Chapter 1
The day I woke up in this world, I was the sacrificial princess, the one they were sending off for a political marriage. I chose to end it by smashing my head against a pillar.
I didn't die, but instead, I ended up revealing my future-seeing powers.
What I never expected was that the entire royal court could hear my thoughts.
So, the vibe totally shifted.
My father, King Richard Sterling, perched on the throne, had just dropped the bomb—a marriage alliance.
[A marriage alliance? I'd end up dead within three months—brutally murdered!]
The prime minister dropped his quill. It hit the floor with a loud smack.
The general let out a shocked gasp.
My father's coughing came to an abrupt halt.
From then on, everyone in court got their gossip fix straight from my mind and found themselves leading the charge to save the Kingdom of Sterling.
*****
When I opened my eyes, my head was throbbing like it might split in two.
Soft sobs filled the air, mixed with the smell of burning beeswax from the tall candles, thick and cloying.
"She's awake! Princess Isabella is awake," someone cried out.
Several faces swam into view. A middle-aged man in a purple robe trimmed with ermine stood closest, his eyes rimmed red. Beside him, a beautiful woman in an elaborate velvet gown dabbed at her tears with a lace handkerchief. Precious stones glinted in her coiled hair. Behind them both, a sea of officials in dark robes stood in a dense, silent mass, the only sound the whisper of wool and leather.
I was utterly bewildered.
Where on earth was I? Wasn't I just hunched over my laptop, cramming to meet my thesis deadline? Had I actually dropped dead from pulling yet another all-nighter?
Before I could make sense of anything, a flood of memories hit me—memories that clearly weren't mine.
Kingdom of Sterling. Princess Isabella Sterling. 17 years old. Her mother died young, and Isabella was basically invisible in the palace.
And today was the day they decided to send her off to Norland for a marriage alliance.
The original Isabella heard the news at the royal court, totally lost it, and smashed her head against the stone wall.
So now I was here. Transmigrated straight into the sacrificial princess in a political marriage plot. Perfect.
"Isabella, are you alright?" The man in the purple robe—my so-called father, King Richard—asked, his voice trembling. "Where's the royal physician?"
I tried to speak, but my throat felt stuffed with cotton.
Then the images came. I couldn't stop them. Endless yellow sand. Tattered tents. A hulking man from Norland gripping a blood-crusted blade. A woman in a wedding gown, facedown in the dirt.
That was her fate. The original Isabella's. Waiting for her in less than three months.
She was supposed to marry the Chieftain of Norland. A man in his sixties. Less than three months after the wedding, he'd die, and his sons would decide she was some kind of curse. They'd abused her until she died.
A chill shot straight up my spine, hitting me right between the eyes.
"I..." I tried to sit up, but a fresh wave of pain pounded through my skull, and a flood of scrambled visions about the kingdom's future rushed into my brain.
[A marriage alliance? I'll end up dead within three months—brutally murdered!]
[That old bastard from Norland just keeled over, and somehow the bride got blamed? What a bunch of savages.]
I tried to call out, but no sound came out.
In that instant, near the front of the hall, an old man in dark wool robes with ermine trim dropped his quill.
It hit the floor and rolled.
He gaped at me, his eyes wide, like he'd just seen a ghost.
Right after that, the general, Morgan Ingram, a burly man with a fierce glare, sucked in a sharp breath. He stepped back half a pace. His hand went to his sword hilt.
On the throne, King Richard's coughing fit stopped mid-cough. His eyes went wide.
All at once, every official in the hall fixed their gaze on me.
Their expressions were a mix of shock, alarm, and utter disbelief.
The silence in the hall was suffocating.
What was with all the staring? Did I have something on my face?
I reached up to check. No blood, just a ton of bandages wrapped around my forehead.
"Y-Your Majesty..." the old prime minister, Albert Carlson, stammered, his lips trembling as he pointed at me. "Princess Isabella... she just..."
He couldn't even finish because I just couldn't stop ranting in my head again.
[What are you all staring at? Bunch of spineless bootlickers, the lot of you. Always groveling to Norland. Giving up land and gold isn't enough. Now you're marrying me off there? Handing me over so they can play executioner?]
[Norland got slammed by blizzards this winter. Half their cattle and sheep froze to death, and they're about to tear each other apart. Invade us? My ass! They're just bluffing to squeeze us for more.]
[And that so-called peace faction leader, Victor Lane, the Vice-Master of Ceremonies—does he even bother counting how much bribe money he's pocketed from Norland? His mistress is literally a Norland spy!]
[Charles Grant, the Minister of War, is even worse. He's been embezzling the northern army's pay to run loan shark schemes, and now the front-line soldiers are practically starving!]
Inside, I kept raging, spilling every dirty secret and disaster I'd just seen about this court.
Then I noticed that the atmosphere in the hall had gotten even stranger.
Victor, the chubby, middle-aged official, went ghostly pale, sweat pouring down his face, his legs shaking so hard that he looked ready to collapse.
Charles' face darkened to a nasty shade of purple-red, glared at me like he wanted to burn a hole through me, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles cracked.
King Richard's face shifted—first shock, then something darker, then pure fury.
His gaze sliced across Victor and Charles like a blade.
The old prime minister bent down to pick up his quill, his hands still trembling, but his eyes were shining with a startling intensity.
The general let go of his sword, looking at me like I was some priceless treasure.
I was confused.
What the hell was wrong with all of them?