The first thing to consider was: what to do about those who had betrayed me?

I stared at my hands for a long time, eyes lingering on the burn scar, large and ugly. If I had survived, would my body be just one large scar? Skin strangely smooth yet pinched in an attempt to keep my organs on the inside? Would the skin even be considered raised if everything was like that?

I closed my eyes and banished those thoughts. There was no use in wondering what if because it was done and over with. There was no way to get back there and I refused to let it happen again.

So. Revenge. To get it or not.

I opened my eyes and knew my answer.

If I wanted revenge, I would have it easily. They were still pretending at this age to be my friend so it would be easy enough. I could advise them to do socially unwise things, use the rumors to my advantage and totally ruin their reputations and future marriage prospects. Knowing myself, that wouldn’t be enough. I would go farther, making and using connections to bring about their family’s downfall with my future knowledge, make it so that they had nothing to look forward to. I could drown them in despair and grief until they begged for my help. And then, I could tell them no and watch the hope in their eyes die.

That would be the revenge I would have.

But, I didn’t want it. My approach to conflicts is to burn everything the enemy loves and holds dear to the ground. Unfortunately, the Stranger is the prince of this kingdom and I am a citizen of Vasteria. I didn’t particularly want to have to move to a different country, though I could since I knew several languages fluently, but it would be more work than I wanted to put in.

They weren’t worth my time or effort. To waste my new life on revenge would make this second chance meaningless. I wanted nothing to do with them, so I’ll act as if they don’t exist.

The lesson from my etiquette teacher from long ago echoed in my ears.

Don’t forgive your enemies, don’t forget how they hurt you, but move on with your life.

That will be my motto. Don’t forgive, don’t forget, but move on.

The first step in moving on was to guarantee that the events that led to my death never happened. I thought that would be easy enough, since I trusted almost no one, save my father and perhaps Yiranna. Since I do not trust them, I will never be in the position where they could get close enough to hurt me. I’d sooner stab them before letting any of them touch me again.

There was a knock, then Yiranna entered again, her tray full of fruit and… bread? That was a surprise but a welcome one, to be sure. She didn’t even blink at me being in bed again, simply placing the tray on the dresser near my bed.

“Is there anything else you need of me, milady?”

I thought for a moment before finding an answer. “If you could find out when my father plans to return, that would be wonderful.”

“Of course!”

And then she was gone as quick as she had arrived. I really should ask her sometime how she learned to move so fast. It was quite the handy skill to have.

I buttered a piece of bread and then began eating it, first peeling off the crust and eating that, leaving the softest and best parts for last. It was an odd way of eating bread, I knew that, but I did every time. When I was young, like five or so, I snuck into the kitchens because I wanted a snack. The cook had placed me on a stool and then showed me how she made bread. The kneading was a hypnotic process, watching the cook’s muscle flex as she folded the dough over and over again. She let me try to do it, though I got tired after only two folds. She laughed and then we waited for the bread to cook. When it had cooled enough to eat, she had peeled off the crust to eat first, and I had copied her. It was a good memory that left me feeling warm.

But that was enough of reminiscing.

The first, and likely most important, thing that I had to do was to get admitted early to the National Academy of Vaseria, more commonly referred to by Vasterians as just the Academy.

The Academy was well known throughout the world for being a place of ample opportunities for nobles of all standings to learn from some of the best scholars in their generation. While attendance wasn’t mandatory for success, there was still a certain amount of judgement placed on the children who choose not to attend. Typically, they lose the chance to help strengthen alliances and to find potential marriage partners, not to mention their education will be assumed to be of a lower quality. Occasionally, nouveau riche merchant heirs and particularly talented commoners would get the chance to attend, though it rubbed some more prissy and pathetic noble’s hair the wrong way. Many nobles from other countries would attend for a quarter or a whole semester on average because of the prestige of learning from the National Academy.

People were typically sixteen when they applied to the academy and attended for two to three years depending on how committed they were to scholarly pursuits. There were procedures in place for younger people to apply, but few passed the entrance exam. It was said to be significantly harder in order for the potential students to prove themselves worthy and capable of keeping up with their older peers. The youngest that had been accepted before this was fourteen.

I was planning on breaking that record.

There was roughly one and a half months until the next exam period started. By then, I would have to have my father’s permission to attend, a recommendation from my tutor, and pass the preliminary tests on the basic subjects: mathematics, Vasterian history, Vasterian language studies, and literature (a broad subject that had the most obscure questions designed to trip you up). Of course, the school taught more specialized classes, such as the Study of Mid-Fifth Century Juxian Pottery which was quite an interesting class, but the tests were focused on determining the students’ basic aptitude in simple subjects. If they could not succeed when the material was the simplest, they would not be accepted into the academy early.

I…I wouldn’t say that I enjoyed my time at the Academy, though I recognize that these feelings likely stemmed from the people I attended it with. I liked learning at least, no matter the subject or if I wasn’t good at it, like the watercolor painting class that I only passed because it was based on effort and not what we actually created. The Academy was the best place to learn and there wasn’t anything more to it. At least if I was acknowledged as a young genius, professors would be less likely to question my knowledge.

I don’t use the word genius lightly. My memory is perfect, no matter how long ago what I’m recalling was. When I was younger and more naïve, I had thought everyone learned like I did. Talking to my peers proved this to be untrue. What they struggled with for weeks, I understood after a single lesson. Going to the Academy showed me just how advanced I was. Besides creative endeavors or assignments that were subjectively graded, I never got less than a perfect mark. This is not to say that I didn’t work for them. I spent many hours in the library pouring over books and attempting practice problems to ensure my mastery.

The exam would be the least of my worries. I had already graduated with honors from the Academy once, nothing they could throw at me would be as challenging as the final exam.

The bigger problem would be convincing my father to agree. Getting my tutor’s recommendation would be disgustingly easy. He had always pushed me towards considering early admittance but I had always said no.

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When someone knocked at the door, I had just finished my food and wiped off my hands.

My father entered and then paused, staring at me.

“Jacqueline…” he breathed, eyes flickering between my face and hair. His eyes grew dangerously wet as he cleared his throat. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said, glad he had returned just as I needed to talk to him. “Do you like my hair?”

Yes, I fished for compliments. I think that’s well within my rights, considering my life. If I could squeeze out a little extra love for myself, I didn’t mind what methods I used to obtain it.

“You look just like your mother.”

Father’s guest spoke and I was forced to acknowledge him instead of studiously ignoring his existence. He smiled as I stared at his nose and kept my breathing steady. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. His nose was a safe feature to look at, something simple and nondescript, and didn’t remind me of his son. If he had a full pair of glasses instead of a monocle, the Doll would be standing in front of me. Take his hair out of his ponytail, and I wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Minister Kaj Protarch was the Prime Minister of the kingdom of Vasteria and had long been friends with my father. Unfortunately, he reproduced and contributed to the Doll’s existence. I had no problems with the man himself. He had strong morals, was quite smart, and an overall pleasant conversation partner. My only problem with him right now was that his son grew up to look so very much like him.

“Please allow me to extend my greetings to you, Minister Protarch,” I said, starting to shift the blankets to stand so I could curtsey.

“No need for formality,” Minister Protarch said. “I’m surprised that you are awake after what I had heard of your illness.”

“Thank you for your consideration,” I said placidly, unsure of how to approach his existence. Why was he here? When Father left, I had assumed he would be bringing back a doctor of some sort, not the Prime Minister.

“Jacqueline,” Father said, with nostalgia losing its grip on him so he remembered his purpose for coming here. “I was wondering if you’d be up to having a small conversation with Kaj and I.”

I glanced between them once, noting the relaxed way they held themselves, as if to seem non-threatening. This conversation’s danger level just went up two levels. What did they want and how could I give it to them without arousing suspicion?

“Of course,” I said, not missing a beat. “May I ask what this conversation will entail?”

“It’ll be a casual conversation,” Minister Protarch said as Father pulled the chair from my desk next to my bed so that they both could sit, “so you don’t have to be so formal.”

The mild reprimand rankled but I just made a sound of acknowledgment. I wielded my politeness as a weapon, as my etiquette teacher taught me to, so that when I was casual my words would hold greater meaning.

“It’s as Kaj says,” Father said as he sat. “There’s nothing to worry about, we just have a few questions.”

Nothing to worry about? Pardon me for starting to worry even harder.

“I understand,” I said, letting my curiosity bleed into my expression. “What will we be talking about?” It begged repeating since they had both ignored it the first time I had asked.

“Well, first off, how are you feeling?” Why was Minister Protarch taking point in this discussion? If they had wanted me to let down my guard, they should have relied on emotional manipulations from my father. Minister Protarch meant nothing to me and I owed him nothing, not even the truth.

“I’m feeling wonderful, Minister Protarch,” I said, smiling. “Much better than earlier, even. Eating some real food has done me wonders.”

Minister Protarch nodded as if happy but I saw it. The lightning quick glance toward Father and the way that Father shifted forward.

“Do you remember much, darling?” Father asked, and I had to wonder again what they wanted from me.

I tilted my head. “What exactly do you mean? Remember what? That question is, decidedly, rather vague, Father.”

“My apologies,” Father said, chuckling at his mess up and if I wasn’t already on edge, this would have done it for me. My father did not say ‘my apologies’ when apologizing. He thought it was too impersonal and the fact that he used it now meant that these words were not the ones that he wanted to say. “I meant to say, do you remember much from when you were sick?”

I paused, as if hesitant, head tilting as I ‘thought.’ “I had some nightmares, but, besides that, I don’t remember much of anything. I’m sorry.”

And there was that look again, quick enough that I would have missed it if I were not on the lookout for it. What were they planning? That look was quickly becoming annoying.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked, looking guilelessly between the two men.

Minister Protarch’s face twitched into a frown before smoothing out.

“Nothing’s wrong, we were simply wondering. There was… an incident that occurred while you were sick, and we were wondering if you could help us understand it better.”

“What’re you talking about?” I asked, frowning. “Are you sure I didn’t do something wrong?”

That. Look. Was. Back. I wished they would be more forthright because this was quickly becoming dull.

“Do you recall talking with Hendrik?” Father asked and I was glad my only reaction was to blink a few times. I shook my head, though the memory that I hoped had been a dream was coming to the front of my mind. “He came to visit you when you were sick, and you… well, dear, you ended up yelling at him.”

Was that the true reason they were here? Were they simply concerned parents worrying about their children’s friendships?

“I yelled at him?” I said, not able to say the Doll’s name out loud. I imagined that I had just been told I had yelled at Father and put that expression on my face. “What did I say? I don’t even remember him visiting me.”

Buy it, please, buy this act. Don’t question me, please, and stop sharing looks with each other, it was growing old.

“Well,” Father said after a period of silence where I didn’t provide any more details, “you told him, at one point, that he wasn’t allowed to call you Lynne anymore. You reacted rather negatively to his presence, enough that you fell off the bed while trying to get away from him.”

“Really?” I said, leaning back as if shocked. “That’s—that’s crazy. I wouldn't possibly—you have to be lying, I don’t remember this.”

Again, they shared a look. And, there was my temper, my frustration building to a boiling point.

“All I remember,” I said, letting my frustration bring angry tears to my eyes, “is that I had what seemed to be a never-ending nightmare and—and it was awful.” I shuddered and looked at Father, who looked like I had sucker-punched him. I sniffled, “I’m sorry I yelled at him, but—but I don’t know why we’re talking about this. Papa, why does this matter?”

I was not above emotional manipulation. My father was weak to being called Papa since it was what I had called him when I was a child. I saw his resolve crumbling and turned towards Minister Protarch.

He looked guilty. Good, good, my tears were effective, perhaps even more so with my increased resemblance to my mother. She was the minister’s friend as well, so maybe nostalgia was helping me. I had no remorse about making either man regret cornering me and asking questions without telling me what was going on.

“Ah, Lynne, we’re sorry,” Father said, reaching out to grab my hand. I had enough warning that I didn’t physically react to that, and just let my lips wobble dangerously.

“Why are you asking these questions?” I asked, my voice cracking and Minister Protarch’s defenses crumbled.

“I’m sorry Jacqueline,” Minister Protarch said, looking as if he wanted to help calm me as well. “Theo was just worried about you, that’s all. We were just trying to understand things better.”

“Okay,” I sniffled, but let my voice tell them that I did not think this was okay at all.

There was awkward silence for a long moment as both men realized their plan had been thoroughly derailed. I decided to make it easy on them and end this farce now.

“I’m sleepy,” I said softly, rubbing at the tear tracks on my cheeks. “Can you help me undo my hair? Or—or get Yiranna to do it.”

Minister Protarch stood and exchanged his goodbyes with Father quickly, though he mentioned visiting me again. I ignored him, which was both well within my rights to do and also how a true teenager would react to this situation.

Father’s hands were steady as he undid my braids and carefully set the beads aside. When the braids were undone, I curled into my bed, ignoring my father. It hurt a little to do that, but if I had talked with him more I wasn’t sure if I could keep up my act.

“Sleep well,” Father said, tucking my blanket around my shoulders and then leaving me alone.

I wasn’t exactly tired but there was really only one more thing I could do today. I found some paper, a pen, and an inkwell, and then made the list of books I would request from my father tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll still be feeling bad about today and would try to look for them, unwillingly following my plan to the letter.

I let the ink dry, then folded the paper and tucked it into my dresser drawer so that no one would find it before tomorrow.

By the time I had finished that, I was feeling tired, so I crawled back into bed. Was it entirely too early to sleep normally? Yes, but I had been in a small coma so I hoped my body appreciated all the rest I was giving it now. It wasn’t going to get much once my plans were in full swing.

Just as I closed my eyes, my door creaked open. My throat went dry and I froze while trying to keep my breathing sleep-steady.

The person who entered walked towards my bed.

I was terrified about who was standing next to me. I hoped I was wrong.

“Jacqueline? Are you awake?”

But, like most times, I was right.

I made a sleepy noise and curled into my pillow more.

“Ah, guess not. Well, I hope you feel better.”

A hand brushed over my head.

“Sweet dreams, little sister.”

The Traitor’s voice was soft and felt like cockroaches crawling over my skin. He left, and I let myself cry.

That was dangerous.

It almost sounded like he loved me and I almost believed it.

I closed my eyes, tears hot and sticky under my eyelids. I needed to sleep now, and ignore what just happened.

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