What my memory hadn't told me — because in my past life, I'd never bothered to investigate — was that the count's daughter was the headmistress of the Royal Academy of Arcane Sciences. The very academy where I was about to take a position as a professor.
The very headmistress who, in my past life, had been framed as a demoness during the civil war. Executed. Her family — these people, this kindly thick mother and this sword-bearing father and this smirking uncle — wiped out. Their territory confiscated. Their names erased.
And the headmistress herself — a woman I'd never met in my past life, whose name I'd only seen in execution records — had been posthumously revealed as a necromancer. A powerful one. The kind that could raise armies of the dead. The kind that could have been an asset, if anyone had thought to recruit her before the kingdom decided she was a threat.
