Chapter 2: The Inadmissible Evidence
The iron desk was a mess, but to my eyes, it was a gold mine. As a lawyer who had spent nights fueled by bitter coffee and the glow of a computer screen, I knew how to find the "devil in the details."
I pulled the chair the one the guard had begrudgingly brought me closer to the desk. The flickering candle cast long, dancing shadows against the damp dungeon walls, but my focus was entirely on the parchment in front of me.
"Let's see what we have here," I whispered.
The file was thin, which was the first red flag. For a crime as serious as "Attempted Regicide" (killing royalty), there should have been hundreds of pages of witness statements, alibis, and physical evidence reports. Instead, there were only three documents: the Maid's Testimony, a drawing of the poison vial, and the Execution Warrant.
"This isn't an investigation," I muttered, a cold anger bubbling in my chest. "This is a hit job."
I leaned back, tapping my fingers on the desk. The shackles on my wrists rattled, a constant reminder of the stakes. In my previous life, a mistake in a case meant a lost bonus or a disgruntled client. Here, a mistake meant a date with a blade.
I turned my attention to the maid's statement. Emily Thorne. In the original book, Emily was portrayed as a "victim" of Seraphina's bullying, a girl forced to help her wicked mistress. But looking at the written word through a legal lens, the story fell apart.
At 8:00 PM, the Lady Seraphina entered the Saintess's chambers...
I closed my eyes and searched the "Seraphina" memories. The palace was a sprawling labyrinth. On the night of the banquet, Seraphina had been wearing a corset so tight she could barely breathe and a gown with a six-foot train. To get from the Grand Ballroom in the West Wing to the Saintess's private quarters in the East Wing, she would have had to walk for twenty minutes, through three guarded checkpoints, and up two flights of stairs.
I checked the guest log. At 7:55 PM, the Emperor himself had raised a toast. Seraphina had been standing right behind her father, Duke Astra.
"Unless I can teleport," I said to the empty hallway, "I was in the ballroom when the poison was allegedly being poured."
"Talking to yourself, Lady? Truly, the madness of the dungeon has set in early."
I looked up. The lead guard, a man named Jax with a crooked nose and a permanent sneer, was leaning against the stone archway. He was watching me with a mix of pity and disgust.
"Jax, isn't it?" I asked, my voice calm and professional.
He blinked, surprised I knew his name. "What of it?"
"Tell me, Jax. Are you a man who values his pension? Or perhaps you have a family you'd like to support after your service ends?"
The guard straightened up, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. "Are you threatening me? You're in no position to—"
"I'm not threatening you," I interrupted, standing up. Even in my tattered dress, I held myself with the posture of a woman who owned the room. "I'm giving you a warning. You are currently the primary custodian of a fraudulent legal document. If I am executed based on this paper, and it is later proven which it will be that the facts within it are physically impossible, the Imperial Investigation Bureau will look for a scapegoat."
I stepped closer to the bars, the candlelight catching the sharp glint in my eyes.
"They won't go after the Emperor. They won't go after the Saintess. They will go after the guards who 'lost' the logs or 'ignored' the timeline. They will go after you, Jax."
The guard's face went pale. He wasn't a bad man; he was just a cog in a corrupt machine. And cogs are easy to replace.
"The... the timeline?" he stammered.
"The banquet toast was at 7:55 PM," I said, my voice dropping to a low, commanding tone. "The maid claims I was in the East Wing at 8:00 PM. Go to the hallway right now. Walk from the Ballroom to the Saintess's door. See if you can do it in five minutes while wearing a forty-pound dress and high heels. If you can't, then you are holding a lie. And the law doesn't kind to those who protect liars."
Jax looked at the folder on the desk, then back at me. I could see the gears turning in his head. For the first time, he didn't see a "villainess." He saw a woman who knew something he didn't.
"I... I have my orders," he whispered, but the bravado was gone.
"Orders won't save you from the gallows," I said, sitting back down. "Now, I need more than just this folder. If I'm going to draft a petition for a retrial, I need the Palace Blueprint and the Guest Attendance Log from the night of the banquet. Get them for me, and I might just forget to mention your negligence in my final report."
Jax didn't say another word. He turned and hurried up the stairs, his boots echoing with a frantic rhythm.
I let out a long breath. One guard down, a whole empire to go.
I spent the next several hours deconstructing the "Poison" evidence. Violet Nightshade. It was a rare, magical toxin that caused a deep, sleep-like coma. The report said it was found in my vanity.
If I were a villainess trying to kill someone, I thought, would I really keep the half-empty bottle in my top drawer next to my lipstick? No. I'd burn it. I'd bury it. Or I'd plant it on someone else.
The fact that it was found so easily meant it was planted. And if it was planted, there would be a paper trail. Who bought the poison? Who has access to the Astra estate?
Suddenly, the sound of the dungeon's heavy iron door groaning open echoed through the hall. It wasn't the guards this time. The air in the room suddenly turned heavy, the temperature dropping until my breath misted in front of my face.
A shadow stretched across the floor, long and jagged.
I turned my head. Standing at the entrance to the cell block was a figure that made my heart stop.
It wasn't the Grand Duke.
It was a woman. She was draped in a cloak of shimmering white silk, her hair a cascade of pale gold that seemed to glow with its own inner light. Her face was the picture of innocence doe-like eyes, a soft mouth, and an expression of profound sadness.
The Saintess. Isabella von Rose.
In the book, she was the "Heroine." The pure, kind girl everyone loved. But as she walked toward my cell, her eyes weren't kind. They were as cold and sharp as the blade that was meant for my neck.
She stopped at the bars, looking down at me as I sat in the dirt with my stolen papers.
"Seraphina," she whispered, her voice like honey and glass. "I heard you were making quite a stir. The guards say you've started talking about... laws? It's quite sad. To see you lose your mind so close to the end."
I stood up slowly, brushing the hay from my dress. I didn't let my fear show. In the courtroom, the person who blinked first lost.
"Isabella," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "I was under the impression you were in a coma. My, what a miraculous recovery. Is 'Assassination by Poison' something one usually bounces back from in forty-eight hours?"
Isabella's smile didn't reach her eyes. "The heavens protected me. They knew my work wasn't finished."
"Or perhaps the 'poison' was nothing more than a mild sedative?" I countered, taking a step toward her. "Enough to make you sleep through the 'investigation,' but not enough to actually risk your life? Tell me, Isabella, did it taste like blueberries? I've heard Violet Nightshade has a very distinct, fruity aftertaste."
Isabella's expression shifted. For a split second, the "Saintess" mask slipped, revealing a glimpse of the predator underneath.
"It doesn't matter what it tasted like," she hissed, leaning closer to the bars. "The world has already decided you are guilty. The Prince hates you. The Duke has disowned you. Even the commoners are making effigies of you to burn."
She reached through the bars, her gloved hand catching a strand of my hair.
"Why fight it, Seraphina? If you just confess, I could ask the Emperor to give you a quick death. No pain. No public spectacle. Just... sleep."
I reached up and slapped her hand away. The sound of my hand hitting her glove echoed like a gunshot.
"I'm a lawyer, Isabella," I said, a dangerous smirk playing on my lips. "And we have a saying: Res ipsa loquitur. The thing speaks for itself. You're here because you're afraid. You're afraid that if I get a trial, I'll pull the thread that unravels your little miracle."
I leaned in so close our noses almost touched.
"Get out of my 'office,' Isabella. I have work to do. And tell the Prince I'll be seeing him in court. I hope he's prepared to be cross-examined, because I have a lot of questions about his 'eye-witness' account."
Isabella's face contorted with rage. She opened her mouth to speak, but a new voice interrupted her.
"The Saintess shouldn't be in such a filthy place."
We both turned. Grand Duke Cassian was standing at the end of the hall, his arms crossed over his chest. He was watching us with an unreadable expression.
"Grand Duke!" Isabella immediately reverted to her "Saintess" persona, her eyes tearing up. "I only came to offer her my forgiveness... but she was so cruel..."
Cassian didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on me and the pile of papers on my desk.
"Isabella, the Emperor is looking for you," Cassian said, his voice flat. "Leave."
Isabella bit her lip, gave me one last hateful look, and hurried past the Duke.
Once she was gone, Cassian walked to my cell. He looked at the chair, the candle, and the organized piles of evidence.
"You've been busy," he remarked.
"I've found three grounds for an immediate dismissal and one case for defamation," I said, sitting back down. "But I need a favor, Your Grace."
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "You're a prisoner on death row, and you're asking for favors?"
"I need a notary," I said firmly. "And I need you to witness a contract. If I'm going to stay alive, I need someone with more power than a Duke. I need a partnership."
I looked him dead in the eye.
"You have a problem with the Imperial taxes in the North, don't you? The Emperor is bleeding your people dry through a loophole in the 'Iron Treaty.' I can fix that loophole. In exchange, you become my Legal Guardian for the next thirty days."
Cassian froze. The air in the room seemed to crackle with his sudden interest. "How do you know about the Iron Treaty?"
"I read," I said, patting the stack of law books. "So, do we have a deal, or are you going to let your best chance at saving the North go to the guillotine?"
Cassian stared at me for a long, silent minute. Then, he reached through the bars and picked up the pen.
"Write the contract, Seraphina. Let's see if your pen is as sharp as your tongue."