"Let's break up!"
The prince, with his beautiful face, so pale against his dark hair that he might be made of sculpted marble, stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. And by the curl of his lip, that head was disgusting to look at.
Which would be quite an achievement, in her opinion, because the body she now inhabited was almost unearthly pretty, except when she was standing next to the man in front of her.
Well.
She couldn't blame him.
One didn't usually declare that they wanted to break up with such cheer.
They also didn't generally suggest breaking up a political marriage that allied two powerful kingdoms, given that such an act would obviously undermine the entire alliance.
But she'd be a fool if she didn't at least try, right?
After all.
Prince Donncahd, the black-hearted, war-loving prince of Sidera, and the villain of the book 'Auberon's Edge', definitely planned on killing her. She just wasn't quite certain when.
At some point before the start of the book proper, Donncahd would kill his wife - then queen - Airie and conquer her kingdom, Aurania, by force. The book hadn't said exactly when, which didn't reassure her at all.
It was quite an unsettling thing, living day by day and not knowing when she might suddenly meet her violent end.
Regardless, without knowing a proper timeline or even a reason why, the only surefire way to not die was to break up with him and flee to a kingdom she knew he'd never reach.
There was just one, little, minor problem with this plan: She wasn't really Princess Airie.
Without the political capital of having a king as her father, and with the danger that the discovery of her trickery would immediately result in her execution...
She was finding it surprisingly hard to get out of a royal wedding. Smuggling herself to a kingdom where the impending war would never reach would actually be the easy part.
Case in point:
Donncahd shook his head after a long moment and gave a short snort. "No."
...That's all he said.
He didn't even bother to give her a cutting remark.
He'd always been a man of few words even in the novel, but a one word dismissal was short even for him. He was clearly beyond unamused by what he must have perceived as her attempting to make a joke.
It was, after all, the most logical conclusion he could make with the information available to him. If he knew she was aware of his impending murder plans, he'd probably have stepped them up.
She sighed.
Well...
Yeah.
She'd kind of figured that would happen.
Well then. There was nothing left to do but go back to plotting her royal annulment.
And hopefully not cause her own murder in the process.
***
On her last day on Earth, Rache awoke with a start, and she didn't know why.
All that lingered in her mind were faint snatches of an intense dream - the kind that she struggled to separate violence and sensuality within. But she couldn't remember any of the details.
And her alarm buzzed at her loudly. making certain she couldn't just roll back over and hope for the best.
She sighed and clicked her tongue, turning off the alarm, and trudged half asleep through her morning routine.
Coffee first, because not even a cold shower would wake her up enough to prepare her for the world, or her job, without it.
On the way, she nearly tripped over the hardcover version of 'Auberon's Edge'. It must have fallen off of the table at some point the night before. Perhaps an earthquake that simply hadn't woken her?
She frowned and picked it up, absently setting it down on the table before she continued her journey for the coffee.
Nothing else leaped out and tried to break her neck for the rest of the day.
She considered that at least halfway to a success.
The other half was putting up with customers.
And, surprisingly, the day went without any problems there, either.
Complete success!
It was such a success, in fact, that she decided to swing by a cafe to grab a celebratory cake.
Just as she got to the promised land of cake, however, there was a strange sound behind her.
She turned toward it.
Just in time for some stranger's car to explode in her face.
***
"Ouch..."
A loud groan slipped out from between her lips, and she blearily blinked her eyes open.
Her back hurt.
Her arms hurt, too.
Like she'd worked extra hard, and not like she'd just face-tanked an explosion.
Hesitantly, she blinked her eyes open, trying to mentally steel herself for whatever horrible damage that must have done to her.
...She laid in a bed.
Not a hospital bed.
Her arms...were...
Fine.
They weren't fine, they hurt. But there were no injuries.
There were no scars.
"What...?"
Was she in a coma?
Or, rather, had she been up until this moment?
She looked around.
No. This was an actual room. An ornate, stately looking room, nothing like a long term care or hospital room might look.
It even had a large floor length mirror - something she'd never had in any of her houses - and the walls were painted in soothing pinks and greens, with delicate vinework drawn all across the walls.
They looked too hand-painted to be wallpaper, which spoke of incredible dedication to detail and design.
So, this definitely wasn't a hospital, but it wasn't her home, either. If she woke up from a dream, she'd done it in a complete stranger's house.
A very rich stranger's house.
"Where am I?"
No one was around to answer.
She hesitantly climbed out of bed and...
Nearly collapsed.
Her legs were weak. So weak she could barely stand.
"Wha-?"
This wasn't just pain. It was a level of weakness that was completely unbelievable.
She couldn't explain it - not when her legs looked unmarked and unharmed in any way.
"What happened to me?!"
It came out as a cry, and as soon as it did, she regretted it.
She had no idea where she was or who'd taken her. Shouting only alerted the owner of this place, and she didn't know whether they were malicious or not.
Not to mention, the idea of screaming for help when she was alone made her feel ridiculous.
And then she realized:
Why was she wearing a white dress? This wasn't what she'd been wearing at all!
"What the hell is going on!?"
The door burst open, and a middle aged woman rushed in.
Stocky. Normal looking. Dressed...like a maid?
"Oh." The woman tutted. "Poor dear. After a flu like that you've no business trying to stand."
It took a moment for the words to sink in.
Rache stared at her and weakly said, "Flu?"
"Yes. A nasty one, too. the doctor was certain your weak form wouldn't make it through the night..."
She sighed and smiled softly. Genuine relief showed in her features. "But you've proved him wrong, haven't you dear? Now come. Back to bed. We won't have you pushing yourself to death."
Pushing herself?
What? She'd only just stood up.
It took a moment to realize this maid didn't expect Rache to be able to walk at all, let alone stand up on her own.
However, she'd steadied herself from that initial lurch. Standing, at least, wasn't an issue. She let go of the post.
"I can-"
As soon as she did, her body gave up, and she crashed to the ground.
She landed with a solid thump and winced at the jolt of pain up her spine.
At least the maid had been quick and managed to catch her before her head hit the floor.
"...Okay," she whispered, staring at the ceiling. "Maybe I'm weaker than I thought."
"Dear, you don't just get better from a fever that bad. Especially not in a single night. You need to take care. Pushing yourself is the last thing you want to be doing."
She...
Still did not know what was happening.
Where she was.
How she got here.
But she couldn't argue with this strange woman. Whatever happened, she really was too weak to stand.
"Come. Let's get you back into bed, and I'll make you a nice stew. What do you think, darling?"
"...Okay. Yes, thank you, that's fine."
Rache allowed this unknown maid to guide her to her feet and tuck her back into the bed.
Nothing made sense.
None of this made any sense.
But she could be certain of one thing:
Her empty, growling stomach.