Andreya woke with a jerk and a gasp and the first thing she saw was pristine white.

A strange bed. Strange walls. Strange scents. Strange sounds.

She threw the pile of heavy blankets pressing her down and swung off the bed to her feet, a thin nightgown unfurling to brush her ankles, her toes digging into plush carpet.

She stared directly back at a startled woman in a dress as white as the walls.

"Who are you? Where am I? Where... is..." Black spots dotted Andreya's vision and she stumbled back against the bed again, pressing a hand to her head. The woman reached forward to brace her and Andreya shoved her away with a snarl. "Don't touch me! Who are you!"

Andreya's sight cleared and she hesitated at the woman's clear distress—she held a folded blanket in her arms and bowed several times. "I'm terribly sorry, Duchess, I'm your nurse, Miss Grames. Are you alright? I'm afraid you're still quite weak, so please refrain from—"

"Duchess?" Andreya interrupted, leaning against the bed frame with narrowed eyes. "How do you know who I am?"

The nurse bowed again. "So sorry again, Miss, I know only what I'm told. Will you let me check your temperature?"

Andreya blinked at the Grames woman and her petite Isantadi outfit, then at the rest of the room. White walls, vibrant green trim, a desk in the corner and an arched window on the far wall. An elegant, uncomfortable, foreign place.

Andreya lowered back onto the bed, glaring suspiciously again at the nurse as she did and keeping her lips pressed into a flat line. The nurse took her compliance as a yes and bowed yet again, scurrying over to the desk in the corner and pulling a small thermometer out of the topmost drawer.

"Where am I?" Andreya asked.

Miss Grames cast her a friendly glance as she draped the blanket atop all the others on the bed and prepped the thermometer. "The left palace of the Isantad Court, Miss."

Andreya lurched to her feet. "What? How did I get here?"

The nurse shrank back. "I—by carriage, Miss, I'm sorry, I thought—"

"Stop apologizing." Andreya was already pacing around the room, her agitated steps stopping in front of the closed door. She spun around to the nurse again. "Where is Reide? Reide Hafiless? Is he here?"

The nurse squeaked. "I don't know, Miss—"

"Did he come with me?" she pressed. "You said I came in a carriage."

"I don't know—"

"What do you know?" Andreya stalked up to the poor woman, who looked on the verge of tears. But no such tears would be shed, for a knock sounded on the door before either of them could say anything else.

"Duchess Marivatan," a voice outside called. "You're presence is requested in the Grand Chamber."

Both Andreya and the nurse stood frozen for a moment longer, processing the information. Then Andreya swiveled to the nurse and growled, "Tell me what is going on or I swear I will tie you to the bed frame with your own apron and find out myself."

The nurse's eyes went wide as saucers and her hands shook as she braced herself on the very bed frame Andreya had threatened to tie her to. "The—the Judges want to meet with you, Miss. They want to—to know about your special abilities."

Special abilities.

Andreya backed away from the woman the same moment the sound of a turning lock penetrated the silence. The door opened behind her and the pad of footsteps entered the room.

"It is good to see you are on your feet, Duchess Marivatan. The only thing you lack now is a presentable gown."

Andreya twirled to see the man standing behind her, a servant in floor-length robes and a sharp white beard.

He bowed. "Let us assist you, Duchess. The Judges are eagerly anticipating your arrival."

──── ❉ ❉ ❉ ────

Andreya was dressed in a formal Isantadi style with ribbons strung through her hair and a dress that brushed the floor behind her—a terribly impractical thing for a dress to do, she thought.

Once the three servants who had entered to dress her declared her presentable, they escorted her out into the hallway beyond her room, leading her through what Andreya realized really was one of the palaces of the famed Isantad Court. Ceilings swept fifty feet high with long chain chandeliers and singular glass-pane windows, carpet every color of vibrancy, paintings large enough to fill entire walls and bouquets of flowers Andreya had never seen decorating the corners and walls as they went.

All of the expensive, intricate, beautiful palace forced the point down Andreya's throat that the Judges—the grand council that led the entire country of Isantad—wanted to know about her special abilities.

The real question was, how much about her did they already know?

Andreya's heart was thudding in her ribcage when they stopped at two grand doors, so similar to the day King Diewel called her a witch that her breath caught.

One of the servants announced her, the Nasavtean Duchess Andreya Katradiya Marivatan, and the doors cracked open with a deep groan Andreya could feel from her feet to her ears.

A booming voice beckoned her from inside. "Enter."

Andreya did. Once again, she was met with a great ruling power in a grand throne room, but this throne room was not King Diewel's—it was a long, empty courtroom with no chairs, no benches, no decorations at all except the three podiums at which sat three elders, two women and one man. The Judges of the Isantad Court.

Andreya dipped into a deep curtsy, staring wide-eyed at the carpet once again.

"Rise," called one of the Judges, and Andreya obeyed. It was the woman sitting at the left stand, her white braids pinned over her ears. Judge Rurua. "Greetings, Duchess."

They sat half the room away from Andreya, but the Judge's voice echoed almost as if they were right in front of her. Andreya resisted the urge to flinch. Her voice barely traveled at all. "Greetings, Sovereign Justices."

"We are relieved by your speedy recovery," said Judge Issel, the man at the right stand, "but not surprised."

Almost as if they were linked to one mind, Judge Rurua continued. "It has been confirmed by multiple sources, Duchess, that you can revive from great injury. Even death. According to your kingdom, you have been executed, though without trial and on peculiar, unofficial charges."

The Judge paused, and it was almost as if the person who was to continue their oration forgot their turn. Or perhaps they were wordlessly determining Andreya's proper sentence with one another before charging her with illegal immigration and sending her back. Andreya folded her clammy hands in front of her and braced herself for the worst.

"Duchess Marivatan, do you wish to stay in this country or its allied territories?" It was the Head Judge who spoke this time. Judge Makaira.

Everything Andreya had ever known was in Nasavte. Everything Andreya had ever hated was in Nasavte, and everyone in Nasavte hated her. But Andreya had never intended to come to Isantad—she was supposed to have died long before that ever occurred, and yet here she was before the Council themselves.

Then Reide flashed through her memory, uninvited, as always. He had smiled here, and grown up here, and saved her here. Andreya did not know what Reide was to her, but the thought of leaving him behind planted a seed of unrest in her chest.

Andreya dipped her head further into a bow. "I do wish to stay, Sovereign Judge."

"I see," Judge Makaira said, and allowed a quiet to settle in the vast room around them before continuing. "We have invited you here today, Duchess, because we are intrigued by your abilities and would like to present you with a proposal. We offer you continued refuge in our country and its allies, and official citizenship, if you would like, for the rest of your living days. In exchange, we propose you take part in the defense of our borders and our people."

Andreya continued to examine the floor and attempted to make sense of what the Judge had said. Full citizenship, continued refuge. Refuge was a safe place. Refuge meant security. Citizenship meant permanence. For the rest of your living days.

Her stomach twisted.

But she would be able to stay with Reide.

"Sovereign Judges." Andreya raised her voice, still high and painful, and lifted her head. All three Judges watched her with practiced levelness. "I would like to request further clarification on what I would be required to do."

The Judges bowed their heads in a formal nod. Rurua spoke. "We ask for your participation in our defense force among our honorable warriors, who ensure the defense of both this country and its people. Your abilities have the potential to help many, to protect and defend. We ask you to consider our offer, Duchess, for the better peace and prosperity of the Alliance."

Now Andreya couldn't break her eyes from the Judges. As their words sank in, their true intention bled out black as ink. Thick as blood.

They knew she was immortal. They knew of her power to heal, that Death would not take her. They knew she could not die, and so they asked her to become a soldier. They asked her to risk the pain of reviving life and limb, injury and death, because they knew she could keep fighting to die again.

But she would feel every arrow, every stab and slice. She would feel every blade and poison and sickness, and would die, over and over and over. For all of eternity.

Andreya did not know if her horror showed on her face or if she appeared as emotionless as they did. She gazed up at them like a criminal with a guilty verdict. Three judges and one eternally cursed woman.

Her answer came out a whisper, but it echoed as if she had shouted, and it took every ounce of breath she had along with it.

"I will never accept that offer."

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Hey, all! From here on out, since there's really only like three days left to the deadline and I'm not even done writing yet, these chapters aren't going to be edited too much, so all help on that front would mean so much to me. All thoughts, critiques, suggestions are welcome! Don't forget to vote if you enjoyed, and thanks for sticking with TDCS this far! It makes me so happy y'all are enjoying this even a little bit. *emotional potato noises*