“So you're telling me that the step-son kicks his step-mother out, just like that?” Fabrian looked at her sister on the other side of the screen in complete disbelief.

Her sister rolled her eyes and continued typing, hazel eyes flashing briefly from behind her wide, round glasses. “Not for just any reason. His step-mother is evil.”

“Why? Because the woman wanted power and security after the king, who was a real shitty husband by the way, kicked it? C'mon, Daphne!” Fabrian protested. 

“Because she kept trying to harass his love interest, the prophetess!” 

“The prophetess is literally homeless, and the guy is like, the crown prince of the nation or whatever.” Fabrian leaned back in her creaky chair, turning around at the sound of shouting somewhere in another room. After a pause, she returned her attention to the conversation. The sudden ruckus didn't sound like an emergency—still, she reached for her uniform jacket, tugging it on so no one could catch her unawares.

“Think of her like a traveling monk, she's delivering the word of the divine to the peasants and stuff.” Daphne gave her a pleading look.

Fabrian decided that was her cue to let it go. “Fine, fine. Maybe make a character development arc or something.”

“Fabrian. I get it together, this is a romance-drama. It's supposed to be a bit much.” Daphne gave her a pointed look. “If you're going to bully my scripts, I'm never going to share my drafts with you ever again. I’ll hang up now. Bye.”

“Don't waste my one monthly call!” Fabrian exclaimed, reaching out as if to physically stop her sister thousands of miles away. 

Daphne huffed with an amused shake of her head. “I won't, promise. Unlike you, I actually enjoy these calls.”

“I always enjoy these calls,” Fabrian said. “I miss you guys.”

“Mama and Papa tried to stay up to say hi,” Daphne offered gently. “It's just way too late for them... How are things over there? You're almost done with this deployment, right?”

“Yeah, I'll be back in a month.” Fabrian said. “Y'know how things can get out here. The desert drives anyone who doesn't know anything about a desert crazy.”

“Good thing you and I grew up in one,” Daphne laughed.

“This place isn't like our hometown,” Fabrian sighed, before allowing a smile. “But yeah, thank goodness.”

The shouting in the background grew louder. Fabrian winced. “I might need to make sure no one is acting up.”

“‘Kay.” Daphne bit her nail for a moment, “Fabrian, by the way—”

Someone burst into the room. It was another soldier, dressed fully in fatigues and an armored vest. They had a helmet on, and a rifle slung over their shoulder. “Lieutenant Rio, we need you out, now.”

Fabrain narrowed her gaze. “Love you, Daphne,” she said and shut her laptop. 

Without wasting a second, she grabbed her vest and helmet hanging on the back of the dormitory door, and followed the soldier, a corporal by the look of the stripes on his arm. 

“What's the situation?” she urged.

“Several explosives were thrown over the gates, taking out the guards. There was a five minute window where no one responded. We're compromised.”

“Copy. We'll round up the other units and get everyone to the safe zones. Has the Major received word of the situation yet?”

“No, ma'am. He wasn't one of the people on guard duty, but we think he might've already gone to investigate the situation due to the commotion. It sounds like a UAV is nearby, but it's unconfirmed.”

“Keep to the sides of the building, stay out of sight in case it's not friendly. I want eyes on the sky now. Figure out if it’s ours or not. ” Fabrian turned the corner in the hallway and pushed open the front barrack door.

The light came first—a flash bright and shocking like the sun. Then the sound hit next. A loud whistle echoed sharply against her ear drums. It gave her just enough warning to release the door handle and shove the corporal as far back as possible. 

And then there was nothing.

A loud voice cried out over the murmuring mob.

 “This shall be the end of your tyranny. As our divine god Lien commands, so shall I follow. As my right as Crown Prince, I, Hector Celindae Arturium, claim the throne as King of Natalez.”

Fabrian groaned. The voice obnoxiously above her. She didn't know how long she'd been out. And what was this irritating idiot going on about? Had she been captured by enemy forces?

As she blinked into waking, two things surprised her. The first was the ornate atrium with a stained glass wall in the background. The ribbing was all gold, a shimmering brassy gleam in the light cast by the diamond chandeliers overhead. Heavy vermillion drapes cascaded from the arched ceiling, emblems of a silver swan and a crown of stars stamped on the bright red fabric. Outside, the sun filtered through the stained glass and around the drapes in a cacophony of irately bold reds, blues, and oranges. But the boy in front of her was the most surprising—his long pink hair flowed freely down his back, and his ice blue eyes glowered at her. It was then that Fabrian realized she was bound at the wrists with rope and kneeling. There were two armed guards on either side of her. She knew exactly how much force she'd need to break the rope. But surprisingly, her body felt weak and she tugged almost uselessly at the binds.

Pardon???

The boy—Hector, Hemorrhoid, Hegemony, whatever-whatever his name was—leered down at her. He looked one-hundred percent idiotic: a cocky grin and his outlandish outfit of gold vest and pale tan trousers cut off at the knees, with large bows at his neck and waist, white stockings, and shiny black dress shoes. 

Fabrian laughed hysterically. Surely, I'm comatose and hallucinating.

The boy was entirely unamused. “Is this all a joke to you, you witch?”

“It might as well be,” Fabrian looked at him with a bemused glance. “You certainly are, that's for sure.”

The crowd behind them all gasped, and murmuring rose up from their ranks immediately.

“That's no way to talk to the king.” A woman with a long brown plait stepped forward. She had rather large, doe-like amber eyes and wore a flowing white robe, embroidered with gold lilies and blue forget-me-nots. There was something about her outfit and demeanor  that Fabrian couldn't quite place. 

“Amelia!”

Hector, elated at her arrival, immediately embraced the woman. His horribly cold countenance melted away and his face gentled. Fabrian averted her glance—feeling as if she intruded on an intimate moment. The feeling didn't last long though.

The newcomer, Amelia, glanced pitifully at Fabrian. 

Clenching her jaw, Fabrian had half a mind to punch that self-righteous look right off the woman's pristine face. 

“Even now, you're choosing to be cruel to him? I had hoped that you would have learned your lesson, and maybe even repent from your ways. But there's still no compassion or kindness in your heart.”

Fabrian tilted her head to the side. “Ah. This is why you seem so familiar. You're that brat from my sister's tv script—Two Kingdoms Lost in Tears and Sorrow. What was your name again? Amelia von Lorraine or something like that?”

Both Hector and Amelia stared at her with dumbfounded expressions. “What?”

The crowd behind them grew louder. 
“I knew she was crazy, but she just sounds like a lunatic.” 
“This is what happens to the heretics who don't obey Lien's laws.” 
“Even on trial, she won't relent in her ways.” 
“Has she no shame?”

“Oh.” Fabrian thought about it more. “I guess you wouldn't like to hear that you're just characters in a story.”

“What's more upsetting is how you refuse to treat anyone with respect,” Hector said with a sharp glower. “I wish Father had never met you.”

Fabrian shook her head. “There's been some sort of mistake—”

“Yes, there has. You.” The boy clenched his hand before sweeping his arm out in a wide gesture. “As of today, her Highness, Queen of Natalez, is stripped of rank and exiled.”

What a highly detailed little hallucination, Fabrian thought. 

The crowd behind them cheered, and the guards roughly hauled her to her feet. Fabrian tested her strength again and found that she had no give against them. Very strange. 

Hector gestured for Amelia to leave first before he also departed. 

Fabrian frowned and called out, “Before you go, could you tell me my name?”

“Ha!” Hector gave her one last look, his lip curling in a harsh sneer. “No. I will not. I'll never call you by name again—let it be known far and wide to all of my citizens, you have no name. You are no one.”

Fabrian was escorted to what she presumed to be her quarters. The lead guard told her she had fifteen minutes to shove whatever she wanted into a gaudy looking carpet bag. Then they slammed and locked the door behind them. Fabrian beelined for the vanity mirror.

A foreign looking woman greeted her in the reflection.

In reality, Fabrian had wavy black hair and brown eyes, and olive skin tanned from working all of her early adulthood on her parents’ orchards prior to the officer’s candidate program for the Army at her college… And while she had just turned thirty before her most recent deployment, the only signs of age were a few errant gray hairs and happy crows feet at the corners of her eyes. With the stress that came from being a female officer in the Army, minimal aging was a blessing. But the woman in the mirror was on a different level. Her appearance was youthful and oddly striking. She had blue-black curls neatly pinned up with jewels and braided back into a neat bun. Her eyes glittered like emeralds against her sickly-pale skin. Gold powder adorned her eyelids, and rouge falsely warmed her cheeks and prim lips. She was dressed in a deep ruby gown cinched tightly at her ribcage and waist.

So far, all threats Hector made against her seemed serious. She would have to psychoanalyze everything later. 

Fabrian first located the closet, searching for any clothes more suitable for escaping or fighting. Instead, she was met with row after row of opulent gowns, all adorned with precious gems and stones.  

Right okay, next best plan. Fabrian tore out any jewels small enough to hide but large enough to look valuable—she’d sell them for shirts and pants, maybe good boots as well. Anything that would be inconspicuous. She returned to the bedroom to look for any historical or current economic records. If this lady had been a queen, then surely she'd have ledgers. The adjoining room seemed like a parlor that led out into the main hall, and the other room beside the closet was a bathroom. Fabrian frowned deeply. That was all fairly useless to her. 

She needed to know whether she could understand the writing system and what the currency worked to ensure she wouldn't get swindled. Returning her gaze to the vanity mirror, Fabrian raised her arms—they were terribly thin and pasty. She could only suppose the rest of the body looked the same. 

She also needed to figure out how much food was worth. Being so out of shape required her to gain a healthy amount of weight to begin strength training; but that would all depend on the affordability of meat, eggs, vegetables, and dairy. 

The bedroom doors slammed open, and Amelia stormed in. 

“Oh, are the fifteen minutes up?” Fabrian asked. 

The other woman scoffed. “You would be fortunate if you were even granted five. I've come in Hector's stead to escort you. Your banishment begins now.”

Fabrian looked her up and down before sighing. “How annoying, you're one of those types aren't you?”

“Excuse me?” Amelia demanded, having half the decency to look abjectly horrified. 

Fabrian waved dismally. “I've no time to play with little girls who think they're hot-shit because they're on a power kick.”

“I—” Amelia floundered before shaking her head. “Maybe you really did go insane. To think just a few days ago, you tried so cordially to spark a bargain with me in hopes to keep Hector's will at bay.”

“Did I?” Fabrian asked, raising her brow. 

Crossing her arms and laughing, Amelia sneered. “What, can’t recollect offering me the position of Crown Regent?”

“Interesting. Is that why Halibut is banishing me now? Because you snitched?” Fabrian asked, trying to connect the dots. I really should've read Daphne's script more carefully. But I hated Amelia so much that I skipped all the parts where she was mentioned once they banished Hector's step-mother. 

“I never agreed in the first place.” Amelia stomped her foot. “As if I'd betray Hector's trust like that.”

Fabrian thought carefully. Daphne said Amelia and Hector were the endgame pairing and that their romance was not the show’s tragedy. Maybe it was Amelia’s personality.

“Can you tell me what the currency rate is?” Fabrian asked. 

“How wanton was your spending that you failed to memorize your own nation’s rate of currency? No. It'll be better to see you squander everything away until you're withered and poor.”

“Well that's not very priestly of you.”

Amelia scoffed. “Ah, mocking my profession again.”

“Hardly. I’m sure most clergy are probably honorable in their own right.” Fabrian walked past her. “But a word from the wicked, you should probably do better at masking that little two-face of yours. It's not hard to see through that mask you put on for Hemorrhage.”

“Hemorrh—?! You—!”

Fabrian didn't wait. She left the palace on her own, leaving behind a dumbfounded prophetess and a wake of stupefied guards.