Thanks to a timely investment in confectionery, a fragile truce had settled over our little collective. Sitting on the edge of the table, like a silent monument to a diplomatic victory, was the empty pastry box, surrounded by a scattering of crumbs. And in the atmosphere of this temporary lull, the daily grind of studying began...

  The educational process was organized in a peculiar fashion. In the center of the vast library, five boys were huddled around a long dark oak table. Under the strict supervision of Monsieur Dubois, they slaved over problems, their quills scratching noisily against paper as they whispered and bickered over verb conjugations.

  A little ways off, in splendid isolation by a tall window, stood a separate small desk where five-year-old Princess Amelia presided. This wasn’t an exile, but a necessity: her learning pace so far outstripped the curriculum for the heirs that joint lessons had lost all meaning.

  Amelia propped her chubby cheek on her fist and gazed wistfully at the dust motes dancing in a sunbeam.

  ...just another weekday where the hardest challenge is not falling asleep from boredom during arithmetic, she thought, lazily tracing numbers in her notebook. Two plus two... Seriously? In my past life, I reconciled annual departmental budgets and hunted for errors in tax reports. Now I have to pretend that adding sticks together is an intellectual challenge. It reminds me of the time I tried to explain the basics of the family budget to my precious son. All he asked was whether it would help him level up his character faster in an online game... Sigh, the youth of today. Nothing changes in any world.

  Weighing the pros and cons, she decided that passively waiting for the lesson to end was not her method. Time was a resource, and squandering it on boredom was a crime. Amelia straightened her back and neatly raised a slender hand.

  Monsieur Dubois, noticing this, interrupted his explanation of grammar rules with surprise and walked over to her. The boys, intrigued by the break in routine, immediately looked up from their notebooks, rejoicing at any pause.

  "Monsieur Dubois, forgive me for the interruption," Amelia said in the sweetest, most 'angelic' voice she saved for special occasions. "Arithmetic is very interesting, but could we dedicate a little time to history and geography? I would very much like to know more about our kingdom and its neighbors."

  Inside, however, her thoughts were flowing in a completely different, pragmatic direction:

  Right, enough procrastinating. Time to take charge of my own education, she decided. Exact sciences are fine, of course, but I need intel on the local political situation. Geopolitics, resources, borders. I need to know who to befriend, who to fear, and where to run if things go south.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Monsieur Dubois’s face broke into a pleased smile. His usually stern features softened, and a warm spark appeared in his eyes behind the thick lenses—the look of a pedagogue who has found a grateful listener.

  "What commendable curiosity, Your Highness! Of course! That is a wonderful idea! It is high time we began studying the map of the world."

  In that same instant, Amelia felt her brother’s heavy gaze on her. Damian dramatically rolled his eyes just enough for his friends to notice, but not the teacher.

  Her again... his irritated posture screamed. She always has to be the center of attention. Show-off.

  At a sign from the teacher, two assistants struggled to carry a massive, heavy scroll into the hall and unfurled it on the large table. The parchment rustled, revealing to the audience an ancient, hand-drawn map that smelled of ink and beeswax.

  Amelia was the first to approach the table. Her dark-gray eyes burned with curiosity, and a slight, confident smile played on her lips. She was already picturing familiar outlines.

  Let’s see here... Where have I ended up? she guessed. Some alternative France during the Louis era? Or maybe a forgotten principality somewhere in the Balkans? In any case, there has to be a familiar coastline. The Mediterranean Sea, the 'boot' of Italy, or at least the English Channel... Give me a point of reference, and I will move this world.

  Monsieur Dubois’s elegant, well-groomed hand landed on the edge of the parchment, smoothing out the final creases.

  "I ask everyone to come closer," his voice sounded solemn. "So, before you lies the map of the lands neighboring our glorious Kingdom of Ethergard."

  Amelia froze. Her eyes went wide. The smile slowly slid off her face. Her gaze, like dark mirrors, reflected completely incomprehensible, alien outlines of a continent. The expression of dreamy anticipation shifted rapidly to a profound, stunning bewilderment.

  She looked at the map, and the ground literally fell out from under her feet.

  There was their Ethergard, located in the east with broad access to the sea.

  To the south, beyond a wide plain, stretched the vast, scorching Kingdom of Solaris, marked with symbols of deserts and oases.

  To the west, beyond dense forests and hills, lay the Kingdom of Arden, the northern border of which abutted a gigantic, impassable mountain range.

  And beyond the mountains, a white patch of the unknown, only the edge of the wild, forest Kingdom of Sylvan was visible.

  Not a single familiar name. Not a single familiar shape. This wasn’t Europe. This wasn’t Asia. This was an absolutely, terrifyingly alien world.

  What... is this? her thoughts seemed to be typed in a trembling, confused font. Where... where is Eurasia? Where is Africa? This... this isn't Earth.

  She stood before the huge table, upon which the map of an entire world was spread out, and for the first time in her new life, she felt truly small and lost. The boys and the teacher were discussing something animatedly, pointing at capitals and borders, but their voices reached her as if through cotton wool, and their figures blurred, losing focus. All she could see was the huge, foreign continent that was ruthlessly mocking her "experience."

  My entire past life. My knowledge of history, geography, politics... everything that made me an adult and wise... here, it’s just a collection of useless fairy tales, she realized with bitterness. I don’t know the rules of this game. I don’t know the balance of power. I thought I was a retiree on a well-deserved vacation who had seen it all and knew it all.

  But I was wrong.

  I’m not just a child. I am an illiterate child in an absolutely alien, unknown world where I will have to learn to survive from scratch.