The Lady Justice

Prologue : The Beginning Of An End

11 December, Year 32 of King Frederick V of Monrique's reign

Western Bordeux Dungeons, Bordeux

Monrique

Her gaze remains fixed on the ceiling.

The Duchess watches a small sprig of ivy revolve above her, slowly, constantly. In a place where all else is dead, it is kept alive, against all possible odds, by a sliver of light that shines through an indiscernible hole in a corner. Bright green against the grey stone ceiling, it is hard to miss, and even harder to ignore.

Indeed, it was the first thing she noticed when she was first brought here.

The Duchess sags against the wall. She is too weary to even be irritated by the drops of ice cold water that roll down from the ceiling, and seep through her dress, or even by the chilly breeze that blows right at her from the underside of the dungeon doors every now and then. She wraps her arms around herself, in a subconscious attempt to defend herself against the cold that is laying siege to her body, and the deafening silence that is waging a war against her mind.

Taking a shuddering breath, she closes her eyes, and fixes the image of the sprig of ivy behind her eyelids. Her trembling, chapped lips part slowly to release a cloud of mist carrying the same words she has been chanting over and over again to keep a hold on her fleeting sanity and memory.

I am Lady Therese Diane Jeanne Isabelle De Beauharnais, the rightful sovereign Duchess of Roche and a Lady Justice of Monrique. I will turn five and twenty next month, if I live to see the day of my birth. I was arrested by the Monriquan Armed Forces, and brought to Bordeux Dungeons by brute force some time ago on the orders of our ever kind and gracious monarch, His Majesty King Frederick V of Monrique.

I am Lady Therese Diane Jeanne Isabelle De Beauharnais, the rightful sover -

At that very moment, the silence is shattered.

Her eyes fly open. Her arms tighten around her body.

Someone is coming.

She hears the synchronised thunder of the boots of the army officers, loud and clear through the walls she is kept within, storming towards her dungeon cell with all haste. She quickly sits upright, and smoothens her wrinkled dress, just as the dungeon door flings open.

"Stand back, wench."

A couple of female Corporals, supervised by a male Captain, barge into her dungeon cell. They proceed to inspect each and every corner, meticulously checking for any possible weapons or means of escape that she may have managed to procure, or miraculously create, under her tight imprisonment.

Throughout the inspection, the Duchess sits as still as she can, her eyes noting the tensed stances of the army officers, and their troubled countenances. She deduces that something is amiss, but keeps a tight hold on her tongue to stop herself from questioning them and aggravating them further than they already seem to be.

When they complete their search, the Captain turns to her. "It is commendable that you have not stirred up trouble for the army during your imprisonment thus far," he sniffs disdainfully, suspicion flashing in his eyes, "unlike most of your other fellow inmates."

The Duchess meets his stare evenly, not bothering to stand up. "Thank you. I try my best."

Unable to discern if she is truly sincere, or is simply humouring him, he lets it go. "In any case, keeping your good behaviour in mind, we have decided allow another prisoner to share her imprisonment here with you," he continues with a frown, "we are, unfortunately, running out of dungeons to host offenders."