Pain was the first sensation to greet me, paired with the distinct pressure of a boot against my face. Even through the blindfold, I recognized the feeling of thick hide smashing against my skull. My father had also been quite fond of cleaning his boots with my face.

The world returned in fragments, disjointed and hazy, each piece sliding into place with a disorienting lack of order. A dull pressure ignited behind my eyes, pulsing faintly in sync with—was it a heartbeat? Or footsteps? The sensation felt distant, like an echo buried deep within me. My limbs felt strangely both heavy and light, unresponsive, as though wrapped in layers of thick cloth.

A groan escaped me, oddly loud, as I fought to understand the unfamiliar sensations in my joints and muscles, each move alien in this new body.

Whether the sluggishness came from the pain or my soul adjusting to its new vessel, I couldn’t tell. What I’d done wasn’t a polished method of magic, nor even a well-theorized one. For all I knew, I could have ended up in the body of a talking cat.

Thankfully, when I managed to twitch my fingers, I felt the distinct presence of opposable thumbs. Thank the Gods. There were bindings around my wrists and ankles, but the knots were sloppy. Slipping my hands free took only a few seconds. I yanked the blindfold off, only to be assaulted by a barrage of colors and light.

The shapes around me blurred and shifted as I squinted, trying to make sense of it all. Colors were brighter than I’d ever seen; the edges of shapes seemed sharpened, pressing painfully against my senses. I couldn’t tell if this was due to the new body’s sight or if my perception was still settling, as though I was viewing everything through rippling water.

Another boot collided with my face, and a small, feminine voice escaped my lips in a grunt. Female, then. That was good. My body spun toward the floor, and I instinctively reached out, though the motion felt off-balance. My muscles were sluggish and weak, the arm much shorter than anything I recall ever having. My hand didn't land where it should have, though I doubted it made much of a difference as my muscles instantly gave out without being able to resist the momentum of my fall.

"Pathetic," a young, but rough, human voice sneered from the other end of the foot assailing me. "I can’t believe Father let a rat like you into our family."

I blinked, processing his words. Rat?

I looked down at my small fingers, thin arms, short legs, and tiny feet. Definitely not a rat. Unless there were, what, rat people in this land? I'd need to figure that out later when I accessed some sort of mirror.

My thoughts drifted in scattered fragments, struggling to coalesce. I was here, thinking, but not fully. I bared my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to force my mind to align with this body and its unfamiliar rhythm. It felt like waking in the middle of a dream only to realize I was still dreaming.

My mind still wrestled with where the dream ended and the reality began.

Another foot came at me, and I managed to raise a hand, albeit sluggishly, to deflect it. Pain tore through my muscles, sore from recent abuse, as the boy’s boot forced past my arm, slamming again into my face.

Warm liquid pooled in my mouth, and I spat out blood. I looked up at my attacker as my vision finally began to settle. Young, somewhat broad-shouldered, ugly, and likely stronger than me in this new, weakened state. He loomed above, his body caught in late puberty’s awkward promise of manhood, exuding a casual arrogance that only set my teeth on edge.

The boy’s rich bloodline showed in his refined features, though his crooked nose and petulant scowl twisted his face into a rodent-like sneer.

His attire, finely tailored and embroidered, spoke of privilege. However, even the obvious wealth that dressed him failed to soften the cruel air that surrounded him, a haughty aura that betrayed the entitlement he no doubt had grown to expect.

On the other hand, based on how that foot had just sailed through my guard, I guessed I inhabited a young girl’s body, a child’s. Not ideal, but certainly better than a talking cat. Or a baby.

As the petulant manchild aimed another kick at my face, I rolled to the side without the usual grace I'd grown accustomed to in my old body. I hit the floor with a painful thud. His boot sailed over me, slamming into the wall with a sound that could have been my skull breaking. Instead, it was just the wall. He winced, having put all his power into a kick that struck only a stone wall.

Untrained, then, I thought. A merchant's son? Or a low noble?

The boy began to rant about rats, giving me a moment’s reprieve to assess my surroundings. Expensive furnishings, silk carpets, delicate ornaments, paintings, chandeliers, and high ceilings surrounded us. I was in a lavish hallway painted in deep shades of blue, purple, and red.

The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, its length obscured by the dancing shadows that flickered in the lights of torches mounted along the stone walls like guardian soldiers. The air was heavy with the scent of burning wood mingled with a faint aroma of aged tapestries. Other than the torches, the walls displayed paintings of men and women in heavy garb. No crowns were shown in the paintings.

The stone floor beneath my hands was smooth and cold to the touch, likely worn by the decades of footsteps that had echoed off the stones with every stride. Massive pillars rose to the ceiling on either side, carved with intricate patterns of dragons, knights, and other mythical beasts I didn't recognize, their eyes seeming to follow my every move.

Between the pillars, richly woven tapestries hung, depicting scenes of what looked like epic battles or quests with guards of armor astride large black horses. The colors were not bright, but faded, as if having withstood the test of time.

Under the torches and the paintings were suits of armor standing sentinel, their polished surfaces casting the torchlight across the stone walls in a ghostly manner. Swords, spears, and shields adorned the space between, their edges dulled with obvious age but hinting at the strength the tools of steel once possessed.

Definitely wealthy—likely noble or as close to that as existed in this foreign land.

I knew killing the boy was not a good idea. It would do nothing to help my situation, so I desperately struggled to restrain the rising sense of anger boiling within me. It urged me to disregard any civility and put the boy in his place— dead and at my feet. Regardless, I couldn't let him continue beating me and the only way to stop his assault was by putting him down. If this new Kingdom was anything like Aedronir and the kid was a noble, no one would stop him even if they were around.

He lunged, and I twisted so his kick glanced off my shoulder. With my elbow raised, I drove it forward into his groin as hard as I could. It might not have been so effective had he any semblance of guard raised against me. He very clearly had not expected me to fight back.

His mistake.

His eyes grew wide as he dropped to his knees, pain written on his scrunched, ugly features. It was not a royal act, but at the moment I wasn't a queen. Queens had guards. I had an elbow.

Without missing a beat I slammed my shoulder into his chin, rocking his head back and knocking his already quivering body over. And then I was on him and my thumb found his eye socket, pushing deep into it while he screamed in both pain and abject terror. It was a lesson I'd make sure he never forget.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Once I was deep enough, I angled my thumb upward to scoop it out.

Despite his lack of skill, the boy’s strength was considerable compared to my new body. In his wild flailing, one of his arms whipped into the side of my head, throwing me off and making the world spin. But he didn’t move to attack again; he just lay there, sobbing on the floor and cupping his injured eye. Tears streaked down his face, transparent on one cheek, a deep scarlet red on the other. I knew I'd probably blinded him in that eye unless healing attribute heart energy was cast on it. Assuming healing energy existed in this land.

Once my vision cleared I stood up, a bit shakily but steady enough to not need anything to help with my balance. I stretched my arms and rotated my neck. No pain. No broken bones. Good. Badly bruised and beaten but it didn’t seem like I was suffering from any head trauma or any broken bones. Still, I would need a mirror to better judge this body's physical nature. I could already tell it was malnourished from the gnawing hunger in my stomach. I also needed time to check on the state of my core and see if its level had followed my Soul Transference. I doubted that it had, but it would make things a lot easier.

"Child," I rasped, my voice unsteady as I gave his side a small kick. "What is my name?" I paused, then added, "and who am I?"

"W-what?" He cried, still whimpering. "H-how d-dare-."

I kicked him again before he could finish and just sighed. Kids were always so stupid. "Who. Are. You."

He just looked at me blankly. I moved to kick him again. "I... I'm Brian Silverwater." He seemed to regain some of his confidence as he said Silverwater. "Third son of Lord Silverwater, Baron of Silverwater."

I looked down at him in disgust. Third sons were often pricks or just useless. He seemed a mix of both.

"Why did you attack me?”

He set his jaw, lips curling into his perpetual sneer. "Because you’re an insect," he spat, blood dribbling down his chin. "My father says your mother was a traitorous whore who—"

I didn't let him finish. I grabbed a nearby vase in both hands and swung it like a club to the side of his head. He screamed and fell backward. The glass shattered over him, deep cuts marking up his face. The rage I'd restrained seeped through my control, cold and cruel.

Images of a woman flashed in my mind's eyes.

Feet dangling. Blood. Her dark, sunken eyes staring lifelessly back at me. Her bony limbs shattered like those of a broken puppet.

I snapped back to reality, anger still thrumming through me. "What did you just say about my mother," I hissed, cupping his mouth in my hand. "Say it again." I pointed the cracked edge of the vase at his throat. "Come on, say it again."

Shouting erupted behind me. I ignored it, leaning closer to him. They could wait. They had waited this long. What was another minute? I pressed the glass deeper into his throat. "Come on, Brian. Young Lord Silverwater. Say it again. Repeat that filth you spewed about the Queen's mother?"

His eyes, or eye, widened in shock and confusion. The other one stayed shut. I was not sure if it could even open.

I did not have a chance to continue. Large hands curled around my arms and shoulders, ripping me off Brian. I struggled momentarily but stopped when the hands only tightened. A group of armored knights surrounded us, horror on their faces.

"Holy mother of Aedonia," muttered a knight with curt blond hair and soft eyes. His hands moved to make some sort of star shape before ending at his heart. "Lilliana, what did you do?" The knight asked gently and glanced over at the largest of his warrior brethren who bore one of the most massive frames I'd ever seen. Each of his movements was precise and controlled, suggesting a high level of martial prowess. His broad shoulders easily carried the weight of his armor, a suit of gleaming steel adorned with intricate engraving and emblems similar to those I'd seen on the men and women in the paintings. A dark blue bird with a beak longer than its body, arching backward to match the angle of the crescent moon at its back.

The darkness seemed drawn to the large knight, his hair as black as the night sky cascading in untamed waves around his sharp features. His eyes, deep pools of obsidian, gleamed with an intensity that warned me of a darker nature than I would have thought a trained knight would harbor.

His countenance was that of a stern commander. Not an inch of emotion was betrayed in his flat, almost bored expression.

This one, I could have challenged me back in my prime. He wouldn’t have won, obviously, but he would have been an enjoyable challenge. As of the moment, however, if the massive knight could squash me with very little effort.

The large knight looked down at me and then at the bloodied noble's son, and let out a deep breath.

"Captain?" The soft, blond-haired knight asked.

"Report the incident to the lord," the large knight, the Knight Captain, ordered. When he spoke, his voice resonated with a commanding authority that brooked no dissent. The words were measured and deliberate. The soft-looking knight was clearly subordinate. "Beatrice, you take the young lord to the healers. Shael, you and I will speak with.. the Lady Lilliana." I noticed even the captain hesitated when adding "lady" before what I assumed was the name of this body. "Daniel, you report to the Baron." The blond knight saluted the captain and took off with a raven haired knight the captain had referred to as Beatrice.

The adrenaline was quickly draining and, with it, most of my immediate rage. It dawned on me that I might have gone a bit overboard with the whole smashing his face with a vase. In hindsight, the boy had not been talking about my mother. He had been insulting this body's mother. Who, for all I knew, was a whore.

Still, it wouldn’t do to have people thinking they could walk over me. The Captain didn’t look angry—annoyed, perhaps, but not angry.

I nodded and followed the Captain as he turned to lead me away, down the neverending hallway of flickering torchlight and eerie stone walls. Shael followed from behind so I walked between the two knights.

After a while, we finally approached a plain door that the Captain swung open with familiarity. We had walked down a flight of stairs, so I figured we were likely on the first floor of the mansion-like castle of the Barony. Through the door was probably the Knight Captain's office, I figured. I entered the room I was impressed by the smoothly polished wood and the faint scent of ink. The room was relatively small, yet I could see it had been efficiently organized. A sturdy oak desk stood proudly at the center, its surface cluttered with a mess of scrolls, quills, and inkwells. There was also a large, leather-bound tome resting open on the desk, but when I craned my neck to have a better look, the Knight Captain slammed the tome shut. Behind the desk was a worn leather chair which creaked when the Captain sat on it.

Along the walls, shelves were lined with volumes of leather-bound books while various weapons were displayed on adjacent racks. Each seemed to have been meticulously organized and I would have bet any of them could be used in real battle.

A large map dominated the wall directly in front of where I'd entered with small, colored pins dotting different regions. I wanted to take a closer look, but the Captain coughed and my attention snapped back to him.

"Sit," he ordered. "Explain." His voice was gruff as he pulled a cup from a drawer in his desk and filled it with water. At least I thought it was water.

I just looked at him and frowned. From what I had been able to collect of this body's life, Lilliana was a lady. I was a lady. No doubt the result of an affair, but a lady nonetheless. And, more importantly, I was a queen.

Even if that title meant nothing to the plebeians of this land, I would not be treated as some inconsequential scum. But I knew that men like the knight in front of me could not be forced to give respect. That did not mean I had to accept it.

I sat in silence, glaring. He remained still as well. Together we stayed there like statues for what felt like half an hour before Shael, who'd been squirming uncomfortably since the first few minutes of our stare-off, broke the silence. "Um, Lady Lilliana. Could you explain to us what happened? Baron Silverwater is going to be quite upset." The gentle tone of Dame Shael's voice suggested that this body was possibly even younger than I'd first imagined.

"I'm not sure," I said finally, my voice not coming out nearly as strong or as loud as I'd hoped. Ashwash be blessed, this body had yet to even begin puberty. "I don't remember anything before that boy's boot in my face."

At that, the Captain quirked an eyebrow and Shael covered her mouth. "You don't remember anything?"

I shook my head. "No." I needed information and pretending to have some sort of memory loss seemed the easiest route. Assuming the knights would help me. The Dame seemed somewhat empathetic. "I remember basic things, like time and what words mean, but I have no memories of anything before about fifteen minutes ago."

"Hmm," the Captain murmured, tapping the chin under his burly beard. I noticed his voice carried an accent quite distinct from that of the others I’d heard speak. It was heavier and dropped the ‘h’ from his words. “This is ‘ard to believe. You do speak differently..." he trailed off. I knew there would be a disconnect between how I spoke and how Lilliana would have spoken. I was raised to be a Queen and an energy user. Lilliana was raised to be ignored. The question was whether they had heard her talk enough to be suspicious of the change. My bet was no one in the castle had heard Lilliana speak more than a few sentences.

"I do not know who I am. Who you are. Or where we are." I gestured around us. "But I understand that I have noble blood in my veins. I have been told that I am Lady Lilliana of Silverwater. I am not sure what exactly that entails, though by the amount of times that boy stomped on me, I do not imagine it to be of any great importance."

The two knights looked at each other and the captain shrugged. "I suppose we will find out, with time," he said without looking at me. "Shael, fetch the ‘ealer when ‘e finishes with the young lord and then report to the Baron. I will stay with the young lady.” He emphasized the title.

Ah. There it was. Some respect.

I smiled.