of their wretched faces now.

    They looked proud. There wasn¡¯t any hesitation in their faces, no second thoughts, no remorse that they were about to burn me alive. Estelle ducked away from my direct gaze and that earned me more glares for some goddamned reason. Sure. That made perfect sense. Hate me because she¡¯s a coward and refused to face me head on. What wonderful logic they had.

    Why, yes, of course we should be sentencing our friend of fifteen years to death because she told us to fuck off one too many times and didn¡¯t like the girl we were trying to impress. Isn¡¯t that the obvious choice?

    I hated them.

    <del>They were my only friends.</del>

    I wanted them to live out their cursed happily-ever-after.

    <del>I never wanted to get in the way of their happiness, I would never dream of it.</del>

    I wanted them to live with their guilt for the rest of their fucking pathetic lives.

    <del>I had always thought, one day, we all would be old and gray and watching our children grow together.</del>

    I wanted them to know that I would never forgive them, no matter how hard they fucking begged the heavens to let me hear their piteous screams.

    <del>Would I go to heaven?</del>

    The Traitor grasped an unlit torch and I realized that he was the one who would be setting me ablaze. The years between meant nothing. The fact that I was his sister meant nothing. The fact I was his only family left alive meant nothing. My loyalty, my trust, mylove, every single thing I had given him and down for him in the past twenty years of my life meant¡ª

    Nothing.

    To him, I was nothing.

    It was appropriate for the villain to get one last punchy monologue before they died. As my end came closer with every spark, I knew my time grew short.

    ¡°When I am dead,¡± I began, projecting my voice over the jeers, and met each of the main actors¡¯ eyes, ¡°I don¡¯t want to hearyourregrets. When you find out that you were wrong, don¡¯t expect my forgiveness. I want you to suffer with your guilt, to suffer for each moment I have at your hands.¡± The spark finally caught, lighting the torch in<del>my brother¡¯s</del>the Traitor¡¯s hand. My words remained steady and my smile cruel. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you do, I¡¯ll never forgive any of you, never in a thousand years.Noneof you deserve it.¡±

    He brought my death forward and lowered it to the edge of the oil soaked wood. The flames leapt up and danced playfully around my ruined skirts. My skin began to crack and blister on contact.

    I looked<del>the only person I¡¯ve ever trusted so wholly, the only person I believed I could rely on for the rest of my life, my first friend, my confidant, the person I would have given the entire world even if it meant I damned everyone else, my</del><del>big brother</del>the Traitor in the eyes through the glare and pain.

    I had one last special message, just for him. One that was worthy of haunting his every waking step and plaguing his mind whenever he saw something that reminded him of me.

    ¡°I love you.¡±

    Sometimes the truth hurts more than a lie.

    The look in his eyes flickered.

    I let my own fall close and, finally, gave into the pain and screamed as the fire consumed me.

    ---

    I¡¯ve always hated the concept of a destined fate because then it meant all my suffering was unavoidable. ThatnothingI ever did had any meaning because this was decided before I was even born.

    It meant that I was always destined to die burning and screaming. That my friendships and happiness never even mattered because it was destined that I would be betrayed.

    If there is some mystical being that controlled my fate, I could imagine them laughing at me because they knew what would happen. I also imagined punching them as hard as I can in their face for putting me through that utter bullshit.

    I¡¯d much rather everything that happened to me to be products of my own decisions, even if that hurt more.

    If I lived again, as fantastical as that would be, I¡¯d live with no regrets. I would care not for whatever destiny had in store for me. If I were to die again, I would die with no apologies to my past self, no regrets or curses screamed out in my last moments.

    If I could, I think I¡¯d very much like to die happy.

    -+-

 Chapter 1: Seven years before my execution

    Someone was speaking, their worlds stumbling over each other in a low murmur.

    ¡°--much to do--¡±

    ¡°--barely enough time--¡±

    ¡°Wake up, Milady!¡±

    I gasped, clutching my chest. I was shaking as I tried to figure out how I was alive and what in the world was going on. My eyes were assaulted with color as I stared at what was above me.

    Above my head was a bed canopy. A pastel blue canopy. A canopy I hadn¡¯t seen in years.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± I whispered, breathing starting to quicken. Jerking my gaze to see what else surrounded me made things worse.

    Yiranna Darney was bustling about, a dress in hand and a bright smile on her face.

    Yiranna Darney died three years ago, accused and convicted of coveting a noble¡¯s property.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± I repeated, my voice so soft I could barely hear it.

    Yiranna noticed I was sitting up and her smile impossibly brightened.

    ¡°Milady, I was beginning to worry you would sleep the whole morning,¡± she gently chastised, folding the ornate dress over the arm of the couch. That couch had been sold two years ago when my father died.

    My father.

    I jerked the covers off and scrambled out of bed. The blankets tangled around me and I hit the ground hard, teeth slamming together painfully. I tore at the constraints that dared to get in my way.

    If Yiranna was alive in this heaven-sent dream, then surely my father was too. He had to be, if Yiranna was. I cared for her, yes, but he was my father.

    If he was not here, then this was just one last way to torture me before scattering my consciousness and giving me a final death.

    ¡°--ady! Milady, what¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Yiranna was there, hesitant when she saw my face. I don¡¯t know what she saw that made her still like that, but I did not care. I threw off the last of the cursed bedding and stood.

    Then I promptly lost my balance, my vision going black momentarily as I swayed dangerously. Yiranna caught my arm and gently, but firmly, pushed me back to the bed. When she touched me, I flinched and she drew back, frowning.

    ¡°Milady, are you feeling well enough to attend the party today?¡± she asked, concern softening her features. I had forgotten that expression, it had been so long.

    ¡°What party?¡± I said. My voice did not rasp or crack. My throat did not stretch painfully. The words came out easily and there was only a hint of an Insolarian accent.

    Yiranna¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°It is his highness¡¯s thirteenth birthday today, are you feeling alright? You¡¯ve been looking forward to this for quite a while.¡±

    My blood ran cold.

    What?

    A hand touched my forehead and I jerked back automatically, moving away from the potential pain.

    ¡°Milady, you¡¯re burning up!¡±

    I flinched at her words. She stood, then walked towards the door quickly, sending worried looks over her shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting the doctor. Don¡¯t move a muscle.¡±

    My hands shook as I brushed my fingers against my jaw. The small scar I gained in a spar because of misplaced footing when I was thirteen was still tender and puffy. If Yiranna was to be believed and this was not just the way for life to get the last life, I¡­ I was thirteen again.

    Seven years before my execution.

    Five years before my father died.

    Three years before I went to the academy and everything started to go downhill in my life.

    I choked back the sob that bubbled from my chest, desperately trying to keep my tears inside.

    This was too much.

    I remembered the way that flames had just ravaged my body, the smell of my burning flesh was etched into my memory just like my father¡¯s had, nerves were fried, my skin melted off of me.

    I remembered everything, cursed by my unfailing memory.

    To wake up in this bed was too much, the possibilities--this was too much for me to process.

    Too much, too much, too much.

    My body shook, phantoms of flames and kisses of fists reminding me of every moment of excruciating pain.

    The door opened and I hastily tried to wipe away my tears. My vision was blurred as I tried to find the words to placate Yiranna.

    The words died, quicker than I, on my tongue.

    The Traitor stood there. <del>Lucas stood there.</del> His face was full of false concern that wouldn¡¯t last as he said words that I couldn¡¯t hear over the roar of fire in my ears.

    This was all too much.

    I tilted forward and met the floor with my face once more.

    -,-

    I was burning.

    It was hot, so hot, the heat was all around me and burning every inch of skin.

    I couldn¡¯t breath, choking on the smoke that rolled off my flesh.

    I tried to claw at my throat to open up my airway but my hand was trapped.

    I struggled to open my stinging eyes, needing to see what was keeping me from clean air.

    Black eyes bore into mine, the warmth of his hand an oppressive heat. It made its way down into my bones, cracking and peeling back layers of flesh, exposing nerves, exposing bones, exposing marrow that never should have seen the light of day.

    I yanked my hand back, pulling at my collar and trying to let myself breathe through the smog. Seams ripped as I choked down gasping breaths.

    Over the flames, I heard forced concern. I looked back towards the man I wished would disappear from my sight, eyes stinging and watering.

    ¡°Lynne, how can--¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I growled, my voice barely human. I flinched at the sudden rush of heat from him. I stared through the haze and snarled, ¡°You don¡¯t get to call me that anymore.¡±

    Did he even react? I couldn¡¯t tell through the tears and smoke. I sneered and dragged myself farther away from, putting the much needed space between him and I.

    ¡°Let me help you,¡± he said with his lying mouth. His false words, false promises cracked in my ears and I shied even farther away.

    ¡°Never,¡± I whispered harshly, coking on the smoke. My coughing turned into a violent thing that shook my entire body. A burning hand touched my shoulder and I jerked back.

    I hadn¡¯t realized how close to the edge I was. My hands met air and I fell backwards. My head hit something solid.

    The last thing I saw must have been a hallucination.

    The Doll had never looked at me with that much emotion in my entire life.

    -,-

    Something cool settled over my forehead, fighting back the heat rolling in me. A deep voice rumbled soothingly next to me. Fingers softly rubbed circles on the back of my hand. The hand that held mine was cool and touched me like I was something to treasure.

    That¡­ was strange, having someone touch me so gently.

    ¡°--should have been here sooner. I¡¯m sorry I was late. I¡¯m here now, don¡¯t worry little Lynne.¡± He continued with his soft assurances, the gentle rumble bringing stinging and disbelieving tears to my eyes.

    I squinted my eyes open, scarcely wanting to let myself hope.

    But my ears hadn¡¯t been wrong. My father was sitting next to me. He noticed my gaze and smiled, leaning forward to brush a stray hair out of my face.

    ¡°Feel any better, love?¡± Father asked. Now that he was here and was holding my hand, I let the tears roll freely down my face and I nodded. He was alive. Alive and by my side.

    I didn¡¯t have to be alone anymore.

    ¡°Can I have a hug, papa?¡± I whispered, hesitant about asking for it because the last time I asked for affection the Traitor had rejected me so thoroughly my heart still aches. I couldn¡¯t even remember the last time someone had hugged me.

    Maybe it was before my father died.

    Father smiled and he leaned closer, helping me to sit up. His arms wrapped around me and I felt safe for the first time since¡­ Well, let¡¯s just say it¡¯s been a very long time.

    I rested my head against his chest and listened to heartbeat. Strong and unyielding it brought tears to my eyes. I was an ugly crier and soaked his shirt, but he just held me. He didn¡¯t tell me to stop crying or that I was weak for allowing my emotions to show. His arms were barriers against the world that hated me. My fingers twisted in his shirt, clutching at him to prove to myself that this was real. He was real and warm under my hands.

    I sobbed, ¡°Papa, I¡¯ve missed you.¡±

    His death had nearly broken me and after it, I still woke up from nightmares screaming for him.

    ¡°I¡¯ve missed you too, darling,¡± he replied, his hand petting my hair. He said it so easily, as if it was natural to long to be in my presence. ¡°I¡¯m here now.¡±

    That¡¯s one of the things that I loved about my father. He didn¡¯t know why I was crying or why I missed him so, but he said exactly what I needed to hear. He didn¡¯t make an excuse or pry, all he did was love me.

    I held him much longer than society told me I should have, but you have to understand that I couldn¡¯t help myself. Now that I held him in my arms, letting go was out of the question. If I let him go, he might die again, far from my reach, alone in his cooling blood. I¡¯d be left alone again, left alone with the Traitor for company.

    ¡°Would you like any visitors?¡± Father asked, his voice rumbling through his chest comfortingly. I shook my head roughly, the fabric of his shirt scratching at my face but I refused to move away.

    ¡°No one?¡±

    ¡°No one.¡±

    He paused and I felt his considering gaze on me.

    ¡°Lucas has missed you too,¡± he said, almost chiding and I couldn¡¯t help the way my fingers tightened and the way I began to shake. I pulled back to look him in his eyes because I had to make him understand.

    ¡°No,¡± I begged, eyes burning with tears anew. ¡°No, please, only you, please Papa, please, please.¡±

    My voice shook and cracked as the shadows of a burning woman danced on the wall. I shut my eyes and buried my face in his chest again, trying to forget the glare and bite of flames and tried to block out the sounds of my death screams.

    Father didn¡¯t say anything else and just held me tighter. The sounds started to fade after a while, after I started to calm myself. The shivers faded completely as my father sang a lullaby.

    ¡°Smile, my child, don¡¯t miss out, the world is made to be yours. Hush, my child, don¡¯t be scared, for you the world endures.¡±

    I let the deep tones of his voice soothe me and chase away my memories. I started to drift off, my body growing heavy, but I didn¡¯t fight it. It was the first time I had fallen asleep in a long time and I wasn¡¯t afraid of what might await me when I woke up.

    -+-

    I became aware of the world slowly, sleep reluctantly releasing its claws on me. There was softness beneath me instead of stone, almost decadent despite its simplicity.

    The pale blue that assaulted my eyes irked me irrationally. Perhaps it was just because it seemed like it had been picked out by a different person, a different me. Or maybe, it was because it was the Traitor¡¯s favorite color.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I pushed away that thought before it could hurt. I had better things to do.

    I pushed myself up to a sitting position, eyes darting over the room. No one was here and silence greeted my ears. Tension slowly bled out of my shoulders. No need to mask my expression or fake emotions if there was no audience.

    This was the third, perhaps the fourth, time I had woken up. Everything before this moment had faded into one fuzzy mass in my memories, bleeding into each other so seamlessly it was hard, for even me, to understand what had happened. It wasn¡¯t a dream, I was reasonably sure. The softness of the pillows on my skin, the song my father sang, the subtle smell of sweat, and--I winced--the pain I felt when I fell was all too vivid for a dream.

    However, that begged the question, what the fuck happened to me? I definitely died. To deny that would be akin to denying that the sun hung in the sky. It was a simple fact that had to be accepted.

    My fingers twitched, drawing my attention to them. I smiled a bit ruefully, hoping that getting adjusted to having all my fingers again wouldn¡¯t take too long. I let myself stare at my hands, marveling at how they responded quickly when I wanted to move, how there wasn¡¯t any pain or deep aching, and how the skin was a normal color, only marred by an old burn. Mundane things to admire, but it was something I had taken for granted for most of my life. There were many things like that, things you only realize were wonderful once they were gone.

    I sighed and sank back into the bed, relishing in the comfort it provided me and letting my mind wander now that I knew I was reasonably safe.

    Execution was quite the punishment, even for attempted murder. One might even say, one underserved, despite my circumstances. I was from a ducal household and that should have afforded me some protection, even if my only worth stemmed from my womb. But, with the head of the house deciding that he didn¡¯t want anything to do with me, it seemed I was worth about as much as a pile of dirt. Thanks Traitor, real kind of you. But even then, I had a feeling there was more to it. A public execution was reserved for the worst of criminals. Even if I had killed Estelle, it wouldn¡¯t have warranted being burned alive. Someone else, someone with quite a bit more power than four heirs, wanted me dead. An example to people, but I had no idea what sort.

    I closed my eyes. How very lovely.

    Just why had I come to the past? Was this a gift from the god I had long stopped praying too? Were the past seven years just some sort of wicked dream?

    My legs throbbed and ached at that thought, as if to remind me the pain was very real. Gritting my teeth, I curled into the fetal position to try and rub away the pain. There was nothing outwardly wrong with them, but the phantom pain refused to abate, a vicious denial to thinking that it was a dream.

    But how? A miracle? A fluke of fate? What was I to make of this? My memories weighed on me like an anchor, threatening to drag me into melancholy and despair.

    I gently pinched my cheek and sat up. I refused to wallow, that was for lesser people. There were more important things I had to do, I had plans to make.

    The doorknob twisted and I schooled my face into practiced neutrality even as my body tensed. My father smiled as he walked in, coming towards my bed. I forced my arms, at least, to relax. He¡¯d be able to tell something was off if I was too stiff.

    My smile didn¡¯t have a muscle out of place. It took slightly more effort than usual to keep it placid, my younger facial muscles not as trained to be contorted at the drop of a hat.

    ¡°How have you been, Father?¡± I asked as he sank into the chair next to me. My voice was surprisingly smooth with no accent. I reminded myself that I hadn¡¯t been choked yet nor was I sick, so it should be smooth.

    Father frowned and it took a great deal of effort to not react to that besides tilting my head slightly in concern.

    ¡°I should be the one asking you that, Jacqueline,¡± he said, eyes searching my face for any sign of discomfort. He would not find it. ¡°You¡­you had a fever high enough that the doctors were afraid that¡­¡±

    He had to take a steadying breath. My mask had long been perfected, ever since his funeral. His sadness affected my heart, yes it always did, but all that was on my face was a slight furrowing of brows and a reassuring smile.

    ¡°I¡¯m still here,¡± I said, steeling myself. I reached out, hands not shaking, and touched his hand. Pride laced through me when I didn¡¯t flinch at his hand covering mine. He kept staring and his frown deepened.

    ¡°Jacqueline.¡± There was the tone he used when he thought I was lying. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re feeling alright?¡±

    I tilted my head again and brightened my smile comfortingly. ¡°I feel just fine, Father, thank you for worrying about me. How long have I been asleep?¡±

    Asleep not unconscious, a softer and kinder word that hopefully framed this little...mishap as a less serious occurrence.

    His flat gaze told me that he didn¡¯t believe the artificial healthiness I was radiating.

    ¡°A week.¡±

    I blinked. Oh. That was...a slightly significant amount of time. It explained the wariness in his gaze and why I felt so weak.

    ¡°Have I missed anything important?¡± I asked, ignoring his gaze. Father stared a moment longer before sighing and rubbing a hand down his face.

    ¡°Well, you missed his highness¡¯s birthday,¡± he said, his face scrunching up in the way it did when the Stranger had done something particularly annoying.

    I bit the inside of my lip, holding back the jab of, so I didn¡¯t miss anything important then. I had to act as normal as possible to get any sort of freedom to do what I wanted. But as I held back my retort, my father¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    ¡°Lynne, are you sure you¡¯re doing alright?¡±

    Well...whoops. I had missed the opportunity to be sad over missing the party or to ask what annoying thing the Stranger did.

    I raised an eyebrow at him, forcing teasing irritation to dance around my words. ¡°Father, have your ears stopped working while I was asleep? I¡¯m quite sure I already answered that question.¡±

    My teasing made him raise an eyebrow and sigh in response, but I saw the way he was trying to hide a smile. His hand came out to ruffle my hair suddenly, and I really did try to hide my flinch at the movement. Father¡¯s hand stilled on my hair and his blue eyes stared at me in concern. My breathing grew a little unsteady and my smile was strained, despite my best effort. His hand shifted to press the back of his palm against my forehead. His frown returned and then he gently pulled me forward to press our foreheads together, something that had my lungs stalling. I didn¡¯t have time to gasp for air before he pulled back, his expression dark with worry. I got my breathing under control with a sharp breath but my eye was twitching.

    ¡°Jacqueline.¡± He said my name with worry and love, like it made him happy to say and it wasn¡¯t just an easier way to make insults hit. ¡°I¡¯m going to get someone to look over you again. You¡¯re not warm, but¡­¡± He let out an irritated breath, his eyebrows drawing together. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡±

    ¡°Father,¡± I said, slightly desperate, ¡°I swear I feel alright."

    I knew my words were being undermined by my shaking eyelids but I had to try.

    He looked at me again, with the gaze that had gotten me to spill so many secrets in my childhood. But I wasn¡¯t a child anymore, for all that I was his daughter still. That sort of look doesn''t work once you¡¯ve experienced death. I stared back, hoping that he¡¯d give in.

    My hopes were dashed as he spoke.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± he said, standing. Father hesitated, but he reached out to pat my head and pull me into a hug. It took me longer to register what was happening to me, but I relaxed into the hug and relished in the affection. If this truly was a redo of my life, loving my father would be something I would not be afraid to do. He pulled back and I let go reluctantly, hands falling softly into my lap.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± he repeated and left.

    Alone once more, I blinked at the silence. I sighed. Well, I had always been told I inherited my stubbornness from him, so it was unlikely I could have swayed him. My father was¡­ protective of me, to say the least, though I understood where it came from. <del>Blood pooled underneath the cooling body, running in red rivers that stained my shoes. Terrified eyes bore into mine and I opened my mouth to say--</del>

    No.

    I forced the memories away from my mind. Dwelling on that specific instant would bring me nothing but pain. The person I had fought for wasn¡¯t worth the effort.

    Getting my legs over the side of the bed took more effort than I thought it would, though I did recognize that I had been unconscious for a week. That still seemed like an awfully long time. What exactly had happened to my body for me to slip into a small coma like it was no big deal?

    My toes sank into the plush carpet as I thought, and I held onto the bedpost to stay steady. Standing, fortunately, did not make me black out this time, but I kept a hand out to catch myself if I fell.

    The mirror at my desk was my goal. It was a short walk regularly, but there was nothing I could grab onto on the way. Silly me, not planning for this. Mentally, I made a note to invest in some sort of comfortable chair to go in that empty space. I had taken a deep breath and prepared myself to let go of the bedpost when there was a knock on the door.

    A wave of elegance and nobility washed over me, my shoulders straightening and my face showing no signs of exertion.

    ¡°You may come in,¡± I said, voice calm and noble.

    Yiranna pushed the door open with her back, her hands busy with a tray of food. She paused when she saw me standing.

    ¡°Milady, I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re feeling better!¡± Her smile was like the sun. It hurt to look at directly, but I wanted to steal glances, to paint the sight so that I would never forget it.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Internally, I steadied myself. I had an image to uphold. Plus, if my father found out I had collapsed mere minutes after he left me, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever hear the end of it. I let go of the bedpost and strode across the room, ignoring each shake of my legs as I walked. I pulled the chair out and sat. ¡°Yiranna, please bring the food here.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Milady.¡±

    She placed the tray down and cleared off the desk of useless trinkets. A lonely glove, a well-worn fan, a book on the complexity of Meisan grammar. Things that had matter to me before--I hadn¡¯t want to throw away the glove even without its pair because I loved it and there was still a chance I could find its match; the fan was on its last legs but it had served me well so I used it gently; the book that I had to obtain because I refused to let a mere language barrier to stop me in the pursuit of knowledge. But, now, I knew that they didn¡¯t truly matter, none of it did. The glove would stay lonely, the fan would soon break, the book had already been read and memorized but the knowledge was never used.

    I stared at my reflection for the first time in several years, at the young face that stared back at me, one that had cared about all the little things, who had unnecessary and sentimental attachment. The face was almost a stranger, but familiar in the way a dream was the morning after you wake--the outline was clear but the details had faded with time. A nose that was strong and true that the face hadn¡¯t quite grown into yet, no signs of past breaks--yet. Eyes framed by long, almost black lashes, tints of red in the dark brown irises. My cheeks and chin were about to sharpen, my baby fat in the beginning of fading. Brown curls hung freely, framing my face, softening the emerging sharpness. I looked¡­

    I looked almost happy, untainted by the reality of the world. The face that stared back seemed so strange to me, but I found comfort that the look in my eyes was still the same. Ready to challenge the world despite the odds stacked against me.

    Yiranna¡¯s face appeared next to mine in the mirror with a smile, startling me out of my self study. I gripped my nightgown tight in my fists to prevent me from lashing out. She placed a bowl of porridge and a plate of sliced apples in front of me. I looked at the porridge for a long moment, <del>bland and grainy porridge shoved down my throat tasting better coming back up than going down, disgusting, disgusting, the only food I was allowed to eat,</del> <del>disgusting</del>, and reached for a slice of apple.

    ¡°Would you like me to do your hair?¡± Yiranna asked, oblivious to my inner thoughts and torment. I met her eyes in the mirror and nodded, taking a tentative bite. Sweet juice flowed over my tongue and I resisted the urge to groan in pleasure. Had apples always that good? Hey, god, I¡¯d like to say you did a good job in creating this apple, it¡¯s literally the best thing I¡¯ve ever eaten.

    Yiranna¡¯s movements were more exaggerated than usual, telegraphing every move deliberately and watching my face intently. I appreciated her actions, but I couldn¡¯t figure out why she was acting like that. Perhaps my father was involved.

    ¡°How would you like your hair done?¡±

    I paused. When I was this age the first time, I focused on functionality so as to not get teased by my friends, either trying it back with twin braids or leaving it loose, with a few hair clips to tie back my bangs.

    ¡°Do you know the portrait of my mother in the main hall?¡± I asked, voice soft. My mother had died before I had formed any memories with her. Her portrait was the only true memory I had of her, her soft smile looking over the household benevolently, a model of nobility and the standard that all tried to live up to. I had been afraid when I was younger to be too much like her and have people draw comparisons between her and I, and then find me wanting. Now though, I knew who I was and I don¡¯t find myself caring much about how others and their judgements. If they told me their opinions, I would be hard pressed not to tell them exactly where they could shove their words. I will not be afraid to connect with my mother in this small way, and this is the first regret I would rectify. Yiranna¡¯s hands stilled, but she nodded as she looked at me. ¡°Like that, please.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t guarantee it will look good if I do it, milady,¡± Yiranna said, regret and hesitance clear in her voice. ¡°I never worked with your mother¡¯s hair and I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m skilled enough.¡±

    I took a small breath and braced myself.

    ¡°If you could be so kind as to find someone who could do it, I would¡­¡± I trailed off, not knowing exactly what to say or how to explain myself without giving myself away. ¡°I would greatly appreciate it. Yiranna, I¡­¡±

    ¡°No need to say more, milady.¡± Yiranna was smiling again. It suited her. ¡°I understand.¡±

    Just what she understood, I had no idea, but I nodded like I did anyway and smiled appreciatively at her.

    ¡°It will only take a moment to find someone,¡± she promised. She moved faster than I thought she could, I blinked and then she was gone. Well. I might as well continue to eat, right? The food was brought for me, after all. Green grapes were a pop of freshness in my mouth, and the peaches were divine enough for me to consider praying.

    The door reopened at an inopportune time, my mouth full of bananas. I swallowed quickly as Yiranna and three other maids walked in. Yiranna unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile at the swell of my cheeks, moving towards me to pick up a brush.

    ¡°We¡¯re ready to tackle milady¡¯s hair!¡± Yiranna said, and the other three maids followed suit, picking up various hair styling tools. They steadily attacked my hair, smoothing out the curls so it would be more malleable as I continued to snack on fruit. It was always fun to see how much my hair would poof up when it was combed dry, it seemed to expand three times in size. One of the maids covered her hands in an oil that helped to keep my hair in place after they finished a section. It smelled vaguely fruity but not unpleasantly so, strong enough to be smelled but faint enough to be forgotten once I was used to it. It also inspired me to keep eating.

    I kept my head still, trusting them to do their job well, even if I was a little stiff from their hands being so close to my head.

    At the end, the work was impeccable. I hadn¡¯t known my hair could look so beautiful. Two stray curls framed my face, tickling my cheeks. One part of my hair was done in a fishtail braid threaded with beads and wrapped twice around a bunch of curls that seemed to defy gravity on the back of my head. Loose spiral curls brushed the back of my neck, flowing freely down my back.

    My breathing was only a tad unsteady. If my hair was blonde, I almost felt like I would be staring at a younger version of my mother.

    ¡°Milady¡­¡± One of the maids said, Susanna I think, her voice breathless with awe. ¡°You¡¯re beautiful.¡±

    I nodded idly, watching the way the curls bounced at the movement.

    ¡°It¡¯s only natural,¡± I said reflexively. ¡°Thank you for your work.¡±

    Yiranna clapped her hands. The sudden sound made me tense as she turned to the others. ¡°Alright, thank you for helping me. I know you¡¯d love to stare at milady¡¯s beauty, but Mr. Aaron said I could only steal for a little while.¡±

    I managed to relax as they bid me goodbye, curtseying. I thanked them again, truly appreciative of what they had done for me. It seemed to make them especially happy and they sent me bright smiles.

    ¡°It¡¯s probably too much to do this everyday, isn¡¯t it?¡± I said regretfully once they were gone. The hairstyle made my young face seem older, more refined and regal. More like my mother.

    Yiranna hummed, and her finger tapped on her chin as she studied my hairstyle. ¡°Probably not, but I think I could practice.¡±

    ¡°Well, until then, could you use my hair pins to pull my hair back?¡± She nodded and I was satisfied. I¡¯d see if I could learn how to do it by myself so I didn¡¯t have to rely on anyone. It¡¯d probably take a long while but it would keep people¡¯s hands away from me.

    I bit into another apple. How much fruit in one serving was back for me again? I didn¡¯t recall learning that, so I didn¡¯t care. It was tasty and that was that.

    ¡°Could you prepare my clothes for the day?¡± I asked. Yiranna hesitated, opening her mouth quickly and closing it, as if she could hide the movement from my notice. ¡°What?¡±

    Yiranna fidgeted. ¡°The Duke said that you were to be resting when you awoke, to make sure that you don¡¯t fall ill again.¡±

    Irritating but understandable. I sighed. My father was becoming a larger obstacle than anticipated but there was nothing I could do. His actions came from a place of love instead of deliberate malice.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I said. ¡°Will you fetch me more fruit, then?¡±

    Yiranna brightened at being able to do something and left quickly. I stared at the door for a moment more before looking back at my reflection. Yiranna was roughly fifteen years older than me, and frequently acted like something more akin to an older sister or an aunt rather than a maid. I had¡­ missed her and mourned her death. It was strange to see her alive again. I wonder just when I¡¯d get used to it.

    Well, now it was time to attempt standing again. I stood, my hands hovering over the back of my chair. Alright, I could do this. It wasn¡¯t that far to the bed.

    And, of course because life loves me, I tripped and fell halfway to the bed. It wasn¡¯t a hard fall and I was winded more than hurt, but it was embarrassing not being able to walk. It was so simple and yet I had managed to ruin it.

    I sighed and decided crawling was the safer option. After another embarrassing moment of crawling, I finally made it to the bed and crawled back into it. Now that I was comfortable, it was time to plot and plan for the future.

 Chapter 2: I was not above emotional manipulation

    The first thing to consider was: what to do about those who had betrayed me?

    I stared at my hands for a long time, eyes lingering on the burn scar, large and ugly. If I had survived, would my body be just one large scar? Skin strangely smooth yet pinched in an attempt to keep my organs on the inside? Would the skin even be considered raised if everything was like that?

    I closed my eyes and banished those thoughts. There was no use in wondering what if because it was done and over with. There was no way to get back there and I refused to let it happen again.

    So. Revenge. To get it or not.

    I opened my eyes and knew my answer.

    If I wanted revenge, I would have it easily. They were still pretending at this age to be my friend so it would be easy enough. I could advise them to do socially unwise things, use the rumors to my advantage and totally ruin their reputations and future marriage prospects. Knowing myself, that wouldn¡¯t be enough. I would go farther, making and using connections to bring about their family¡¯s downfall with my future knowledge, make it so that they had nothing to look forward to. I could drown them in despair and grief until they begged for my help. And then, I could tell them no and watch the hope in their eyes die.

    That would be the revenge I would have.

    But, I didn¡¯t want it. My approach to conflicts is to burn everything the enemy loves and holds dear to the ground. Unfortunately, the Stranger is the prince of this kingdom and I am a citizen of Vasteria. I didn¡¯t particularly want to have to move to a different country, though I could since I knew several languages fluently, but it would be more work than I wanted to put in.

    They weren¡¯t worth my time or effort. To waste my new life on revenge would make this second chance meaningless. I wanted nothing to do with them, so I¡¯ll act as if they don¡¯t exist.

    The lesson from my etiquette teacher from long ago echoed in my ears.

    Don¡¯t forgive your enemies, don¡¯t forget how they hurt you, but move on with your life.

    That will be my motto. Don¡¯t forgive, don¡¯t forget, but move on.

    The first step in moving on was to guarantee that the events that led to my death never happened. I thought that would be easy enough, since I trusted almost no one, save my father and perhaps Yiranna. Since I do not trust them, I will never be in the position where they could get close enough to hurt me. I¡¯d sooner stab them before letting any of them touch me again.

    There was a knock, then Yiranna entered again, her tray full of fruit and¡­ bread? That was a surprise but a welcome one, to be sure. She didn¡¯t even blink at me being in bed again, simply placing the tray on the dresser near my bed.

    ¡°Is there anything else you need of me, milady?¡±

    I thought for a moment before finding an answer. ¡°If you could find out when my father plans to return, that would be wonderful.¡±

    ¡°Of course!¡±

    And then she was gone as quick as she had arrived. I really should ask her sometime how she learned to move so fast. It was quite the handy skill to have.

    I buttered a piece of bread and then began eating it, first peeling off the crust and eating that, leaving the softest and best parts for last. It was an odd way of eating bread, I knew that, but I did every time. When I was young, like five or so, I snuck into the kitchens because I wanted a snack. The cook had placed me on a stool and then showed me how she made bread. The kneading was a hypnotic process, watching the cook¡¯s muscle flex as she folded the dough over and over again. She let me try to do it, though I got tired after only two folds. She laughed and then we waited for the bread to cook. When it had cooled enough to eat, she had peeled off the crust to eat first, and I had copied her. It was a good memory that left me feeling warm.

    But that was enough of reminiscing.

    The first, and likely most important, thing that I had to do was to get admitted early to the National Academy of Vaseria, more commonly referred to by Vasterians as just the Academy.

    The Academy was well known throughout the world for being a place of ample opportunities for nobles of all standings to learn from some of the best scholars in their generation. While attendance wasn¡¯t mandatory for success, there was still a certain amount of judgement placed on the children who choose not to attend. Typically, they lose the chance to help strengthen alliances and to find potential marriage partners, not to mention their education will be assumed to be of a lower quality. Occasionally, nouveau riche merchant heirs and particularly talented commoners would get the chance to attend, though it rubbed some more prissy and pathetic noble¡¯s hair the wrong way. Many nobles from other countries would attend for a quarter or a whole semester on average because of the prestige of learning from the National Academy.

    People were typically sixteen when they applied to the academy and attended for two to three years depending on how committed they were to scholarly pursuits. There were procedures in place for younger people to apply, but few passed the entrance exam. It was said to be significantly harder in order for the potential students to prove themselves worthy and capable of keeping up with their older peers. The youngest that had been accepted before this was fourteen.

    I was planning on breaking that record.

    There was roughly one and a half months until the next exam period started. By then, I would have to have my father¡¯s permission to attend, a recommendation from my tutor, and pass the preliminary tests on the basic subjects: mathematics, Vasterian history, Vasterian language studies, and literature (a broad subject that had the most obscure questions designed to trip you up). Of course, the school taught more specialized classes, such as the Study of Mid-Fifth Century Juxian Pottery which was quite an interesting class, but the tests were focused on determining the students¡¯ basic aptitude in simple subjects. If they could not succeed when the material was the simplest, they would not be accepted into the academy early.

    I¡­I wouldn¡¯t say that I enjoyed my time at the Academy, though I recognize that these feelings likely stemmed from the people I attended it with. I liked learning at least, no matter the subject or if I wasn¡¯t good at it, like the watercolor painting class that I only passed because it was based on effort and not what we actually created. The Academy was the best place to learn and there wasn¡¯t anything more to it. At least if I was acknowledged as a young genius, professors would be less likely to question my knowledge.

    I don¡¯t use the word genius lightly. My memory is perfect, no matter how long ago what I¡¯m recalling was. When I was younger and more na?ve, I had thought everyone learned like I did. Talking to my peers proved this to be untrue. What they struggled with for weeks, I understood after a single lesson. Going to the Academy showed me just how advanced I was. Besides creative endeavors or assignments that were subjectively graded, I never got less than a perfect mark. This is not to say that I didn¡¯t work for them. I spent many hours in the library pouring over books and attempting practice problems to ensure my mastery.

    The exam would be the least of my worries. I had already graduated with honors from the Academy once, nothing they could throw at me would be as challenging as the final exam.

    The bigger problem would be convincing my father to agree. Getting my tutor¡¯s recommendation would be disgustingly easy. He had always pushed me towards considering early admittance but I had always said no.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    When someone knocked at the door, I had just finished my food and wiped off my hands.

    My father entered and then paused, staring at me.

    ¡°Jacqueline¡­¡± he breathed, eyes flickering between my face and hair. His eyes grew dangerously wet as he cleared his throat. ¡°You look beautiful.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, glad he had returned just as I needed to talk to him. ¡°Do you like my hair?¡±

    Yes, I fished for compliments. I think that¡¯s well within my rights, considering my life. If I could squeeze out a little extra love for myself, I didn¡¯t mind what methods I used to obtain it.

    ¡°You look just like your mother.¡±

    Father¡¯s guest spoke and I was forced to acknowledge him instead of studiously ignoring his existence. He smiled as I stared at his nose and kept my breathing steady. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. His nose was a safe feature to look at, something simple and nondescript, and didn¡¯t remind me of his son. <del>If he had a full pair of glasses instead of a monocle, the Doll would be standing in front of me. Take his hair out of his ponytail, and I wouldn¡¯t be able to breathe.</del>

    Minister Kaj Protarch was the Prime Minister of the kingdom of Vasteria and had long been friends with my father. Unfortunately, he reproduced and contributed to the Doll¡¯s existence. I had no problems with the man himself. He had strong morals, was quite smart, and an overall pleasant conversation partner. My only problem with him right now was that his son grew up to look so very much like him.

    ¡°Please allow me to extend my greetings to you, Minister Protarch,¡± I said, starting to shift the blankets to stand so I could curtsey.

    ¡°No need for formality,¡± Minister Protarch said. ¡°I¡¯m surprised that you are awake after what I had heard of your illness.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for your consideration,¡± I said placidly, unsure of how to approach his existence. Why was he here? When Father left, I had assumed he would be bringing back a doctor of some sort, not the Prime Minister.

    ¡°Jacqueline,¡± Father said, with nostalgia losing its grip on him so he remembered his purpose for coming here. ¡°I was wondering if you¡¯d be up to having a small conversation with Kaj and I.¡±

    I glanced between them once, noting the relaxed way they held themselves, as if to seem non-threatening. This conversation¡¯s danger level just went up two levels. What did they want and how could I give it to them without arousing suspicion?

    ¡°Of course,¡± I said, not missing a beat. ¡°May I ask what this conversation will entail?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be a casual conversation,¡± Minister Protarch said as Father pulled the chair from my desk next to my bed so that they both could sit, ¡°so you don¡¯t have to be so formal.¡±

    The mild reprimand rankled but I just made a sound of acknowledgment. I wielded my politeness as a weapon, as my etiquette teacher taught me to, so that when I was casual my words would hold greater meaning.

    ¡°It¡¯s as Kaj says,¡± Father said as he sat. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to worry about, we just have a few questions.¡±

    Nothing to worry about? Pardon me for starting to worry even harder.

    ¡°I understand,¡± I said, letting my curiosity bleed into my expression. ¡°What will we be talking about?¡± It begged repeating since they had both ignored it the first time I had asked.

    ¡°Well, first off, how are you feeling?¡± Why was Minister Protarch taking point in this discussion? If they had wanted me to let down my guard, they should have relied on emotional manipulations from my father. Minister Protarch meant nothing to me and I owed him nothing, not even the truth.

    ¡°I¡¯m feeling wonderful, Minister Protarch,¡± I said, smiling. ¡°Much better than earlier, even. Eating some real food has done me wonders.¡±

    Minister Protarch nodded as if happy but I saw it. The lightning quick glance toward Father and the way that Father shifted forward.

    ¡°Do you remember much, darling?¡± Father asked, and I had to wonder again what they wanted from me.

    I tilted my head. ¡°What exactly do you mean? Remember what? That question is, decidedly, rather vague, Father.¡±

    ¡°My apologies,¡± Father said, chuckling at his mess up and if I wasn¡¯t already on edge, this would have done it for me. My father did not say ¡®my apologies¡¯ when apologizing. He thought it was too impersonal and the fact that he used it now meant that these words were not the ones that he wanted to say. ¡°I meant to say, do you remember much from when you were sick?¡±

    I paused, as if hesitant, head tilting as I ¡®thought.¡¯ ¡°I had some nightmares, but, besides that, I don¡¯t remember much of anything. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    And there was that look again, quick enough that I would have missed it if I were not on the lookout for it. What were they planning? That look was quickly becoming annoying.

    ¡°Is there something wrong?¡± I asked, looking guilelessly between the two men.

    Minister Protarch¡¯s face twitched into a frown before smoothing out.

    ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong, we were simply wondering. There was¡­ an incident that occurred while you were sick, and we were wondering if you could help us understand it better.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯re you talking about?¡± I asked, frowning. ¡°Are you sure I didn¡¯t do something wrong?¡±

    That. Look. Was. Back. I wished they would be more forthright because this was quickly becoming dull.

    ¡°Do you recall talking with Hendrik?¡± Father asked and I was glad my only reaction was to blink a few times. I shook my head, though the memory that I hoped had been a dream was coming to the front of my mind. ¡°He came to visit you when you were sick, and you¡­ well, dear, you ended up yelling at him.¡±

    Was that the true reason they were here? Were they simply concerned parents worrying about their children¡¯s friendships?

    ¡°I yelled at him?¡± I said, not able to say the Doll¡¯s name out loud. I imagined that I had just been told I had yelled at Father and put that expression on my face. ¡°What did I say? I don¡¯t even remember him visiting me.¡±

    Buy it, please, buy this act. Don¡¯t question me, please, and stop sharing looks with each other, it was growing old.

    ¡°Well,¡± Father said after a period of silence where I didn¡¯t provide any more details, ¡°you told him, at one point, that he wasn¡¯t allowed to call you Lynne anymore. You reacted rather negatively to his presence, enough that you fell off the bed while trying to get away from him.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± I said, leaning back as if shocked. ¡°That¡¯s¡ªthat¡¯s crazy. I wouldn''t possibly¡ªyou have to be lying, I don¡¯t remember this.¡±

    Again, they shared a look. And, there was my temper, my frustration building to a boiling point.

    ¡°All I remember,¡± I said, letting my frustration bring angry tears to my eyes, ¡°is that I had what seemed to be a never-ending nightmare and¡ªand it was awful.¡± I shuddered and looked at Father, who looked like I had sucker-punched him. I sniffled, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I yelled at him, but¡ªbut I don¡¯t know why we¡¯re talking about this. Papa, why does this matter?¡±

    I was not above emotional manipulation. My father was weak to being called Papa since it was what I had called him when I was a child. I saw his resolve crumbling and turned towards Minister Protarch.

    He looked guilty. Good, good, my tears were effective, perhaps even more so with my increased resemblance to my mother. She was the minister¡¯s friend as well, so maybe nostalgia was helping me. I had no remorse about making either man regret cornering me and asking questions without telling me what was going on.

    ¡°Ah, Lynne, we¡¯re sorry,¡± Father said, reaching out to grab my hand. I had enough warning that I didn¡¯t physically react to that, and just let my lips wobble dangerously.

    ¡°Why are you asking these questions?¡± I asked, my voice cracking and Minister Protarch¡¯s defenses crumbled.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Jacqueline,¡± Minister Protarch said, looking as if he wanted to help calm me as well. ¡°Theo was just worried about you, that¡¯s all. We were just trying to understand things better.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± I sniffled, but let my voice tell them that I did not think this was okay at all.

    There was awkward silence for a long moment as both men realized their plan had been thoroughly derailed. I decided to make it easy on them and end this farce now.

    ¡°I¡¯m sleepy,¡± I said softly, rubbing at the tear tracks on my cheeks. ¡°Can you help me undo my hair? Or¡ªor get Yiranna to do it.¡±

    Minister Protarch stood and exchanged his goodbyes with Father quickly, though he mentioned visiting me again. I ignored him, which was both well within my rights to do and also how a true teenager would react to this situation.

    Father¡¯s hands were steady as he undid my braids and carefully set the beads aside. When the braids were undone, I curled into my bed, ignoring my father. It hurt a little to do that, but if I had talked with him more I wasn¡¯t sure if I could keep up my act.

    ¡°Sleep well,¡± Father said, tucking my blanket around my shoulders and then leaving me alone.

    I wasn¡¯t exactly tired but there was really only one more thing I could do today. I found some paper, a pen, and an inkwell, and then made the list of books I would request from my father tomorrow. Hopefully he¡¯ll still be feeling bad about today and would try to look for them, unwillingly following my plan to the letter.

    I let the ink dry, then folded the paper and tucked it into my dresser drawer so that no one would find it before tomorrow.

    By the time I had finished that, I was feeling tired, so I crawled back into bed. Was it entirely too early to sleep normally? Yes, but I had been in a small coma so I hoped my body appreciated all the rest I was giving it now. It wasn¡¯t going to get much once my plans were in full swing.

    Just as I closed my eyes, my door creaked open. My throat went dry and I froze while trying to keep my breathing sleep-steady.

    The person who entered walked towards my bed.

    I was terrified about who was standing next to me. I hoped I was wrong.

    ¡°Jacqueline? Are you awake?¡±

    But, like most times, I was right.

    I made a sleepy noise and curled into my pillow more.

    ¡°Ah, guess not. Well, I hope you feel better.¡±

    A hand brushed over my head.

    ¡°Sweet dreams, little sister.¡±

    The Traitor¡¯s voice was soft and felt like cockroaches crawling over my skin. He left, and I let myself cry.

    That was dangerous.

    It almost sounded like he loved me and I almost believed it.

    I closed my eyes, tears hot and sticky under my eyelids. I needed to sleep now, and ignore what just happened.

    ---

 Chapter 3: She Who Supplants Her Fate

    When I awoke, I was half expecting someone to be by my side. But I was alone and staring at the stupid bed canopy. I scowled as I sat up and rubbed away the sleepiness from my eyes. I would have to do something about it soon, I was growing tired of the obnoxious color rather quickly. Either it would get replaced first, or I would go to the Academy and leave the accursed color behind.

    My joints popped as I stretched. Sleeping that long made my joints stiff, so I continued my stretches after getting up off the bed, bending over to hold my ankles.

    When my body was feeling pleasurably loose and warmed up, I pulled the cord to call for Yiranna as I sat. The quick exercise helped to wake my mind and prepare me for what I had planned for today.

    Yiranna brought in breakfast and I noted that there was no porridge today, which I appreciated.

    ¡°Good morning, milady,¡± Yiranna said as she entered. ¡°Would you like me to do your hair while you eat?¡±

    ¡°Nothing too elaborate for today,¡± I said, standing and reasonably sure I wouldn¡¯t fall while I walked, ¡°I don¡¯t plan to do much.¡±

    Yiranna continued with her exaggerated movements as I ate, her touches soft even as she struggled with my curls and the knots that had formed while I slept. She kept up a steady chatter about the gossip she had heard while I was ill, her words filling the silence nicely. I didn¡¯t contribute much, too focused on de-stringing my orange to think about talking. Oranges truly were annoying with their stringy things¡ªnote to self, figure out the proper name for the stringy things because it was annoying to refer to them as such¡ªwhy couldn¡¯t they just be nice like apples? Apples had cores and their seeds could be poisonous if consumed in large quantities, yes, but it wasn¡¯t such a hassle to eat them! They were a much more respectable fruit.

    Yiranna chuckled and I realized I had said the last part of my thoughts out loud, a bad habit I had developed in prison when there was no one else around to speak to. I was just glad that I had spoken Vasterian so that Yiranna wouldn¡¯t get suspicious of me mumbling in forgein languages.

    ¡°Er¡ªcarry on,¡± I said with as much dignity I could muster with the offending fruit in my hand.

    ¡°Of course, milady.¡±

    She did little to hide her smile but I let her have this. I would prove myself to be a dignified lady one day, and this was her one embarrassing story she may have to show others that I was not always infallible. I studiously ignored the memories of the many other potential stories she could tell instead, and ate the blasted orange and its stringy bits.

    Yiranna finished my hair quickly after that, a simple hairstyle held up by several hair pins, and then laid a few simple dresses.

    ¡°Do you know if my father is busy today?¡± I asked, wiping off the fruit juice on a napkin and standing. Yiranna helped me into a soft green dress with half sleeves.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Yiranna said, tightening the lacing in the back so the material didn¡¯t bunch up awkwardly. ¡°Would you like me to find out?¡±

    I nodded and smoothed out my skirt, marveling at the way the fabric felt up my fingers. Yiranna found a pair of gloves that would compliment the dress and then left. I spent a few more moments enjoying the softness before putting on my gloves, the lightly colored gloves sliding on smoothly and familiarly. It was like I had been missing something until now, and I almost felt whole again.

    One last thing was needed and then I would feel ready to tackle the world. I opened my dresser drawer and pulled it out, enjoying the weight of it in my hand. The fan snapped open with a crisp crack and I fanned myself for a moment, enjoying the breeze rustling my hair. It closed smoothly and I caught myself just staring at it, smiling like an idiot. Fans were something I had only just got interested in, in this time, though I had always enjoyed the way you could hide your expression behind them when your social mask failed. By the time I had gone to the Academy, my fans were an extension of myself, giving me a constant barrier between the world and me when I needed it. I had tailored my dresses to include a loop to hook my fans on when I had to dance or my hands were preoccupied.

    I frowned and made a note to start commissioning my dresses with that loop. I planned to always have a fan on me, so that was very much needed.

    A knock, then, ¡°Jacqueline, I¡¯m coming in.¡±

    I arched an eyebrow at Father just barging in. ¡°And what if I was in the middle of getting dressed?¡±

    Father¡¯s eyebrow was equally arched, though his was mocking. ¡°Yiranna informed me she had already helped you dress.¡±

    I allowed myself to be improper and rolled my eyes. Father chuckled and walked closer, plucking off lint from my shoulder.

    ¡°What is it you needed, dear?¡± Father asked.

    ¡°I have a list of things, actually,¡± I said, retrieving the paper from the night before. He read it quietly, though his eyes widened as he got farther down the list. When Father looked up, I interrupted whatever he was about to say and said, ¡°Also, if it would be possible, I would appreciate my clothing being altered so that I may clip my fans to my waist. Holding them constantly isn¡¯t feasible, additionally with this, I will be less likely to misplace them.¡±

    Father looked a little taken aback at my sudden request, but after a moment he nodded.

    ¡°That sounds feasible, though it likely would take at least a week and a half to do,¡± Father said, then glanced at the list in his hand. ¡°These on the other hand¡ªLynne, some of these books I don¡¯t even recognize. How did you even hear of them?¡±

    Drat, I had hoped he would blindly say yes because of guilt and love. It appeared that he would not be so easily swayed.

    ¡°Well,¡± I started, mind racing to find a good explanation, ¡°I have always been interested in academia and many of these books I found being referenced in other texts I had read.¡± A calculated lie but one that he wouldn¡¯t call me out on because Father, for all of his redeeming qualities, did not like to read, especially the books that lectured on the unintended social and economic consequences laws sometimes had. A fascinating read, really, one that I found hard to put down. But, I digressed, Father would not know that some of these books I should not know of.

    He squinted at the list. ¡°An In-Depth Examination of the Use of Music in Morian Religious Ceremonies. Jacqueline, what on earth makes you want to read this book? Do you even know much about Morian religious ceremonies?¡±

    Perhaps I was a little too confident in him not questioning me.

    ¡°I want to read it because it sounds interesting,¡± I said, fighting the urge to blush because it was frankly annoying due to the fact there was no way to make it disappear once it appeared. ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to read much on the Mori Plains, and I thought this would help to bolster my knowledge of them.¡±

    Father still looked incredulous. I shifted uncomfortably, fingers tapping and flexing against my fan.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t want to get me them, I¡¯ll just ask my tutor,¡± I said, definitely not pouting, nope, no siree, no pouting to be found in this room. Pouting was so undignified. I was sulking, thank you very much.

    Father sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in its natural artfully disheveled look that irked Mister Aaron to no end.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get them for you,¡± Father said, sending me a look when I brightened, ¡°after I verify with your tutor that you¡¯ll be able to understand these.¡±

    I nodded, not able to keep the satisfaction off my face. That would be something I would have to work on. Keeping my emotions under lock and key was important in the political sphere and anyone who showed weakness was dead meat.

    ¡°Can we ask now?¡± I asked, stepping forward to tug on one of his sleeves, blinking my eyes up at him in what I hoped was a cute manner. Based on the sigh and the nod, I think it worked.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky Mister Crevier stopped by to check on your condition,¡± Father said as we walked through the halls. If I stayed a half step too close to him, well he didn¡¯t say anything about it so I figured I was fine. We were greeted as we walked, several of the staff telling me how glad they were that I was feeling better. I smiled and nodded in thanks, though part of me wanted to escape back to my room to get away from the weight of all their gazes.

    Our destination was Father¡¯s office. Mister Crevier was sitting in the chair next to Father¡¯s desk, idly flipping through a book. Upon our arrival, he looked up and saw me and his smile was so wide and relieved that it took me aback. I knew he enjoyed having me as a student and I liked him as a teacher, but I didn¡¯t think that extended much past the classroom.

    Mister Crevier stood, closing his book.

    ¡°Miss Jacqueline, it is good to see you well,¡± Mister Crevier said, his smile not cooling but dialing back in intensity.

    ¡°Thank you for your worry, Mister Crevier,¡± I said demurely.

    Father cleared his throat and stepped forward, handing Mister Crevier the paper. ¡°Jacqueline has requested these books, and I wanted you to check that she would be able to handle them.¡±

    Mister Crevier hummed, his eyes skimming over the words. I don¡¯t know what made him pause and give me a significant look, but that only stopped him for a moment. He looked at me again, his gaze searching. Then Mister Crevier grinned.

    ¡°I see that you finally have decided to listen to my advice Miss Jacqueline,¡± Mister Crevier said. ¡°How soon do you plan on applying to the Academy?¡±

    Father recoiled slightly in surprise, then frowned in my direction. I kept my gaze squarely on Mister Crevier.

    ¡°I would like to apply during the next exam period,¡± I said, making both men look at me in surprise.

    ¡°So soon?¡± Mister Crevier said.

    ¡°I no longer care about preserving someone else¡¯s ego at the cost of my education,¡± I said, keeping my voice even.

    The main reason I had never truly considered applying early to the Academy was that the Traitor was a year older than me. If I applied the same year he did, it would surely cause him embarrassment. I had wished to spare him that and applied at the normal time like the rest of my ¡®friends.¡¯ But I no longer cared about their pride.

    I will leave them in the dust. They will see my success and feel nothing but envy because they will never begin to compare to me.

    Perhaps this was a form of petty revenge, but it left me with a dark feeling of satisfaction when I thought of it.

    Mister Crevier made a thoughtful noise and opened his mouth, only to be cut off by Father.

    ¡°Jacqueline, how long have you wanted to apply early?¡± His voice was not quite soft but there was an underlying tone of hurt.

    I swallowed and couldn¡¯t bring myself to look at Father. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about it for¡­ a long while. Mister Crevier has been telling me to consider it for months now.¡±

    Now Father¡¯s gaze was turned to Mister Crevier and I could breathe easier.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t give me that look, Duke,¡± Mister Crevier said, his voice light as always. ¡°If I had thought Miss Jacqueline was finally thinking of applying early, I would have informed you. Before this, she had always said no. But, based on this list, Miss Jacqueline has been thinking of this for a long time. These titles aren¡¯t known by casual students.¡± Mister Crevier glanced at me and it was full of pride. He straightened and looked Father square in the eye.

    ¡°I fully believe that Miss Jacqueline will be able to pass the entrance exam,¡± Mister Crevier said. ¡°As soon as I can, I will write my letter of recommendation for her.¡±

    Father looked conflicted, looking between Mister Crevier and I with a frown.

    ¡°I see. This¡­¡± Father looked at me again and I hoped I was projecting youthful innocence and hope. It was silent for a long moment, with both Mister Crevier and I waiting for Father to wrap his head around the idea.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to think about it,¡± he finally said, his gaze dark and serious. ¡°Milo, if you wouldn¡¯t mind, I would like to have a talk with my daughter now.¡±

    Mister Crevier only hesitated a moment before nodding. He said his goodbyes with a quick bow.

    Father stared at me some more, then bid me to sit. He didn¡¯t make any moves of his own, which was not a good sign. Sitting put me at a disadvantage, being lower and having to look up at Father when he spoke. But there was nothing I could do about it, so I sat.

    ¡°Jacqueline,¡± Father said once I was settled, ¡°why do you wish to go to the Academy?¡±

    I swallowed. This was the hard part. Believe it or not, I was not the best at getting people on my side in arguments. My favored approach to winning arguments was to beat my conversation partner down with my intelligence and laugh as they struggled. That would not do for this argument.

    ¡°Because I wish to learn.¡±

    ¡°You could learn well at home, Mister Crevier is well regarded by his peers for his intellect.¡±

    ¡°He is,¡± I admitted, ¡°but he can only cover so much. His main academic focus is on Vasterian literature and architecture, but I find myself wanting¡­ to learn other things.¡±

    Father picked up the list. ¡°Like The Ahgr¨¢n Tragedy: Motifs, Themes, and Characterization.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± I did not fidget when he looked at me.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I may not be able to create my own art, but I want to understand what makes good art good and what I should be looking for when I consume it so that I may understand what is of quality.¡±

    Father put the list down.

    ¡°There is no possible way for you to see an Ahgr¨¢n play,¡± he said plainly. ¡°It¡¯s a month¡¯s journey to even get there, it¡¯s near impossible to secure tickets, and, most importantly, you don¡¯t even speak the language.¡±

    My traitorous eyebrow twitched and Father, with his intense scrutiny, caught it. His frown was deep and he leaned forward.

    ¡°Jacqueline, don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve learned Auldan.¡±

    I did as he said and did not tell him that but he did not look satisfied.

    ¡°Jacqueline.¡±

    I rubbed my thumb over my hand as I spoke. ¡°I would not say that I am fluent, but¡­¡± I shifted in my seat. ¡°I have been studying Auldan, learning from books. My pronunciation is likely off¡ª¡° a lie, I had practiced in my first life, worked and worked until my lips felt like they would fall off from the way the words twisted in my mouth ¡°¡ªbut I would be able to speak in basic, if butchered, terms.¡±

    Father said nothing, eyes locked on me with an expression of deep confusion on his face. The silence hung heavy in the air. Was he¡­ waiting for me to prove it?

    I cleared my throat, remembering the practice sessions I had with a lady from Ahgr¨¢ and let the language settle in my mouth.

    ¡°Hello,¡± I said, making sure to not make the consonants too hard or soft. Father twitched violently. ¡°My name is Jacqueline. I am not good with words but forgive my mouth for its failure.¡±

    I folded my hands in my lap and waited for Father to respond. Either he would believe me or he wouldn¡¯t, I didn¡¯t think he knew any of the Ahgr¨¢n language so he¡¯d be guessing if I said things correctly.

    He didn¡¯t say anything but I was keeping my mouth shut this time. It was his move, to choose how to respond and decide how this conversation would go.

    Finally, after what felt like an unreasonable amount of silence, really Father, please be quicker next time, he gathered his wits and spoke.

    ¡°I see that you¡­ truly mean to learn all that you can,¡± Father said, his grip on the paper a little too tight, ¡°I had just thought¡ªperhaps foolishly so¡ªthat you may be allowed to just be a, a¡ªchild a little while longer.¡±

    He stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder, making me flinch.

    ¡°Once you get into the Academy, especially so young,¡± he said as if it was a guaranteed thing and I appreciated his confidence, ¡°the world will have its eyes on you. Life¡ªlife will be more difficult for you, and I will not always be allowed to help you face your challenges, do you understand?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Father.¡±

    His hands moved to cup my face as he looked down on me, eyes searching for something in my expression. He did not find it and instead leaned forward to kiss my forehead.

    ¡°The world is harsh, my love, I had only wished to shield you from it for just a little while more.¡± He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. ¡°Forgive this father for being so protective.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± I said, smiling as I stood and grabbed his hand. ¡°You do this out of love, I know, and I forgive you.¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Something lifted from Father¡¯s shoulders. ¡°What a dutiful and kind daughter I have, what a blessing you are.¡±

    I laughed a little and smirked at his silent request to let him in on the joke.

    ¡°Perhaps not so kind when idiots stand in my way,¡± I said, just a little meanly. Father laughed and placed a hand on my head, only ruining my hair a little.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t expect anything else.¡±

    A yawn escaped me suddenly and I covered my mouth, surprised. I didn¡¯t feel sleepy at all. Father just laughed a little more.

    ¡°It appears all this talking of learning has tired you out,¡± Father said. ¡°I¡¯ll call for Yiranna and have her take you back to your room, alright? It wouldn¡¯t do to have you exhausted come testing time. Rest well, Lynne.¡±

    I got back to my room rather quickly, wolfing down a small lunch of bread and cheese Yiranna insisted I ate before sleeping again. I thanked her even as I told her this would just be a small nap this time and I planned on being up for dinner.

    ¡°Sure, milady,¡± Yiranna said, voice benevolent as she allowed my claim to go uncontested. I hugged my pillow close and curled under the blankets, ignoring her laughter. Rude, how very rude. I would definitely be awake, just to prove her wrong. My eyelids grew heavy and sleep took me once more.

    -,-

    It was not a dream but a memory that wrapped around my mind like a moldy and moth-eaten coat, entirely unpleasant and sending uncomfortable goosebumps over my skin.

    I was in a cathedral, looking up at the stained glass that went up, up, up to the ceiling. The birth of our kingdom was etched into the glass, God''s gentle hand resting upon the first and most divine of our kings. The king knelt, head bowed reverently, religiously, as he accepted the burden of ruling. God¡¯s face was obscured, more of an impression of an expression than anything, but in that empty face, there was judgment. Judged to be enough or judged to be wanting, it was up to the one praying to decide as they knelt before the glass, like our king did before God so long ago.

    Sunlight filtered in, its golden color tinted and then tainted by the colored glass of the dawn¡¯s rise, turning red as it hit my clasped hands. I was kneeling, as was custom in the cathedral, and my knees were starting to grow sore as I stared up at the blinding light, hoping to find some sort of explanation, or, miraculously, salvation for what I had done.

    I was seven and praying to God for absolution, to explain why I had done what I had done, to tell them that I wouldn¡¯t do it again, to promise that I would be devout for always. In my heart of hearts, I begged for forgiveness.

    My mouth was dry and my eyes suspiciously wet as I stared up at our faceless God, hoping that they saw good in me still and that the blood had not stained my ledger for good.

    I blinked then, as the light shined brighter, turning my vision completely red.

    Then, my limbs felt heavier and I was taller suddenly, my eyes now above the back of the pews.

    What? This was not how it had gone. I was supposed to be found crying by a priest and praised for my devotion before he kindly, but firmly, returned me to my father.

    I blinked again and when I looked down, I was older.

    With a sharp breath, I realized I was older than I had been when I went to sleep. My body was the one I had when I was twenty, full of lean muscles and smooth scars.

    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re awake we see.¡±

    I jerked my head up, scanning the pews for the person my mind dreamt up to torture me. There was no one, and then there was a chuckle.

    It was deep, and simultaneously sent chills down my spine and a warmth spreading in my chest. It was terrifying and comforting, a sound I never wanted to hear again and wanted to be the only thing I heard for the rest of my life.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be confused, our little lily of the valley, we know you are smarter than that.¡±

    The voice was like the rumble of a waterfall, deafening and wondrous and so very hard to listen to.

    Shaking, I looked back towards the blinding light, at the glass where my God was depicted.

    The figure of God had shifted, no longer touching the king. Instead, They faced me, and, as much as a faceless figure could look down into my soul, They looked at me. The set of Their shoulders implied amusement, though Their face was still impassive with judgement.

    ¡°Clear your face of confusion, rose of crimson blood, it does not fit your features, we think,¡± They said, and it was so strange to hear the divine voice that made me want to scream in agony and joy while the glass God¡¯s face didn¡¯t move.

    ¡°Is¡ªis this real?¡± I whispered, taking a step forward, eyes locked on the glass, scarcely daring to breathe.

    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t taunt you so,¡± They said, body shifting in a way that implied irritation, ¡°and give you something that you will not be able to hold onto. We think that would be¡­ a waste.¡±

    My throat went dry and my chest heaved unsteadily. This¡­ What was this?

    ¡°Why are You here?¡± I breathed, blinking away tears as the light brightened even more, enveloping me with both warmth and coldness, wrapping around my throat in a chokehold as it stroked my cheek tenderly.

    The glass shifted and God stepped in front of the king, obscuring him from view.

    ¡°We think you know why, this world¡¯s beaten marigold.¡±

    ¡°You brought me back,¡± I whispered, wiping away the tears that had frozen on my cheek and tugged at my skin painfully as my too warm fingertips touched them, ¡°but why?¡±

    ¡°You called out to us,¡± They said, shrugging, though it was only a mere shrug in the way that a tiger would be called a mere cat, it was a basic way to describe the motion but lacking so much of the nuance, but I had no better words to tell you of what I saw. This was God and all They did was beyond imagination.

    ¡°What?¡± I said, trying to remember praying to God before I died.

    Their hand came up to tap at Their blurry face, once, the movement graceful and deadly. ¡°You asked us to freeze the princling¡¯s face so that the world could see him for what he truly was.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± The word escaped me incredulously, trying to wrap my head around this. I¡ªI hadn¡¯t prayed, it was simply a passing petty thought.

    ¡°We hear all, tiny and bruised poppy,¡± They said, and knelt, sending ripples across the new sky and making the light flicker and waver before steadying once more, ¡°and the words you hid deep within your heart intrigued us.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m honored,¡± I stuttered, unable to come to terms with the fact that God was kneeling before me instead of me kneeling before them.

    Their head tilted and I flinched at the sudden and warm anger that rippled across Their body and into the room.

    ¡°We were surprised to see what was happening,¡± They said, crossing Their hands in a sharp movement of disapproval and reprimand, and the only reason I did not cry again was that it wasn¡¯t directed towards me, ¡°your ending was not to be that, red dahlia, we hope you understand that we had a much different plan for you.¡±

    I tried to swallow to wet my throat and speak. It was hard to breathe, my breath coming in quickly and shallowly, making my vision dance.

    ¡°What was your plan?¡± I managed to choke out.

    They tilted their head in decidingly pitiful motion and waved Their hand in a casual motion, and my vision and breathing turned steady with that simple movement. Warmth grew in my chest, too warm in my throat, but it chased away the chill of the light.

    ¡°We were so sad to see your ending,¡± They said and I was filled with a rush of affection for my long-neglected God, glad to know at least once person felt something other than joy at my death, especially since it was God, the very being who had created us all, ¡°you were meant for more, much more than being relegated to becoming ash on the wind. We were very angry, you see, that this had happened. And then¡ª¡± They tilted Their head to look more directly at me, and the judgement that had been hovering on Their face the entire time turned approving, somehow. ¡°¡ªyou had such an interesting declaration. You wished to live with no regrets. Tell us, our sweet alyssum, do you know how many people who think like you when they meet their unjustified end?¡±

    That tiny acknowledgement that my death was unjust was enough to send me to my knees, with tearing overflowing.

    ¡°Th¡ªthere has to be thousands, surely,¡± I whispered.

    They laughed again and it was both gentle bells and ringing steel in my ears.

    ¡°You have such optimistic thoughts,¡± They said, Their hands coming together, loosely linking Their fingers together almost casually, ¡°but no. We have only encountered few like you before, so twisted with anger and love swirling up inside of you like twin flames as you stared at your betrayers, screaming that you will live again, live again with no regrets.¡±

    The implication of that¡ª

    ¡°¡ªthere were more, like me?¡±

    The movement of Their head felt both benevolent and patronizing.

    ¡°Your type is always the most interesting to us,¡± They said. ¡°You always take hold of your life with your tiny hands and shape it forcefully into what you desire.¡±

    ¡°Were there others like me?¡± I asked again, needing to know.

    ¡°Did we not just make that clear?¡±

    There was an inherent reprimand with that statement and I took a moment to think about what They had said. They spoke with authority and like They had seen this at least a few times before, so, yes, there had been others like me who had been blessed by God and allowed to live once more.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whispered, biting my lips and lowering my eyes, and hoping They did not grow angry with me.

    There was a loud and ringing silence in the cathedral. Then, They sighed.

    ¡°There is no need to be sorry, my small currant, we do not mean to sadden you. It is¡­ hard to remember for us that you cannot hear our thoughts as we hear yours.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t an apology but¡ªbut it was close enough that it had me shaking. Getting an almost apology from God was¡ªwas like breathing in that first gasp of air after you were drowned, filling me with desperate relief.

    ¡°I understand.¡± I chewed on my lip before realizing I had never received an answer to my question from earlier, though that seemed to be so far away now. ¡°What was your original plan for me?¡±

    They were silent for a moment, Their fingers tapping Their thigh for a moment.

    ¡°We had many plans for you, our dear lavender, you were supposed to bloom in a way that none would dare to look away in fear that they would miss a moment of your beauty and excellence.¡± I went red at Their words, that sounded¡­ preposterous and unrealistic. ¡°Not preposterous, we assure you, you would have been the centerpiece of our garden, our little queen ruling over this country and bringing it to greater heights that anyone had dared to imagine it could reach.¡±

    My face drained of color, my body comprehending Their words before my mind could.

    ¡°I was meant to rule?¡±

    It seemed impossible. The only way that I would have become part of the royal family was if I had married the Stranger, and even then I would only be the queen-consort, not the de facto ruler.

    ¡°There are other ways to become a ruler, but we don¡¯t think that you would like us to tell you the details.¡±

    They were right, as God tended to be. But I had a question that burned on the tip of my tongue, begging to be asked.

    ¡°What happened to change Your plans?¡±

    The set of their shoulders turned irritated.

    ¡°Our plans were made long ago,¡± They said, ¡°but we believe that the thing that had changed when we were not paying attention is that you were not born first, wonderful milkvetch. And¡­¡±

    They paused and I felt like I was being scrutinized, every inch of skin and pore being evaluated to be judged for my worth.

    ¡°You did not let yourself love.¡±

    I stilled.

    Was God¡­ Was God implying that love would have solved all my fucking problems? That such an intangible and fickle thing would have saved me from being burned alive?

    ¡°No.¡±

    God¡¯s voice was final and cut off my bitter thoughts before they could grow too twisted. The judgement was neutral again and I felt a deep pang at losing Their approval.

    ¡°We do not think you could have saved yourself,¡± They said, Their voice blank, ¡°we simply noticed what had changed from our plan.¡±

    I nodded and kept my thoughts out of my mind. I could agonize over Their words later.

    ¡°You are unhappy with us. We understand. Hearing of what should have been is hard when you have experienced what it was, but now we have a question for you, our kind volkamenia.¡± I straightened and waited for Their question. ¡°What do you plan to do with this life? Will you follow our plan?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the word stumbled out of my mouth before I could realize I was speaking. I should have thought about¡ªwhat if They were angry I had not considered their gift¡ªI¡¯m so stupid, I should be better than this¡ª

    ¡°Your thoughts are so loud. We asked for the truth and you gave it to us. We only want to know why.¡±

    It was the hardest thing I had ever done, gathering up the courage to look Them in the face and speak.

    ¡°I will not be Vasteria¡¯s queen,¡± I said, my voice wavering between confident and terrified. ¡°I¡ªI refuse. I owe the crown nothing and I want nothing to do with As¡ª¡± I bit my tongue, swallowing down his name before it could dirty both my mouth and God¡¯s ears. ¡°I want nothing to do with the Stranger and his ilk. I just want to learn in peace.¡±

    The weight of Their gaze was like a gentle caress and oppressing weight that threatened to crush my chest.

    ¡°We see and understand your wishes,¡± They said. ¡°Your path is now your own, so we hope that you live with no regrets.¡±

    The edges of my vision started to blur and the light streaming through the glass intensified to a point I had to avert my eyes or be blinded. There was a loud shattering of glass and then something impossibly burning and freezing rested upon my head. It was the right shape for a hand, four fingers and a thumb connected to a palm, but what was touching me felt nothing like skin, more like an immense impression of power pressing against my soul.

    ¡°Sleep well, She Who Supplants Her Fate,¡± They said, their voice fading to a gentle whisper as my limbs grew heavy and dragged me to the ground. ¡°We hope you may be happy in this life, our lovely cinquefoil.¡±

    Something brushed against my eyes, sending electric sparks up and down my body. ¡°We forgave you long ago.¡±

    ---

    I woke with a gasp, my sweat soaked nightgown sticking to my skin unpleasantly. Bile rose up my throat and I barely got to the trash can near my bed in time, vomiting violently. My throat burned and my teeth were covered in an acidic film as I gagged again, trying to think about that unfathomable presence that had nearly melted my brain.

    I drew in a ragged breath, then spit again, trying to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth. I groped in the drawer next to me, and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping my mouth, then my tongue, nearly gagging again as I scraped at the back of my tongue.

    My eyes hurt, in the aching way they did when I had a migraine, a deep pain that I couldn¡¯t rub away or lessen. Water, I needed water. I didn¡¯t want to try standing, too afraid the pain would pulse and increase at the change in level. I dragged the stupid can with me in case I vomited again, and made my slow way towards my desk since I think Yirana had left a pitcher of water there last night.

    Shaking, I pulled myself up with the chair, debating if I should try to find a cup or just drink straight from the pitcher. It was bad manners and would contaminate all the water, but I didn¡¯t know if I could wait long enough to find a cup.

    I looked at myself in the mirror, a natural thing to do when faced with your own reflection. I had only planned to glance and see how disheveled I looked, but once I locked eyes with my own reflection, I froze.

    My eyes were brown with flecks of darkness that were frequently called red when they caught the light.

    My eyes, the very same eyes I was staring into currently, had fully red irises and my pupils were a startling white.

    I screamed, I couldn¡¯t help it, and the pain in my eyes burst like a supernova. I clutched my head and whimpered, and let myself feel hatred for God in that moment. Why, why had They done this? It could only be Them, from that last moment where They touched me.

    How would I explain this to my father?

    I groaned at that thought. There was no explaining this, it was even more absurd than coming back to life.

    My door burst open, and the Traitor stood there, panting.

    ¡°Jacqueline, what¡¯s wrong?¡± he asked, coming near me.

    No, no, no, I couldn¡¯t deal with this right now.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± I whispered, not able to look directly at him, keeping my eyes down.

    ¡°You were screaming,¡± he said, then paused, sniffing. ¡°Did¡­ did you throw up?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I lied even though the scent of vomit was clear. ¡°Go away, I¡¯m fine.¡±

    The Traitor took a step forward, coming fully into the light. In the back of my mind, I realized that I had woken up just as the sun rose, the light filtering in through my windows.

    His clothes were rumpled, looking like he had hastily thrown them on. Lucas was always the one who had soothed me after my nightmares, always the one who was the first in my room after I started to scream. The Traitor took another step forward, hands raised in the way you did when approaching a wild animal. I choked down a laugh. Yes, that¡¯s what I was. A dangerous and unhinged, undoubtedly wild animal you approached with caution.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he said, voice soft in a way that hurt so, so much, hitting me straight in the heart because he sounded like my brother again, ¡°what¡¯s wrong? You can tell me about your dream, I won¡¯t tell anyone else.¡±

    ¡°Go away,¡± I whispered, wanting to tear away his mask of love and see the truth behind his lies, ¡°just go away.¡±

    He knelt about five feet from me. ¡°Can you look at me, Lynne?¡±

    I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. ¡°Go away.¡±

    ¡°I want to help you.¡±

    Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, LIES, LIES, LIES, LIES, LIES, LIES, LIES. ALL HE DOES IS LIE TO ME, DOES HE THINK THAT I¡¯M SO STUPID?

    ¡°Go away!¡± I screamed, the sound tearing through my raw throat. ¡°Just go away from me!¡±

    He recoiled, mouth falling open, staring at me with those fucking lying eyes that pretended they were hurt by my words.

    ¡°Jacqueline¡ª¡±

    ¡°Go away!¡± I yelled in Insolarian. If he couldn¡¯t understand basic Vasterian, I¡¯d just cycle through all the languages I knew until he got the point and left my sight.

    ¡°Go away!¡± Meisan.

    ¡°Go away!¡± Juxian.

    ¡°Go away!¡± Bashrian.

    ¡°Go away!¡± Auldan.

    ¡°Go away!¡± Hangaise.

    ¡°Go¡ª¡±

    Someone touched me and I lashed out, not wanting anyone near me. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare touch me¡ª¡±

    ¡°I want to help!¡±

    ¡°Help me by getting out of my sight,¡± I snarled, snatching my arm back from the Traitor, and making the mistake of looking him in the eyes.

    There was fear there and hurt, and I wanted to crush them in their sockets, a bout of violence racing through me. But I held back, and just pushed him. He went sprawling, never looking away from me.

    ¡°Go. Away.¡±

    I never got to see if he would have listened because Father burst in at that moment, and my head went dizzy with pain.

    I swayed, eyes fluttering as the pain increased, and I forgot how to breathe.

    I tilted, the ground rushing towards my face before desperate hands caught me, just before my nose grew acquainted with the floor again.

    The Traitor was crying as I lost consciousness, curling me into his arms.

    ---