Dying of a stress-induced aneurysm at thirty-two was simply poor time management. Waking up on the execution floor of a fantasy novel, however, was a severe breach of contract.
The cold, unforgiving marble bit into my bare knees. My head throbbed with a residual, phantom ache, but my mind was violently clear. I didn't panic. Panic was for interns and people who didn't read the fine print.
Instead, I analyzed the room.
Vaulted ceilings. Stained glass windows casting bloody red light across a hostile courtroom. Dozens of aristocrats in velvet finery whispering behind silk fans, their eyes practically glowing with bloodlust.
And sitting on the raised obsidian throne before me was the sole decision-maker.
Crown Prince Kaelen.
He was exactly as the novel had described him: terrifyingly handsome, radiating an aura of absolute violence, and staring down at me with eyes as cold and black as the void. Standing just behind his throne, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief, was Elara; the saintly, weeping heroine of this cliché tragedy.
"Seraphina Vance," Kaelen's voice echoed through the silent hall. It was a rich, heavy baritone that promised nothing but pain. "You are brought before this court on charges of high treason, the attempted poisoning of Lady Elara, and the embezzlement of two million imperial gold pieces from the Crown's relief fund."
Memories that weren't mine crashed into my brain. Seraphina. The screaming, toxic, spoiled villainess of the novel The Tyrant's Sun. According to the plot, right now I was supposed to throw a tantrum, scream that I was framed, and beg for Kaelen's love. Which would promptly result in him ordering my immediate execution.
A fat, balding aristocrat stepped forward, unrolling a parchment. This was Lord Vane, the Minister of Finance.
"The evidence is irrefutable, Your Highness," Vane sneered, refusing to even look at me. "We have the ledgers. The gold was routed directly from the treasury into House Vance's private vaults. She is a thief and a murderer. The law demands her head."
The court murmured in vicious agreement.
I took a slow, measured breath. Then, to the absolute horror of everyone in the room, I stood up.
"Kneel, you insolent wretch!" a guard barked, stepping forward with his spear drawn.
I didn't flinch. I just brushed the dust off my silk skirts with excruciating slowness, ignoring the guard entirely, and locked eyes directly with the Crown Prince.
"Your Highness," I said. My voice didn't shake. It was the exact same crisp, even tone I used to liquidate Fortune 500 companies on Wall Street. "May I see the audit?"
The entire courtroom froze. The silence was so absolute you could have heard a pin drop.
Kaelen's dark eyebrows twitched, just a fraction. He leaned forward, resting his chin on a heavily armored gauntlet. "The... audit?"
"The ledger Minister Vane is holding," I clarified, holding out my hand expectantly. "If you are going to sever my head from my shoulders over a discrepancy of two million gold pieces, I would like to review the math. Unless, of course, the Crown executes its nobility based on single-source, unverified bookkeeping?"
Minister Vane's face turned the color of an overripe plum. "How dare you! Your Highness, this is a stalling tactic! She is raving mad!"
"Hand her the ledger, Vane," Kaelen ordered softly.
"But Sire??"
"I said, hand it to her." The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Trembling, Vane shoved the heavy leather-bound book into my hands.
I opened it. It took me exactly twelve seconds to find the discrepancy. It was laughably amateurish. These people were operating a medieval economy; they didn't even know what double-entry bookkeeping was.
"Well?" Kaelen prompted, his obsidian eyes narrowing. He was watching me like a hawk studying a very confusing mouse.
"It's a sloppy frame job," I announced flatly, snapping the book shut. I tossed it onto the floor at Vane's feet. "Minister Vane is using a single-entry ledger to track macroscopic imperial expenditures. He logged the two million gold as an 'outgoing expense' to House Vance, but there is no corresponding receipt of goods, no tax stamp from the transit guild, and no signature from my estate's treasurer."
I took a step toward the throne, ignoring the spears pointed at my chest.
"Furthermore," I continued, my voice ringing out across the stunned court, "if you cross-reference page forty-two, you'll see a recurring 'administrative fee' paid to a merchant guild in the Southern Marches. A guild that, if you check the imperial registry, happens to be owned by Minister Vane's brother-in-law. The gold isn't in my vault, Your Highness. It's in his. He's running a phantom-billing scheme."
Minister Vane gasped, stumbling backward as if I had been the one to slap him. "Lies! She speaks madness! Sire, she is a witch!"
I didn't look at Vane. I kept my eyes entirely on Kaelen.
The Crown Prince was no longer leaning on his hand. He was sitting dead straight. The murderous boredom in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a sharp, predatory intrigue. He wasn't looking at a screaming villainess anymore.
"You understand, Lady Seraphina," Kaelen said slowly, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, "that if you cannot prove these allegations by sundown, I will not just execute you. I will burn your entire estate to ash."
I smiled. It was a cold, corporate, shark-like smile.
"Give me a desk, three of your best scribes, and unrestricted access to the Ministry of Finance's records," I countered, crossing my arms. "I won't just find your two million gold, Your Highness. Give me one year, and I will double it. If I fail, you can light the match yourself."