Sereia's head burned.
It was the first thing she noticed when her consciousness returned to her and the pain was so blinding that it occupied her mind greedily.
The second was that she was in a carriage. It was a cheap carriage that made you feel the tiniest pebble under its wheels as it drove.
Was this what torture felt like? It must be.
She wanted to hurl but there wasn't anything on her stomach that allowed her to do so. The job of a Haven Keeper was not well-paying and she was pathetically poor. Going a day or two without eating was commonplace and that was why potions and spells that suppressed hunger were her best friend.
A sharp kick to her shin forced her to return to reality. "Get up, I know you're awake."
Sereia's eyes flung open at the familiar voice. "Isadora?" She had to blink a few times to clear her vision but she was sure that the woman in front of her was the witch she had been housing.
Isadora didn't answer her.
"What are you doing? Where are we?" Sereia went to sit up but immediately bent over as another wave of searing hot pain flooded her body. She clutched and clawed at her neck desperately, where the pain was most intense.
She tried to speak but only a gurgling sound, like she was being choked, came out.
When she finally felt as if she couldn't take it anymore, a soft voice uttered, "Enough. Isadora, I did not allow you to harm our guest of honor."
"My apologies, Your Highness," Isadora responded, but she didn't sound apologetic at all. She made a slight gesture with her wrist and the pain Sereia felt vanished just as quickly as it had come.
"Let me apologize on behalf of my servant," The soft voice spoke again. "It's my fault for not disciplining her properly. Are you alright?"
"No, I—" Sereia's words tangled in her throat. When she rose her head to meet the other woman in the carriage, it was as if she were staring in the mirror.
Luscious, blood-red curls swept her shoulders and icy sky-blue eyes pierced into her own. Her unblemished skin was pale and contrasted sharply against the rosy blush of her cheeks, painting her as a pampered lady with no worries.
"Uncanny, isn't it?" The woman with Sereia's face laughed lightly. It was clear she found her bewilderment amusing. "I thought the same when I caught sight of you for the first time. It feels even stranger that we aren't related."
Sereia's eyes suspiciously swept between Isadora and the mysterious woman with her face. She studied the woman a bit closer until she was sure of it — the woman in front of her held no magic.
"Who are you and what do you want from me?"
"Ah yes, my apologies. It seems my manners are a bit lacking; my name is Rosalie Baudelaire."
"You're Rosalie Baudelaire?" Sereia snorted. "Don't insult my intelligence."
Rosalie Baudelaire was the name of Aetheria's third princess. Despite being the youngest child, she surpassed her siblings in every aspect and was heavily supported by the nobles to become the next heir.
Aetheria had always been behind in the times and there was still an old law that forbade women from ascending the throne; the late king passed before ever rectifying it and the throne was passed to the second child and only son.
Now, rumors were rampant that the King was desperately searching for suitors to marry Rosalie off — as long as she was there his position would never be stable.
In short, Rosalie Baudelaire was currently surviving by the skin of her teeth back in the capital. Why would she be here in the countryside in this shitty carriage?
"Watch your mouth." Isadora snarled, raising her hand in warning.
Sereia flinched. Isadora's power was something she did not wish to experience again.
"Let's just say I believe you," Sereia started, slowly. "You're really the third princess. What do you want from me? You don't need me as a witch because you have Isadora for that. You don't need help getting to Lumindale because you have no magic."
She paused and examined the likeness between them once more. If she wasn't confident in her own origins, she would mistake her for her long-lost twin sister. "Is it because we look alike?"
Rosalie clapped and sighed with relief, "Ah, you're smart. That's good. I loathe stupid, useless people." Even though it was a compliment, it felt rather backhanded to Sereia. "And we more than just look alike — we're nearly identical. Even my family would struggle to tell us apart and that's precisely why I want you."
"And what, if I don't do it you'll kill me?"
Instead of answering, Rosalie motioned to Isadora. Isadora quickly placed an old, worn journal in her hand and the sight of it made Sereia's stomach twist with dread.
"I see you recognize this well." A cunning smile graced Rosalie's face as she gently flipped through the pages of the journal. "I quite like this journal of yours, you keep records very well. I suppose you have to, being a Haven Keeper and all. Your level of detail is astounding; the names of every illegal witch you've housed including the names and locations of other Haven Keepers. You've even drawn a map of all the other Keepers from here to Lumindale."
Rosalie closed the journal and bounced it in her hand. She kept her eyes steady with Sereia. "You're very thorough, Miss Blackwell but you have to be more careful with where you hide your things. You're very lucky that it was me who found it and not Baron Hans or I'm afraid you and the rest of your community would be the next festival attraction."
Sereia closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm herself.
She was fucked and she knew it. She kept such detailed logs because her home was strongly protected with a multitude of spells; there was no way a human would ever find it, much less get inside.
If that journal was truly given to Baron Hans, that disgusting pervert, the entire community would be at risk. The Haven Keepers would cease to exist and that meant that any new fledgling witches would be alone and without any chance at safety or escape to Lumindale.
"I believe the choice is rather simple, really." Rosalie did not give Sereia time to organize her thoughts. "Be my substitute or face execution."