The silence of the cell was heavy, like wet cloth draped over my shoulders. The faint torchlight from the hallway barely reached me, leaving half the room in darkness. Stone walls, cold and rough, pressed in close. It was the kind of darkness that made people lose their minds if they sat in it long enough.
But I wasn't panicking anymore. Not like before.
Now, my mind was working.
I leaned back against the wall, my arms wrapped around my knees. The coarse fabric of my prison dress scratched my skin, but I barely noticed. Heck I can't afford to be distracted right now. My thoughts were spinning, thinking how to prove my innocent to the King.
Count Maugrot. That was the name. The man they said I had poisoned.
But I remembered the book. The novel that had ended with her death—Laetitia's death. Back then, I'd cursed the author for being unfair, for giving her no justice. Now, I understood just how cruel it really was.
In the book, the details were, "Right after she hand him the drink, Count's died leading to Laetitia's downfall." That was all it said. But there was something I knew, something that even Laetitia herself hadn't, Count Maugrot's son—Julian Maugrot—had been the real culprit.
I could still picture the scene as if it were written on the inside of my eyelids. Julian, with his smooth smile and honeyed words, had handed her a goblet of wine. "A gift for the Count," he'd said. "You must thank him personally for his support."
SHE was a fool! She'd actually believed him.
I buried my face in my hands and groaned softly. "God, the original Laetitia was too trusting."
My fingers brushed against the side of my face, and I sighed. "And now I'm paying for it."
Still, a part of me couldn't help but feel a dark sense of relief. Count Maugrot had been a vile man. In the book, it was hinted that he had planned to "entertain" Laetitia after the banquet—the kind of "entertainment" that made my blood boil.
He'd died before he could lay a hand on her.
For that, I wasn't sorry.
But I was still the one on trial.
I sighed, "Alright," I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to think like the lawyer I once was. "Emotions later. Evidence first."
There were facts I knew thanks to tha book. First, Count Maugrot had been poisoned. 2nd, The poison had been in his wine. 3rd, The wine had been handed to him by Laetitia. 4th, The wine had come from Julian Maugrot's hand.
The simplest chain of custody always revealed the truth.
The maid had served it. The son had provided it. Laetitia had merely passed it along, cluelessly.
That meant the physical evidence—the wine, the cup, or the Count's body—might still hold traces of the poison.
If the toxin had left physical signs…
I closed my eyes, trying to remember my criminal law cases back home. Some poisons acted fast—spasms, foam at the mouth, blue lips, white lines on the fingerprint and dark or light areas in skin.
If I could convince the court physician to reexamine the Count's body and note those details, I could point out what poison must have slipped into the cup.
But how could I get them to listen to a woman already branded guilty?
I pressed my palms together, thinking hard.
"Servants," I whispered to myself. "The maids who prepared and served the wine."
Servants always saw more than they should. Nobles rarely noticed them. In my field of work, eyes in the background caught everything—witness.
I needed the maids who had been there that night—the one who took the goblet from Julian and handed it to me. If she was still in the castle, she could confirm the sequence. I need to request the judge that all the maids working that night in the party present later so I can Identify the one maid who handed the wine to me.
I stood and began pacing the cell, the hem of my dress brushing the dusty floor.
"She probably doesn't even realize what she saw," I muttered. "Or she's too scared to speak."
Julian Maugrot. The name tasted like rust. The son of the deceased Count. Based on the novel's description on him, "A charming young man, and every bit the serpent his father had raised." He must be trembling in fear right now—no, pretending to mourn—while the entire court focused on me.
That's what infuriated me the most.
He'd used me as a shield, and everyone bought it. Damn those cowardly and sly men like him.
I stopped pacing and clenched my fists. "Not this time," I hissed under my breath. "You're not fucking getting away with it."
I thought back to the trial. The way the nobles had looked at me—disgusted, certain, self-righteous. The way the king's cold eyes had locked on mine.
They saw me as nothing but a criminal.
Fine. Let them. That meant they wouldn't see me coming until it was too late.
Suddenly a faint sound drew my attention—the guard's footsteps passing by. I stepped closer to the bars.
"Excuse me," I said, forcing my voice to sound calm, polite. "I need to speak to the royal physician. There's something important about Count Maugrot's body."
The guard laughed. "You planning to charm your way out, Lady D'Aubigny?"
I smiled thinly. "No. I'm planning to prove my innocence. And if I can't, then I'll die knowing I tried harder than any of you did your job."
That earned me a raised brow, but nothing more. The man walked off. Still, I planted the seed.
I'd do it again. And again. Until someone important listened.
Hours passed—or maybe longer. My sense of time slipped. The only company I had were the rats scratching at the corners.
My mind wouldn't rest, though. It kept analyzing, replaying every possible moment that could have gone wrong.
In the novel, there had been one curious line that always stuck with me "The Count's son wept beside his father's body, yet his hands smelled faintly of wine and something sweet"
sweet.
I frowned. Back home, I'd learned that some poisons left a metallic scent. Not visible, but detectable but sweet?? Heck, what kind of poison smells sweet?!
In the novel, it wasn't mentioned what poisoned was used to kill the Count but based on my knowledge, it can't be Arsenic, the common poison used medieval and renaissance era used to kill nobles since the smell describe was sweet and not garlic like odor and aside from that, It usually takes the victim 1- 4 days to died when ingested.
If anyone noticed that smell again, it could link back to Julian.
What if the maid remembered that? Or if there was a servant who cleaned up the body?
If I could get someone—anyone—to testify that Julian's hands had that scent or that he had touched the goblet before me, that would create reasonable doubt. Enough to stall my execution. Enough to make the court think.
That was all I needed. Time and doubt.
And then I could find something undeniable—evidence he couldn't bury.
I slumped back against the wall again, my head tipping back.
"This isn't impossible," I whispered. "Hard, yes. But not impossible."
For the first time since waking up in this world, I felt something stronger than fear—purpose.
I wasn't just fighting for myself anymore.
The original Laetitia… she didn't deserve what happened to her. She wasn't kind, no. She was vain and evil, sharp-tongued, even arrogant. But she was human.
And she'd died begging for mercy no one gave her.
My hands tightened around the fabric of my dress. "You were innocent," I murmured to the memory of the woman whose body I now inhabit. It's creepy, sure—but I have no choice. "They destroyed you because you were alone, stupid and evil. But I'm not you. I'll make them pay."
The heavy iron door groaned open, and I froze.
Bootsteps echoed softly on the stone floor. A faint scent of smoke and expensive perfume reached me before the man did. I almost vomit because of the strong scent.
Elias D'Aubigny—Laetitia's younger brother.
He looked the same as in the novel's few scenes, tall, sharp-faced, and coldly beautiful, like someone carved from marble. His black coat gleamed faintly in the light as he stepped into the cell.
"Sister," he greeted, voice smooth but distant. "You seem… busy."
I realized I was still muttering to myself, pacing the floor again.
"I'm thinking," I replied flatly. "You should try it sometime."
In the novel, he was described as someone cunning and greedy but not evil unlike Laetitia. An ambitious man with no emotions. It was also describe, "He was the type to kill his own family and watch them suffer if he found them useless in his chest board."
His lips curved faintly—amusement, not warmth. "Still arrogant, even in chains."
"Arrogant people don't usually get accused of murder," I said, "just because they had the wrong drink in their hand."
He tilted his head. "Then enlighten me. What really happened?"
I hesitated. Was he here to help or to watch me crumble?
But then again, what did I have to lose?
So I told him. Not everything—not about me being from another world—but enough. That Julian Maugrot had given her the drink, that Laetitia had only followed his advice, and I need all the maids working that night to identify the witness and a physician to examine the dead body.
When I finished, Elias was silent.
Then, slowly, he smirked. "You've grown clever all of a sudden."
"I've always been clever," I shot back. "You just never cared to notice."
He stepped closer, eyes gleaming. "You plan to expose the Count's son, don't you? To tear him down in front of the court?"
"Not just expose him," I said, meeting his gaze. "I'm going to make him confess."
Elias chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "In a court that already condemned you? Good luck with that."
"Luck?" I smiled, cold and sharp. "No. I don't rely on luck. I rely on proof."
He studied me for a long moment, then his expression shifted—something unreadable flickering in his eyes. I don't know what it was but it was something evil.
"You sound like a madwoman," he said finally.
"Then let me be mad," I replied. "Because the 'mad' are the ones who don't stop thinking."
He turned toward the door, but before leaving, he said quietly, "If you're truly innocent, sister… then I hope your madness burns this whole court to the ground."
And then he was gone.
I stood there in the dim cell, the echo of his footsteps fading.
My heart was racing, not with fear — but with fire.
They thought I was doomed. That I'd break. That I'd die quietly like the last Laetitia. Hell no, I'll fight for myself.
But they didn't know who I really was.
I was a lawyer. A woman who believed in justice—and justice wasn't always kind.
So I smiled in the dark, eyes gleaming with a fury that felt almost alive.
"Julian Maugrot and that real witch," I whispered. "You poisoned your father and pinned it on the wrong woman. Now it's my turn."