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One

SILLA

Staring at the judge’s bench as I sit, I struggle not to fidget while I wait for him to come back in. I am not innocent by a long shot. I stole money from a lot of people through my hacking skills, but that shit is supposed to be untraceable, right? I’m not a noob at this, I know how to erase my hacking signature.

Unfortunately, someone found me, I think. I’m not sure how, but God do I want to figure it out. My lawyer pinches my arm to get me to stop moving, and I bite back my yelp.

I really hate this bitch, but I’m poor on paper, so the court gave me a court appointed lawyer. All of my money is filtered through other places, but I can’t prove gainful employment for any of it, so it would only cause more problems right now.

The only employment for a girl like me at twenty-four years of age in the Kingdom of Forbach is as a secretary, mistress, or someone’s wife. I haven’t finished college yet, so my options are incredibly limited in terms of legal forms of income.

Unfortunately, I’m very impatient.

“All rise!” the bailiff yells, causing me to swallow nervously as I stand.

The judge walks in, looking annoyed. He has graying hair, a no nonsense air around him, and I have a feeling he won’t have good news for me.

Standing tall in my pencil skirt and cute blue top, I keep myself from touching my raven hair. It’s the first thing I tend to fiddle with when I’m nervous.

“Miss Drizella Tremaine,” the judge booms, and I struggle not to flinch or correct him. Only my mother calls me Drizella, usually when I’m in big trouble. “You’re twenty-four years old, which means you’re an adult of the realm next year. The opposing counsel has presented evidence that you are a menace. How does it make you feel to hear that?”

A fission of shame crawls up my spine, causing me to swallow thickly. I will not let this man make me cry. It would probably be better for my case if I bawled, but I’m too damn proud for that.

“It makes me feel like a criminal,” I murmur.

“Speak up!” the bailiff barks.

Repeating myself louder, I add, “I’m not a bad person. I also haven’t done half of what I’m being accused of…”

My attorney clears her throat, and I sigh. I'm going to prison. I’m completely fucked, and our corporal punishment in my kingdom is grotesque. Cinder and her husband really overhauled it, creating a magnificently scary place for our criminals. It still didn’t stop me from committing my crimes though, because I never thought I’d get caught.

Fuck.

“Miss Tremaine,” the judge says drolly, interrupting me before I can continue. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. “You’re being brought up on charges of grifting, prostitution, hacking, and stealing. I’m honestly appalled that the step-sister of our queen would be involved in such things.”

My jaw drops, because I’m not a prostitute. I’ve never even been kissed, and the only hands on me have been wandering ones from older men dancing with me as I steal their wallets. While I’m not overly educated on sexual exploits, I don’t think this counts.

I can’t say anything in my defense though, because Judge Cartwright continues talking. While he can interrupt me, I may get tasered for my efforts by the electrified wand hanging from the bailiff's belt loop. My day doesn’t need to get any worse.

“To be honest, Miss Tremaine, I’m at a loss as to what to do with you. Prison seems like a terrible thing for a tiny thing like you, and technically you’re not an adult by our laws yet. The other option is our reform camp, which will teach you how to use your assets in ways that can be of use,” the judge says.

I have no idea what he means by my “assets”, but the reform camp has to be better than prison.

Raising my hand, because I don’t know how else to ask to speak, the judge presses his lips together as if holding back a smile. My lawyer snorts, but I don’t really care what she thinks. I can’t go to prison.

“Yes, Miss Tremaine?” Judge Cartwright murmurs. “I can see you urgently have a question.”

Dropping my hand, I nod. “If my options are prison or a reform camp, can I choose? Anything has to be better than prison, right?”

He leans forward, steepling his fingers in front of him. “There are many options in life, I can’t tell you which will be best. The reform camp is very strict, the instructors can be cruel, but you will have a job at the end of your time there,” the judge says. “There are three sections to the camp: computer programming and business management, intelligence services, and accountant training.”

I blink at the last one, wondering why there’s such a need for money management. The judge is glancing at his watch, and I realize I’m probably taking up too much of his time. I want to make the right decision, but I have so few options or information.

Fuck it. “Thank you, your honor. If I have the option, I’d like to go to the reform camp, please,” I tell him quickly, trying to keep from chewing on my lip or shifting my weight.

God, please don’t let prison be the better option.

“If that’s what you want, I have no reason to go against your wishes,” he says, almost sounding happy. “The bailiff will guide you to the holding area, where a van will take you there. Please, Miss Tremaine, don’t let me see you back here.”