Lydia’s eyelids felt like sandpaper as she slid them open. Her throat was so dry that it almost hurt to breathe in, and as she sat up she found herself cringing at the light streaming in through the windows. She forced her eyes to stay open as she took in her new surroundings - it didn’t look like anything she had seen in Sorceress.

From the looks of it, she had ended up somewhere extravagant. The bed she sat on was a luxurious four-poster bed with a canopy, and far too big for just one person. There was more furniture like that all across the room: there was a vanity sitting in the corner with golden inlays on the mirror and dresser, a fireplace big enough to warm the whole room across from the bed, and a loveseat with silken cushions right by the lofty windows.

Lydia peeled back the silken covers of the bed, pressing her feet into the cool marble tile beneath her. Her toes curled in response, and as she looked over the pale lilac nightgown she was wearing, a line of goosebumps ran up her arms. It wasn’t from the floor, rather it came from the sense of something looming just at the edge of her consciousness. Had she forgotten something?

Lydia forced herself to stand, albeit shakily, and she stumbled towards the vanity like a newborn faun. Her arms and legs felt like lead. Why was she so sluggish? She was supposed to be asleep before all this happened, at least that’s what she assumed, so she should have been ready to go for the morning. After finally reaching the vanity, she plopped down in the seat to give herself a breath – she’d never had this much trouble just walking from one end of the room to another.

Lydia pulled her head up to stare into the mirror, finding a face that was both familiar and foreign at the same time. Her sepia skin seemed to clash with her eyes, which had become a pale icy blue, accented by long hair as black as the night sky. She had dark circles under her eyes and there was a hollowness to her cheeks that made her resemble a prisoner more than a noblewoman. Even now she still had no idea who she was. As she turned her head this way and that, something bright glinted in the corner of her eye. Lydia turned her head to stare at it, sending a wave of nausea flowing over her. It was a simple teacup with silver paint and flowering designs; it was the only thing in the room with such a design, which only made it stand out even more.

Lydia picked it up, turning it over and inspecting it. There was just a gulp of tea left in the cup, and she was tempted to stick a finger in it to taste it before she stopped herself.

Poison. The word came to mind in an instant. The tea had a sweet honeyed smell to it, but there was an underlying hint of tartness that didn’t mix well with the overall aroma.

Had someone tried to poison her? The tea was practically gone, so that would mean the body Lydia had taken control of was dead as well. But this still didn’t answer the question of who she was now. There were so many reasons why someone like her would be poisoned. Maybe it was for revenge, maybe it was for political reasons; it could have even been plain incompetence. God only knows how many were lost to the plague of stupidity in the annals of history.

“Lady Protea?” called a voice through the door. This was just wonderful – out of all the people she could have been in this new world, she just had to become the villain. Great.

“Come in,” she said hoarsely. She rubbed her throat; it felt like sandpaper.

A woman with a heavy figure walked into the room, clothed in a pastel blue dress with a simple bodice and skirt. There were was something uncanny to the woman’s face. From a distance, she appeared ordinary; red cheeks, heart-shaped face, button nose, wide violet eyes. But as she walked closer, Lydia could see that was where the ordinary ended. Her skin was like porcelain, pale as fresh snow, and it seemed to be almost stretched across her bones. Her hair was like plastic - it didn’t move in any of the ways regular hair did - and far too bright a blond to not be dyed. Her eyes reminded her of the glassy stare of a doll; like someone had put so much detail into them that no longer appeared human.

The woman - Zephyrine, she finally remembered - let out a sigh of relief as she looked at Protea.

Did she know about the poison?

“I’ve prepared breakfast for you,” she said as she set a plate of eggs and pancakes in front of her. She stayed deathly silent as Lydia - or maybe Protea - ate. There was an awkwardly tense atmosphere settling over the room.

After a moment, Zephyrine cleared her throat and spoke, “The trial is today.”

Lydia began to ask what she meant, and then she remembered. In Sorceress, Protea had tried to kill Briar more than once. Right after the war had ended, the game said Protea would be taken to trial, but there was no mention of what became of her after that. A pang of bitterness ran across her tongue, her fingers curling tightly into a fist. At the same time, her heart jumped and a queasy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. It seemed there were a few pieces of Protea left, stubbornly clinging to whatever was left of her being.

“What do you plan to do?”

“I... I don’t know yet,” Protea said after a while. “How much time do I have?”

“A few hours, at the most.” It was better than nothing.

“I need a pen and paper.” Zephyrine nodded, turning around and rushing down the hallway. Soon she returned and handed Protea a fountain pen and a simple leather-bound notebook.

With these in hand, she began to plan her next move. If she had learned anything from her years at Silverflux, it was how to make a convincing argument. She could only hope the Court would be willing to hear her out.

Protea stood before the towering mahogany doors that guarded the throne room of the palace from the peering eyes of the rest of the world. She gripped the waist of her dress, digging through the fabric at the corset underneath. In her head, she turned over the plan she made; she went over it forwards, backwards, she took it apart and put it back together, but still, goosebumps ran up and down her arms. Zephyrine had been escorted away by the Royal Guards, which left Protea with the two guards appointed to watch over her and the lawyer defending her, a stocky man by the name Valentin Herridge.

She lifted a hand to move a strand of hair behind her ear. One of the guards sent a warning glance in her direction and Protea quickly snapped it back to her side. It was clear she wouldn’t get any sympathy from either of them.

“Are you sure about this?” Valentin whispered to her from the corner of his mouth. His hazel eyes darted from her to the doors repeatedly, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other every so often.

“I’m positive,” Protea replied in a low voice. “This is going to work.” Her mouth was like sandpaper as she spoke. Not even she had much faith in the strategy she has written up, but it was better than nothing.

They had been standing there for what felt like hours; pins and needles had started to dig into her feet, not helped by the tight oxford shoes she stuffed her feet into. Aside from the lawyer’s occasional check-ins and the faint chattering from behind the door, it was completely silent. A tense atmosphere had fallen over the room, not helped by the guards’ stony silence.

Finally, the dark doors opened, revealing a lanky man with brown hair, a long pencil neck, and a nose that reminded her of a beak. He kept his head rigidly turned upwards so that no matter if he has taller or shorter than the other people in the room he would always be looking down on them.

He sniffed in a high, nasal voice, “His Royal Highness shall be seeing you now.”

Protea breathed in as deeply as her corset would allow her. She went to take a step forward, but the guards at her sides seized her arm before her foot hit the ground. The door swung open, and he tugged her forward harshly, forcing her to stumble to keep up with them. It was here that Protea became aware of how deeply loathed she was in Draentis.

As Protea was hauled through the magnificent throne room, a silence like death fell over the room, broken only by a few whispers. A man in a navy blue vest in the floor seats narrowed his eyes at her as she walked by, staring through her with dark deep-set eyes. In the balcony above, a redheaded woman in a red dress turned to whisper something in her friend’s ear and held a fan in front of her lips; the telltale crinkling of her eyes and the quirk of the other woman’s lips said it was something mocking. Near the front of the room sat two empty seats, engraved with a shield set behind a snowy owl with a saber in its talons. This was the coat of arms of the Fynderne name, the ruling family of the city of Frostenden. Protea’s nerves wound themselves into a tight ball. Not even her parents were here to support her.

The guard shoved her forward as they reached the front of the room where a simple podium was set near the throne. As she turned to the front of the room, her heart seemed to jump into her throat as she locked eyes with Emperor Constantin’s steely-eyed glare. She turned her eyes downward as quickly as she could, but she still managed to catch the slight sneer in the corner of his mouth.

The attendant cleared his throat, then pressed his hand to his throat, lime green rays of light flowing from his wand. Protea couldn’t help but send an occasional glance his way.

“The date is Firedawn, 5th of Regnausa, Year 433,” His voice echoed around the courtroom, much in the same way nails on a chalkboard carried across a classroom. “The following court session is an arraignment for the defendant, Protea Fynderne of Frostenden. The indictment reads as follows: ’The Royal Jury charges, Count One, Attempt to Assassinate the Blessed Maiden of Humanity.”

“On the fourth day of the Emperor’s Tourney, which took place on the 22nd of Wolvsigas, Year 432, the defendant knowingly used a lethal spell in an attempt to kill the Blessed Maiden of Humanity, as defined in the 16 Imperial Code 4536(a). Count Two, Attempt to Undermine the Established Line of Succession. On the 8th of Aluvi, Year 433, the defendant...”

Protea said nothing as the man droned on, instead, she kept her head down and stared almost forlornly at her shoes. The Emperor came from the House of Drerrourn, and they’ve held a deep grudge against the House of Fynderne for centuries now. Even if she wasn’t in the line of succession, she was still of Fynderne blood, and that made her a target.

“Mr. Herridge, have you discussed all the charges set forth with your client?” The attendant asked.

“I have,” Valentine responded in an even voice.

“Does your client wish to enter a plea at this time?”

“Yes. She will plead nolo contendere to all charges.”

A hush ran through the crowd like tides hitting a beach. Clearly, the Court had expected something different - judging by their reactions earlier, they were probably expecting a shouting match or something akin to that.

Emperor Constantin’s voice boomed, “Quiet!” The throne room returned to that familiar tense silence.

“Protea.” She allowed herself to lift her head enough to see the Emperor’s tunic. “Have you discussed this plea entirely with Mr. Herridge?”

“I have.”

“And you are fully aware of the consequences that come with such a plea?”

“Yes.”

“Very well then.” The king turned to whisper briefly in the attendant’s ear.

“By the order of the Royal Court of the Empire of Draentis and the Goddess’s Will, I, Emperor Constantin Drerrourn of Draentis, hereby sentence you to exile for life.” Protea felt a rush of excitement run through her, but she forced her face to remain stony. “You are to serve your sentence in the Wretched Lands for the rest of your life.”

“You are not to speak to or contact anyone from the Empire or its territories for any reason whatsoever. You are not to set foot on the Empire’s lands or any of its territories. Should you violate any of these compulsions, you will be punished by death.”

“I accept His Majesty’s punishment,” Protea let her voice waver ever so slightly. The rest of the court practically flew by, and she hardly noticed when the guards returned to haul her out of the throne room.

Zephyrine perked up as she came to her in the hall. “Did it work?”

“Yes. I have a month to get the rest of my affairs in order.”

“Forgive me for asking my lady, but what exactly was the purpose of this plan? I don’t see how getting exiled is going to help matters.”

“You’ll know soon enough.” Zephyrine was only familiar with the old Protea, and she couldn’t imagine the maid would react well to finding out that her lady was gone. It was just another variable that could put a wrench in her plans.

But for now, the “easy” part of her plan was over. What came next presented a nigh insurmountable goal; the Wretched Lands were home to the biggest population of monsters on the entire planet. If this world was anything like her old one, finding a way to unite them and humans would be the hardest part of the plan.