“Right, I need to think some things through,” Artemisia said to herself when she was in the privacy of her room. She had seen Elise off for the night, and now she plopped herself down at her circular table with a quill and paper.

She eyed the ink bottle.

Surely this won’t be too hard to use.

Cautiously, she dipped the quill into the bottle, swilled it around a bit, and then tried scratching a few lines across the paper.

Yeah, this isn’t too bad – aagh!

Large ink blots spread across the paper as Artemisia pressed too hard, ruining the once clear sheet.

It’s fine, that was a test piece. Carefully, carefully…

Artemisia slowly began to write out a few things, taking extra care to not drip ink everywhere. She was already desperately missing her trusty ballpoint pens.

“Okay, number one on my list of things to think about: magic is real.” She tapped the end of the quill against her cheek, enjoying the soft feeling of the feather. “Magic is real, and seemingly very rare… or out of fashion? The duke mentioned something about young people calling it nonsense.”

She rolled her eyes.

“How can magic be out of fashion? Why couldn’t this story take place, like, a hundred years earlier.”

Although, I don’t think I would have such a comfortable life then. This setting seems to be Regency inspired, looking at the fashion and the level of technology. I wonder if there are guns… some stories don’t include them, even if it’s accurate to the time period they’re going for. Ah well, it’s fantasy. It doesn’t have to be accurate.

“Right, moving on. Number two: nobody knows why Artemisia collapsed, or died, or whatever. There’s not a lot I can do about that right now, but I’ve got two leads to look into. Her argument with Christopher, and maybe…” Artemisia frowned. “The meteor shower? It’s definitely not a usual thing.”

And if magic’s a thing, maybe it was a magical meteor shower… okay, you might be getting a bit carried away there, me. Let’s not make assumptions yet.

“One, two, three… haaah.”

Artemisia pushed the paper and quill away from her, burying her head in her hands. She really didn’t want to write this last one down, but the evidence was stacking up.

I’ve got a bad feeling… that Artemisia might be the villainess character! Rich, powerful, innocent looking but with a horrible temper… those traits scream villainess.

“Damn… Am I destined to meet a sticky end?”

If only I could remember what story I’m in, and then I might have a chance. At the moment, all I can do is cross my fingers and hope for the best.

She took a deep breath.

Calm down. I can do this. I know the tropes, I know what to look out for. I’ve just got to be careful, and I’m sure I’ll be okay. And the longer I survive, and the more I learn about this world, the more likely I am to recognise the characters and story.

Alright, let’s do the sensible thing and get rid of this paper, and then go to bed. Tomorrow, I’d like to speak to Christopher about this argument. It’s probably nothing, but I need all the information I can get.

“What a lovely day to have afternoon tea outside, don’t you think?”

“Ah, yes, I agree.”

Indeed, it was a warm day, one of the last hurrahs before autumn truly set in. There was not a cloud to be seen in the sky, and the temperature was perfect. Not so cool that the shade was unpleasant, but not so warm as to build up a sweat as one ventured across the lawn to the pavilion.

Emile sat across from Artemisia, sipping daintily from her china teacup, looking out over the lawn as Elspeth examined something in the grass. Her nanny stood beside her, making sure she didn’t stick her hands in the dirt again. It seemed to be some sort of compromise between Elspeth not feeling left out, and also not being a bother.

I can’t believe how nonchalant she was about wiping her hands on my dress earlier. Haah, the audacity of small children.

“As I was saying, I wanted to make sure you were up to date with current affairs. We have no idea when – or if – your memory will return, and I would rather make sure that…”

Emile trailed off as Artemisia took a bite of one of the soft biscuity things that had been laid out on the table, a piece of it falling off and landing on her lap.

I’ve seen her look the same way at Elspeth…

Emile coughed slightly. “Anyway, it would be best that I just update you, instead of us waiting around for you to get better.”

“I agree with that. To begin, maybe you could remind me who the der Waals are? Father mentioned them.”

“Ah, the der Waals.” Something flickered over Emile’s face that was hard to detect. “They say if you want something to become common news, make sure a der Waal hears of it. They’re the type of family to be cordial with, but not too close, lest your private secrets end up not so private.”

Artemisia nodded, half focusing on the conversation and half on mimicking Emile’s way of holding her teacup. “Are there any other families I should take note of?”

“Don’t raise your elbow so high,” Emile commented offhandedly, before continuing on. “Apart from the der Waals, you should also be wary of the Gloriosa house. They’ve been our competitors in trade with the Sargassians for nearly a decade now.”

“The Sargassians?”

I’ve heard that word before, somewhere.

“Ah, the island nation to the north. They usually conduct trade at our ports, but some of the newer merchants have started using Pennicua, in the Gloriosa lands. However, Topher has been making progress coaxing them back to us recently.” Emile smiled self-satisfactorily.

“Right, right. Avoid the Gloriosas and the der Waals. What about the other ducal families? The von Jarlliards, the von Loambarns, and the von Rustruchts?” Artemisia tried to recall what Elise had told her. “You’re… originally from a branch family of the von Rustruchts, correct?”

“Yes, the current duke is my uncle.”

“So, the von Rustruchts are friends?”

Emile chuckled. “I’d certainly hope so. The dukes all get along decently well, with each other and the imperial family. However, the von Loambarns… they’re only a ducal family in name now, if I dare put it so harshly.”

“The von Loambarns?”

“Indeed.” Emile put down her teacup and sighed. “About fifteen years ago there was a terrible accident, and both the duke and duchess were killed.”

Oh?

“Neither of them had any immediate family able to steward the family, so the crown appointed one of the duchess’ advisors as an interim duke. He did a terrible job though, and although the eldest son has now succeeded him, he’s still trying to repair the mess that imbecile made.”

This is it! I smell plot!

“This eldest son? Who is he?”

“Duke von Loambarn? I believe you’ve met him a couple of times, he’s only a year older. Handsome enough, but he’s a quiet soul, and attends the minimum of social events.”

Bingo. Male lead, I’ve found you.