Did you just spit on me?

Jasper frowned as he felt a wet glob land on his face. It felt remarkably like spit - and he knew it, because he had been spat on for most of his young life. Even his status as the illegitimate son of the Earl of Kilmartin wasn't enough to buffer him from childhood bullying from the other pure-blooded aristocrats.

He frowned as he heard all the voices around him. His head was pounding a mile a minute - he really shouldn't have told the tavern to get creative when mixing his spirits for him the night before.

But then again, his drunken, unruly behaviour would definitely help to cement his reputation as the wastrel bastard son who busied himself only with making merry. He liked it that way. No one would think that Jasper Kilmartin, the illegitimate son of an Earl, was actually Crown Princess Lenora's spymaster.

There was no better place to gather information than taverns, where people's lips were loosened by alcohol.

The second best place would be the brothels, where men spewed all sorts of nonsense after they had their fun with the prostitutes. Those prostitutes would then report their findings to him, after he visited them for some wholesome fun.

That was where he was supposed to be the night before, upstairs with dear Rosetta, so why was everyone around him crying like someone died? Why did Rosetta spit on his face? Surely he didn't disappoint her with his performance last night, to the point where she had to spit on him.

He lifted an arm to rub at his face, groaning as he accidentally rubbed at the glob of spit.

At once, the chatter ceased.

If Jasper had opened his eyes at that moment, he would have noticed the way the crowd was staring at him in horror.

The only person that was happy was Lilian, who cheerfully ran to the coffin to hold her mother's hand.

"Lilian! Get back here immediately!" Nanny Oswald scolded, face turning white with fright. She had never, in all her years, seen a body move after a person has been pronounced dead. Even if she wanted Lady Francessa to live longer, how was this possible?

"But Nanny! It's Mama! Mama is awake!" To prove her point, Lilian tugged her mother's arm harder. Jasper frowned when he felt soft tiny hands on him. Why were there children in the brothel - why were there children in the brothel touching customers?!

He immediately opened his eyes to see who left a child unsupervised, only to be greeted with a pair of baby-blue eyes and blonde hair. They belonged to a young toddler, whose cheek had a red mark reminiscent of fingers.

As though someone pinched her hard enough to bleed. Jasper narrowed his eyes.

"Mama!" The young girl screamed in delight and jumped into the casket. Jasper instinctively held her before she could trip and fall onto the sharp flower stalks that littered… on his body?

What on earth?

Jasper froze and looked down at himself. He was greeted with a sight of a woman's bosom, covered in a woolen dress.

He touched it with his hand and felt its customary softness. Then he took a good look at his hand.

At his now smaller, more womanly hand. The skin was pale and soft, and the nails were kept neat and tidy.

He used that said hand to slap himself in the face.

Everyone watching recoiled in horror.

Why was Lady Francessa smacking herself?

More importantly, how did Lady Francessa come back to life?

"Oh bloody bugger," Jasper cursed under his breath as he felt his stinging face. This wasn't a dream, or some weird hallucination brought about by the smuggled artifacts from Incena.

He was in the body of a woman. Not just any woman mind you.

Judging by the fact that he was lying in a casket decorated with flowers, surrounded by mourners in black, he was now a woman who just died!

Fuck.

He was also, judging by how this young girl called him 'Mama', he was also a Mother!

Double Fuck.