How to (Mis)Marry

“By order of the Crown, you are under arrest.”

The guard’s voice was cold enough to make it clear that mercy was not on offer.

It was late; the shop had long since emptied, and I had just been about to close when the keepers of the peace decided to pay me an unexpected visit. What could possibly bring them to an ordinary little antiques shop?

I frantically ran through possible escape routes, though I already knew my chances were slim. From the look of it, the house was surrounded. They had even brought dampeners—the magic inside me smoldered like a dying ember.

“May I ask on what grounds?” I inquired, striving for indifference. The only thing separating me from the enormous uniformed man was the shop counter—a rather flimsy barrier.

“A report has been filed against you. In addition, traces of forbidden magic have been detected at this residence. As you are aware, necromancy is punishable by death within our state.” His tone remained calm, but I had no illusions: one wrong move and that calm would vanish.

“And what does that have to do with me? Two other girls work here in shifts. Perhaps you’re looking for one of them?” I twisted the words as best I could, though I understood my fate was nearly sealed.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but the shop owner and the two assistants have already been examined. That leaves only you.”

Yes, of course he was sorry.

I snorted—then abruptly flung up my hand, throwing a cloud of green powder straight into his face. The guard doubled over with a howl, clawing at his eyes, and I vaulted over the counter, sprinting for the inconspicuous door that led to the back courtyard.

“Oh, excuse me,” I said as someone on the other side caught an accidental blow to the head. “On second thought—not really.”

The guard stationed outside, briefly stunned, snarled and lunged for me, but he too received a faceful of burning herbs. They might have ringed the place with dampeners, but necromancy wasn’t my only talent. I was quite skilled in herbal craft as well—and I always kept a few surprises up my sleeve. Quite literally.

A hiss split the air.

I ran faster, praying to every god I could think of. If I got out of this alive, I would visit every temple every Saturday—no, every even-numbered day—and worship them all without exception.

The gods were unimpressed.

The moment I burst through the gate and managed no more than a few steps onto the cobblestones, a powerful serpentine tail swept my legs from under me and coiled tight around my body, crushing the air from my lungs and pinning my arms.

“That was unwise, my lady,” the arresting guard said reproachfully. “Resisting arrest may earn you an additional sentence.”

“What are you going to do?” I scoffed, squeezing my eyes shut. “Execute me twice instead of once?”

Rumor had it that in their battle form, serpents could turn a victim to stone with a single look. I had no desire to test that theory.

The guard gave a low huff but said nothing. They hauled me upright and clasped heavy leaden manacles around my wrists, inlaid with madjorite—a stone that blocked magic completely. A dull ache bloomed in my solar plexus at once; the sudden emptiness felt profoundly wrong.

“And who reported me?” I asked darkly. If I was going to have nightmares after death, I might as well know whose face to haunt.

“I’m sorry. We are not permitted to disclose that information.” His answer was precise and even as he nudged me forward, suggesting I start walking.

“What a pity,” I murmured.

I heard no footsteps behind or beside me—which meant they were still in their battle forms.

Disgusting.

I kept my eyes lowered, studying the worn cobblestones as we walked, wondering how I had managed to ruin everything so thoroughly.

For four years I had worked quietly in a small antiques shop and never once crossed paths with the law. I lived peacefully, renting the room above the store. A year ago, I had bought a share in the business. I was almost done saving enough to leave this serpent kingdom behind. I bothered no one. Magical commissions I accepted perhaps once every few months at most—and I was always meticulous about covering my tracks.

So where had I slipped?

The realization that this might be the end had not yet come. There was only anger.

At myself. At the unknown informant. At the whole wretched world.

The capital’s prison was conveniently located just three blocks from my former home, so I hadn’t had time to freeze completely, even though I was wearing only a light dress with three-quarter sleeves. I hadn’t planned on an evening stroll, sorry.

They led me to a tiny cell, barely two by two meters. Thrust me into the dim space, turned the key in the lock, and that was the end of my interaction with the valiant guard.

I sank onto the wooden bench—there was no mattress—and let out a heavy sigh. I couldn’t believe it. I had been almost there! Just a couple more months, and I could have waved goodbye to Shimesse, having paid off all my debts. But no. Why was life so unfair? And why did the Naga have such ridiculous laws? Executed for practicing necromancy! For a skill that could help where the best investigator would fail, where a battle mage lacked the strength, where even the finest healer might be powerless!

But no—they would catch every mage, monitor them, and if, God forbid, they engaged in unregistered activity—they executed them. Barbarians.

My luck was doubled: I wasn’t a Naga, which meant no favors at all. No one would pay my bail, not a word of advocacy. Not a life—just a nightmare.

Despite the enormous stress and fear for my future, I somehow managed to fall asleep on the uncomfortable bench, curled up like a pretzel.

I woke to someone very rudely shaking me by the shoulder. Then just as rudely, they made me stand and literally dragged me somewhere down the prison corridors. I hadn’t even fully woken or started panicking at the thought that my song might be over in a very minor key when they shoved me into a small office containing only a large roughly hewn rectangular table and two chairs opposite each other. I was seated in the free one.

“Hello,” I greeted politely, facing the figure in a hood. Perhaps it was my executioner—maybe I could make friends.

“Very good,” rasped the stranger. His voice was clearly altered by some spell, because I heard a hundred different tones at once, impossible to piece together. “She is very similar.”

The guard who had brought me in snapped to attention and bowed deeply.

“Similar to whom?” I began to suspect something was off.

“Here’s the thing, my lady,” the hooded man started, completely ignoring my question. “I know you’ve found yourself in quite a difficult situation.”

I snorted nervously. That was putting it mildly.

“But I can help you get out of here.”

“And why such kindness?” I asked, covering a yawn with my hand.

“Oh no,” the harsh, cawing laugh didn’t impress me at all, “you see, you strongly resemble someone. And you will need to take their place and help me with a certain matter. Don’t worry—no one needs to be killed.”

“That sounds very illegal, you know,” I remarked.

The longer the conversation went on, the more it became clear that this meeting hadn’t been approved by the prison wardens—just as my capture had nothing to do with a standard security raid.

“Is that your concern?” the stranger waved it off. His hood was pulled so low I couldn’t even make out his chin. “So, do you agree?”

“And if I say ‘no’—what then? Surprise me.”

“You’ll be executed tomorrow.”

“Not surprising,” I sighed. “And if I say ‘yes’? What guarantee do I have that you’ll let me go afterward?”

“Oh, don’t worry—we’ll make a magical contract!” the man exclaimed cheerfully.

“Fine,” I relented, realizing I was signing myself up for some terrible adventure. But I very much wanted to live. “I agree.”