Chapter 1: The Death Row Attorney
The first thing I felt was the cold. It wasn't the brisk chill of an autumn morning in Seoul or the air-conditioned frost of a high-rise courtroom. It was a heavy, damp, soul-deep cold that smelled of ancient stone, rusted iron, and the copper tang of blood.
I tried to move my hand to rub my eyes, but a sharp, metallic clinking stopped me. My wrists were heavy. My ankles were heavier.
What happened?
The last memory I had was the blinding glare of white headlights. I had been crossing the street outside the Seoul Central District Court, clutching a briefcase full of evidence for the Kim Corporation embezzlement case. There was a screech of tires, a dull thud, and then... nothingness.
I opened my eyes and gasped. This wasn't a hospital.
I was slumped against a wall of jagged gray stone. My clothes once a sharp, tailored black blazer were gone. In their place was a tattered, filth-stained gown of white silk, torn at the shoulders. My hands, which should have been calloused from years of typing and turning pages, were pale, slender, and covered in bruises.
Then, the headache hit.
It wasn't just pain; it was an invasion. Images that didn't belong to me flooded my brain. A golden ballroom. A glass of wine laced with a shimmering violet powder. The terrified face of a woman with hair like spun sunlight. And then, the shouting.
Seraphina von Astra.
The name echoed in my mind like a curse. I knew this name. I had spent my final hours on Earth reading about her in a trashy web novel called "The Saintess of Light." Seraphina was the classic villainess the jealous daughter of a Duke who tried to poison the heroine and ended up executed by the man she loved.
I looked down at my shackled hands. I wasn't Han Jiyoon, the "Pitbull of the Defense Bar," anymore.
I was the woman destined to die.
The sound of heavy boots echoing against the stone corridor snapped me out of my shock. Each step sounded like a heartbeat, slow and deliberate. I pressed my back against the cold wall, my heart hammering against my ribs.
A shadow fell over the iron bars of my cell.
"Still alive, I see," a voice rumbled. It was deep, like the sound of grinding stones, and completely devoid of warmth. "I expected you to have choked on your own tears by now, Seraphina."
I looked up.
Standing in the dim torchlight was a man who looked less like a human and more like a personification of war. He was tall, his shoulders broad enough to block out the light from the hallway. He wore a high-collared black uniform trimmed with silver and a heavy cloak lined with the fur of a white wolf. His hair was as black as the abyss, but it was his eyes that froze the breath in my lungs. They were a piercing, crystalline violet the mark of the Hel bloodline.
Grand Duke Cassian von Hel. The "Monster of the North" and the man who, in the original book, was the one to pull the lever on the guillotine.
"Your Grace," I rasped. My voice was dry, cracking like parchment.
Cassian narrowed his eyes. He didn't seem to like the fact that I wasn't screaming or begging for mercy. He reached into his coat and pulled out a scroll sealed with red wax the crest of the Imperial Sun.
"The Emperor has reached a decision," Cassian said, his voice echoing through the dungeon. "The evidence is indisputable. The Saintess remains in a coma, and the poison was found within your private quarters. Your own maid, Emily, has testified to your intent."
He stepped closer to the bars, the scent of cold wind and cedarwood wafting off him.
"In thirty days, at the turn of the moon, you will be taken to the Central Square. You will be executed for High Treason and Attempted Murder. Do you have any last words, or will you spend your remaining time cursing the heavens?"
I stared at the scroll.
In my old life, I had defended murderers, corporate thieves, and politicians. I knew the look of a closed case. But I also knew the look of a rushed investigation.
Thirty days.
The fear that had been paralyzing me suddenly transformed. It was a familiar feeling the cold, sharp clarity that always came over me when I stood before a judge. I wasn't just a girl in a dungeon. I was a Senior Associate at the most prestigious law firm in Korea.
"Thirty days," I whispered, pulling myself up.
The chains rattled loudly, but I ignored them. I used the wall for support, forcing my trembling legs to stand. I was shorter than him, but I refused to look up from my knees. I met his violet gaze directly.
"That is a very specific timeline, Your Grace. But I find myself wondering about the due process. Tell me, under the Imperial Code of Justice, which article allows for a death sentence to be passed without a public hearing?"
Cassian froze. The indifference on his face flickered, replaced by a flash of genuine confusion. "A hearing? Your guilt is a matter of public record. The Saintess's blood is on your hands."
"Is it?" I took a step toward the bars, the iron clinking. "You mentioned a witness. My maid. Was she cross-examined under a Truth Spell? You mentioned poison. Was the vial tested for my fingerprints or the magical equivalent? And most importantly, who was the presiding judge who signed that warrant? Was it by any chance the Marquis of Vane, the Saintess's legal guardian?"
Cassian's hand tightened on the scroll. "How do you know the Marquis signed it?"
"Because it's the only way a case this flimsy would ever make it to a death warrant in less than forty-eight hours," I snapped.
The lawyer in me was fully awake now. I could see the holes in the story like cracks in a windshield. If the original Seraphina was a villain, she was a stupid one. But I wasn't her.
"Listen to me, Grand Duke," I said, my voice gaining strength. "I am not asking for mercy. I am not asking for a pardon. I am filing for a stay of execution and a formal retrial."
Cassian let out a short, harsh laugh. "A retrial? You think the Emperor will listen to the ramblings of a fallen noblewoman? You are a villainess, Seraphina. The whole Empire wants to see you swing."
"Then let them see me swing after a fair trial," I countered. "If the Empire is as great as the history books claim, then its law must be absolute. To execute me without a defense is to admit that the Imperial Court is nothing more than a puppet theater for the Saintess."
I saw a muscle twitch in Cassian's jaw. He was a man of honor a soldier who lived by a strict code. To him, the law was sacred. I was betting my life on that one character trait.
"You have changed," he murmured, his eyes scanning my face as if looking for a mask. "The Seraphina I knew would be throwing her shoes at me and screaming about her father's influence."
"The Seraphina you knew is dead," I said, and it wasn't a lie. "The woman standing before you is a citizen who knows her rights. You have thirty days to kill me, Your Grace. Give me ten of those days to prove that I was framed. If I fail, I will walk to the guillotine myself, and I won't even ask for a blindfold."
The silence in the dungeon was deafening. I could hear the water dripping in the distance. Cassian stared at me for a long time, his violet eyes unreadable. He looked at the tattered silk of my dress, then back at the fire in my eyes.
Slowly, he reached into his belt and pulled out a small, silver key.
My heart leaped. Was he letting me out?
He didn't unlock the cell. Instead, he tossed the key through the bars. It landed with a dull thud on the hay-covered floor.
"That key opens the desk in the guardroom at the end of the hall," Cassian said. "Inside, you will find a copy of the Imperial Code and the transcripts of your 'confession.' If you truly want a trial, you will have to write the petition yourself."
He turned to leave, his heavy cloak swishing behind him.
"Wait!" I called out.
He stopped but didn't turn around.
"Why are you helping me? You're the one supposed to execute me."
Cassian looked over his shoulder, a shadow of a smile touching his lips. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of a man who had finally found something interesting in a boring world.
"Because, Lady Seraphina, the North is a place of logic and harsh truths. I have always hated the politics of the capital. If you truly intend to turn the Imperial Court into a circus, I want to have a front-row seat."
He walked away, his footsteps fading into the darkness.
I collapsed to my knees, the adrenaline leaving my body in a rush. I reached out and snatched the silver key, clutching it so hard it cut into my palm.
I had thirty days.
I looked around the dark, miserable cell. I had no magic. I had no allies. I had no money. All I had was my knowledge of the law and a 21st-century brain that knew how to tear a witness to pieces.
The original story said Seraphina von Astra died crying and alone.
I looked at the iron bars and smirked.
"Sorry, Author," I whispered to the empty air. "But I'm moving to strike your ending from the record."