“Right, I need to think some things through,” Artemisia said to

  herself when she was in the privacy of her room. She had seen Elise

  off for the night, and now she plopped herself down at her circular

  table with a quill and paper.

  She eyed the ink bottle.

  Cautiously, she dipped the quill

  into the bottle, swilled it around a bit, and then tried scratching a

  few lines across

  the paper.

  Large ink blots spread across the paper as Artemisia pressed too

  hard, ruining the once clear sheet.

  Artemisia slowly began to write out

  a few things, taking extra care to not drip

  ink everywhere. She was already desperately missing her trusty

  ballpoint pens.

  “Okay, number one on my list of things to think about: magic is

  real.” She tapped the end of the quill against her cheek, enjoying

  the soft feeling of the feather. “Magic is real, and seemingly very

  rare… or out of fashion? The duke mentioned something about young

  people calling it nonsense.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “How can magic be out of fashion? Why couldn’t this story take

  place, like, a hundred years earlier.”

  Although, I don’t think I would have such a comfortable life

  then. This setting seems to be Regency inspired, looking at the

  fashion and the level of technology. I wonder if there are guns…

  some stories don’t include them, even if it’s accurate to the

  time period they’re going for. Ah well, it’s fantasy. It doesn’t

  have to be accurate.

  “Right, moving on. Number two:

  nobody knows why Artemisia collapsed, or died, or whatever. There’s

  not a lot I can do about that right now, but I’ve got two leads to

  look into. Her argument with Christopher, and maybe…” Artemisia

  frowned. “The meteor shower? It’s definitely not a usual thing.”

  And if magic’s a thing, maybe it was a magical meteor shower…

  okay, you might be getting a bit carried away there, me. Let’s not

  make assumptions yet.

  “One, two, three… haaah.”

  Artemisia pushed the paper and quill

  away from her, burying her head in her hands. She really didn’t

  want to write this last one down, but

  the evidence was stacking up.

  I’ve got a bad feeling… that Artemisia might be the villainess

  character! Rich, powerful, innocent looking but with a horrible

  temper… those traits scream villainess.

  “Damn… Am I destined to meet a sticky end?”

  If only I could remember what story I’m in, and then I might

  have a chance. At the moment, all I can do is cross my fingers and

  hope for the best.

  She took a deep breath.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Calm down. I can do this. I know the tropes, I know what to look

  out for. I’ve just got to be careful, and I’m sure I’ll be

  okay. And the longer I survive, and the more I learn about this

  world, the more likely I am to recognise the characters and story.

  Alright, let’s do the sensible thing and get rid of this paper,

  and then go to bed. Tomorrow, I’d like to speak to Christopher

  about this argument. It’s probably nothing, but I need all the

  information I can get.

  ?

  “What a lovely day to have afternoon tea outside, don’t you

  think?”

  “Ah, yes, I agree.”

  Indeed, it was a warm day, one of the last hurrahs before autumn

  truly set in. There was not a cloud to be seen in the sky, and the

  temperature was perfect. Not so cool that the shade was unpleasant,

  but not so warm as to build up a sweat as one ventured across the

  lawn to the pavilion.

  Emile sat across from Artemisia, sipping daintily from her china

  teacup, looking out over the lawn as Elspeth examined something in

  the grass. Her nanny stood beside her, making sure she didn’t stick

  her hands in the dirt again. It seemed to be some sort of compromise

  between Elspeth not feeling left out, and also not being a bother.

  I can’t believe how nonchalant she was about wiping her hands on

  my dress earlier. Haah, the audacity of small children.

  “As I was saying, I wanted to make

  sure you were up to date with current affairs. We have no idea when –

  or if – your memory will return, and I would rather make

  sure that…”

  Emile trailed off as Artemisia took a bite of one of the soft

  biscuity things that had been laid out on the table, a piece of it

  falling off and landing on her lap.

  Emile coughed slightly. “Anyway, it would be best that I just

  update you, instead of us waiting around for you to get better.”

  “I agree with that. To begin, maybe you could remind me who the der

  Waals are? Father mentioned them.”

  “Ah, the der Waals.” Something

  flickered over Emile’s face that was hard to detect. “They say if

  you want something to become common news, make sure a der Waal hears

  of it. They’re the type of

  family to be cordial

  with, but not too close, lest your private secrets end up not so

  private.”

  Artemisia nodded, half focusing on the conversation and half on

  mimicking Emile’s way of holding her teacup. “Are there any other

  families I should take note of?”

  “Don’t raise your elbow so

  high,” Emile commented offhandedly, before continuing on. “Apart

  from the der Waals, you should also be wary of the Gloriosa house.

  They’ve been our competitors in trade with the Sargassians for

  nearly a decade

  now.”

  “The Sargassians?”

  “Ah, the island nation to the

  north. They usually conduct trade at our ports, but

  some of the newer merchants have started using Pennicua, in the

  Gloriosa lands.

  However, Topher has been making progress coaxing them back to us

  recently.” Emile smiled self-satisfactorily.

  “Right, right. Avoid the Gloriosas and the der Waals. What about

  the other ducal families? The von Jarlliards, the von Loambarns, and

  the von Rustruchts?” Artemisia tried to recall what Elise had told

  her. “You’re… originally from a branch family of the von

  Rustruchts, correct?”

  “Yes, the current duke is my uncle.”

  “So, the von Rustruchts are friends?”

  Emile chuckled. “I’d certainly hope so. The dukes all get along

  decently well, with each other and the imperial family. However, the

  von Loambarns… they’re only a ducal family in name now, if I dare

  put it so harshly.”

  “The von Loambarns?”

  “Indeed.” Emile put down her teacup and sighed. “About fifteen

  years ago there was a terrible accident, and both the duke and

  duchess were killed.”

  “Neither of them had any immediate family able to steward the

  family, so the crown appointed one of the duchess’ advisors as an

  interim duke. He did a terrible job though, and although the eldest

  son has now succeeded him, he’s still trying to repair the mess

  that imbecile made.”

  “This eldest son? Who is he?”

  “Duke von Loambarn? I believe you’ve met him a couple of times,

  he’s only a year older. Handsome enough, but he’s a quiet soul,

  and attends the minimum of social events."