《Rose of Alvione》


 Chapter 1: The Dream

    He¡¯s calling again. My eyes flick to my phone, and I feel my chest tighten automatically. I hate that he still has that power over me. To control my body¡¯s reaction. Like I¡¯m on the receiving end of a voodoo doll or something. Sometimes I swear I can feel his hand wrapping around my heart and squeezing it.


    I let out a breath, but my eyes stay locked on my phone, waiting to see if he leaves a voicemail message that my phone will transcribe for me against my will. God, just don¡¯t look, I scold myself. Still, I can¡¯t tear my eyes away. Fortunately, I¡¯d had the foresight to remove his picture from his contact in my phone so I don¡¯t have to see that stupid smiling picture of his face and our cat¡ªno, his cat¡ªstaring back at me whenever he blows up my phone. If I was smarter, I¡¯d block him too.


    But I¡¯m stupid. I¡¯m so stupid.


    No, no, I can¡¯t cry. Not now. I have my evening planned out. I¡¯ve got a Korean skincare mask on my face, an overfilled glass of wine on the coffee table, and my favorite book in my lap. Nothing can break me right now. Not even that cheating, life-ruining, beautiful, funny asshole.


    I flip my phone over right as I see the voicemail message start transcribing¡ªRose, seriously, answer the phone¡ªand open the book to the first page. It¡¯s my comfort book, and I practically have it memorized, but, man, do I need comfort right now. The Tales of Alvione. Sure, it¡¯s a romance book to some (um, me included), but it¡¯s so much more. Fantasy, adventure, dragons, elves, magic¡ªshit, am I a nerd? No, it¡¯s fine. It¡¯s really about a peasant girl who discovers she¡¯s a part of an ancient royal bloodline that leads to her being fought over by two hot guys. Sure, the main character is kind of a silly idiot a lot of the time, but the guys make up for it. It¡¯s the classic mix of the perfect angel and the bad boy, both with backstories that could make even the most cold-hearted person cry.


    And I¡¯m going to read it. Right now. No more procrastinating. No more thinking about stupid Adam. Only Alvione and wine. I flip to the first page and begin again, the words flowing through me as easily as water, as familiar as air.


    ¡°Eliana Marienne Polaris is the true heir to the throne.¡± King Roburn appeared just as shocked as I, though far more offended. But the court wizard, his hands shaking as he read the results of my blood test, was not deterred. ¡°It is the truth,¡± he continued, finally looking up at the king and shrinking at the coldness of his gaze. ¡°Your late brother is her father. The blood can only tell the truth, and it speaks to me that she is of your bloodline, Your Majesty.¡±


    King Roburn scoffed. I had always wondered who my father was, but my mother had taken that secret with her to her grave last year. I was not sure what would have been worse¡ªhaving known I was the bastard child of the former king or having spent the rest of my life wondering. ¡°And what do you expect then, wizard? That I simply forfeit the kingdom I¡¯ve ruled for fifty years?¡± King Roburn struggled to stand from the throne in an attempt at a show of strength. He pointed his gnarled hand in my direction, his finger trailing from my worn sandals to my tattered gown¡ªthe best one I¡¯d found on short notice when called to the castle. ¡°She¡¯s no better than vermin. What does an orphan girl of meager intelligence and little means know about ruling a nation?¡±


    But the king had no heirs and so it was established that I would rule upon his death. With the help of advisors and with a proper marriage, they believed I could find my way. And surely, there would be time for me to learn and train in the castle before the king¡¯s passing. Or so we¡¯d all hoped. Not a week later, King Roburn passed peacefully in his sleep, and I found myself shaking in the throne room, the royal scepter in one hand and my other hand raised high. . . .


    My wine is finished. I don¡¯t remember drinking it, but it¡¯s gone. I sigh. If I had the strength, I¡¯d pour myself another, but I find myself sinking down into the couch instead, the book settling down against my chest.


    And when my eyes open, I am in the throne room, the royal scepter in one hand and my other hand raised high. I blink, dazed by the candlelit dark of the hall of Alvione Castle, and find my eyes trailing over the faces of bored nobles and a man I must assume is the court wizard, based on his description. I lock eyes with him. What¡¯s his name again? Not Merlin, but some kind of rip-off, obvious reference to Merlin. ¡°Martin,¡± I mumble aloud. The royal officiant pauses in reciting the rites, staring at me. Martin¡¯s eyes widen, and he glances from the officiant to me, as if hoping someone will save him from the unexpected callout. ¡°Right?¡± I continue. ¡°You¡¯re Martin.¡± I look at the officiant. ¡°I never learned your name. They never said it.¡±


    The officiant stutters for a moment then manages to say, ¡°This is highly inappropriate, um, Your Majesty, or, um¡­¡± Right. Because if I¡¯m not the queen yet officially, am I anyone¡¯s ¡°majesty¡±?


    ¡°This is clearly a dream,¡± I say aloud. I look at my hands and wiggle the scepter around like a toy. It¡¯s surprisingly heavy. I place it down on the ground to the sound of nervous gasps from the audience. ¡°Hellooo, I¡¯m lucid dreaming. Let me fly around or something. Or do I need to imagine I have wings first?¡±


    Martin stumbles onto the stage and takes me by the arm. ¡°A moment, please. My apologies,¡± he says to the officiant. ¡°I fear Eliana might be ill. Let us postpone this arrangement momentarily while I ensure she¡¯s well. It would be quite tragic to lose two leaders in one week, would it not?¡±


    The officiant looks too baffled to even respond. As Martin rushes me off the stage and into a side room, I find myself studying him for the first time. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be older,¡± I babble. ¡°The book describes you as having salt-and-pepper hair but you¡¯re what, thirty? Well, I guess I started reading this series when I was fifteen, so in my mind thirty was probably pretty ancient.¡±


    Martin spins me around and hisses, ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    I blink at him. His dark eyes bore into mine, his face contorted in displeasure. ¡°Oh,¡± I say softly. ¡°Your eyes are green.¡± As the candlelight flickers, I catch glimpses of flecks of green and gold, and I can¡¯t help but think he¡¯s rather pretty for being described as a crotchety old wizard. His dark brown hair, streaked with gray, is tied back into a half-hearted bun, strands of it falling down into his face. I¡¯d always imagined him with a long gray beard, but he doesn¡¯t have a beard at all, though his jaw is lined with dark stubble. There was no mistaking him, though, from a first glance because of his signature scar¡ªhorribly over-emphasized throughout the book¡ªthat runs from his cheekbone down to the side of his mouth. If I remember correctly, it was from the era before the book began, when magic users, elves, and the like were hunted. He¡¯d been sliced by a sword as a child and had shielded himself from death with magic.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    In all the time I¡¯ve been studying him, he¡¯s been sighing, and now he begins pacing about the room. ¡°The mad queen. They¡¯re going to say I put an insane homeless woman into power, and the kingdom will be vulnerable. No, my people will be vulnerable. The plights of trusting those as cursed as I.¡±


    My eyes travel from him to a pile of apples in a bowl. I reach out and pick one up. Fuck, it feels so real. This is a cool ass dream. ¡°Hey, think fast.¡± I lob the apple at him, grinning. The apple strikes him in the chest weakly, and he glances back up at me, looking even more confused and pissed off than before.


    ¡°What the hell has happened to you? You¡¯re acting completely deranged. Couldn¡¯t you have picked a better day to completely lose your mind?¡± He waves his hands at me like a frustrated parent.


    I frown. ¡°This is my dream. You¡¯re supposed to do what I want, at least a little bit. Show me some magic or something. That¡¯ll be cool.¡±


    Martin scowls. ¡°No. You will get back on stage, and you will act like a real noblewoman, and you will accept the crown. Then you can throw apples at me as much as you would like. But not a moment sooner. Too much is at stake. Did you know that we are on the precipice of war with¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªthe kingdom of Ward? Yeah, yeah. Lucky for you, that doesn¡¯t happen because I end up marrying Peter Ward and our kingdoms become united,¡± I say with a shrug. That¡¯s how the book goes. I¡¯m not an idiot.


    But Martin just lets out a startled laugh. ¡°Prince Peter? In what universe is that a likely union?¡±


    ¡°This one. Duh.¡±


    ¡°¡®Duh?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Yeah, duh. I¡¯m getting bored. New dream please.¡± I look around. I¡¯ve never lucid dreamed before, but I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m supposed to have some control over how things go. And Martin¡¯s starting to make me feel stupid. Like I am supposed to play the part of Eliana. But where¡¯s the fun in that?


    ¡°Silence. I¡¯m thinking.¡± Martin collapses into a nearby chair, his head in his hands. The officiant enters the room hesitantly, and without looking up, Martin snaps, ¡°Another minute, please. I beg you.¡± The officiant creeps back out onto the stage, a nervous grimace plastered across his face.


    It feels like I¡¯m being silent for forever. I walk over to Martin and squat down in front of him so I can see his face. When his eyes meet mine, a look of surprise flashes across his face before it returns to the now typical scowl.


    ¡°What?¡± he spits at me.


    ¡°I¡¯m not Eliana.¡±


    He narrows his eyes at me. ¡°You most certainly are Eliana. Stop this ridiculousness now. I thought we agreed that you would take the throne.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not listening. I¡¯m not Eliana. My name is Rose. I live in twenty-first century America, and you live in the plot of a silly little book I¡¯m reading. None of this is real. So stop stressing out.¡± I give him a stupid grin. That¡¯ll freak him out.


    But Martin just stares at me for a moment. I can practically see the cogs turning in his head from the way his eyes travel over my face, studying every bit of me as if searching for evidence of a lie on my face. ¡°I don¡¯t care who you think you are,¡± he says finally. ¡°You¡¯re getting back out there and accepting the crown and then we will deal with this nonsense later.¡±


    ¡°Or what?¡±


    His brows lower into a fierce glare that actually kind of scares me for a second. ¡°Or else you¡¯ll doom us all, ¡®silly little book¡¯ or not.¡± It¡¯s my turn to study him. These problems are real for him. This world is real for him. This dream¡ªthis dream feels¡­ real.


    ¡°Alright. I know what to do. Bring me back out there. I won¡¯t fuck this up for you. Promise.¡± I hold out my pinkie. He just looks at me.


    ¡°You are strange.¡± He stands up, ignoring me, and walks over to the door. ¡°Then go. Do what you¡¯re meant to and nothing else.¡±


    I sigh and stand up again, stretching. ¡°Alright.¡± Time to test my knowledge of The Tales of Alvione.


    When I return to the stage, I hear the unmistakable sound of nobles whispering and then falling dead silent. I get back into position. Something feels off. Oh yeah. I pick the scepter up off the ground and hold it as I¡¯m supposed to, or at least how Eliana is supposed to. I make eye contact with the officiant, who¡¯s staring at me like I might suddenly burst into flames. ¡°Well, continue,¡± I say dryly.


    And so he does. I, ¡°Eliana,¡± am now the queen of Alvione.


    I wake with a start at three in the morning, overwhelmed with the feeling that I gotta puke. Shit, did I drink the wine that fast? I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m surprised. I always sucked at holding down alcohol of any kind.


    I stumble over to my bathroom and lean over the toilet, doing that horrible half-retching thing that starts what will inevitably be a nasty fucking puke.


    Once I¡¯m done throwing up like a college kid on spring break, I trudge back into my living room and chug the glass of water I¡¯d completely ignored several hours ago when I was drinking. The book is on the floor, likely having slid off my chest when I lurched awake. Stupid book. Stupid Martin. So damn serious. Can¡¯t even have fun in a dream.


    With a loud sigh directed at no one but myself, I stomp over to the book and pick it up off the floor. I finger through the pages, trying to get back to where I¡¯d left off.


    What the fuck?


    The book is different. I feel as though my heart has stopped beating or maybe I¡¯ve stopped breathing or maybe both because in the book, cutting in between the part where Eliana picks up the scepter and where she reads the rites to become queen is me. My dream.


    ¡°No shot,¡± I hear myself mutter aloud. I flip through the pages. My innermost thoughts, the apple, Martin yelling at me, it¡¯s all there, splayed out on the page like some sort of awful isekai fanfiction. I run my fingers over the ink and tug at the pages, but the ink is dry and the pages are woven into the book as if they¡¯ve always been there. No way. No fucking way. But . . . what does this mean? Does that mean it was real? Or . . .


    My mouth feels dry, still sour and acidic from puking, but dry like I hadn¡¯t just chugged a glass of water. When I fall asleep again, will I go back? Will I ever have another normal dream ever again? Am I real?


    No, that¡¯s stupid. Of course I¡¯m real. They¡¯re the fake ones. They¡¯re in a¡ª


    Book. I¡¯m in the book.


    Man, do I need another fucking drink.

 Chapter 2: The Nightmare

    It¡¯s the middle of the night, and I¡¯m feeling mortified. If everything I do really happens in the book now, then . . . Martin must think I¡¯m an idiot! I pause in my pacing. I have a refilled glass of water in one hand, and I¡¯m squeezing the life out of a bag of shredded mozzarella in my other hand. ¡°Why do I care what fake people think of me?¡± Shit, I¡¯m talking to myself out loud. My neighbors are going to think I¡¯m nuts. I put the water down and start shoveling handfuls of cheese into my mouth. I hope I don¡¯t puke again.


    For the last three hours, I¡¯ve been too scared to go back to sleep. Which is stupid. But let me remind the universe for a minute¡ªI am the biggest idiot in the world. ¡°Shit.¡± I have to sleep. I have to sleep, and now I get to embarrass myself not only in real life but also in my favorite book. ¡°Shit shit.¡± A swath of sunlight slides across my floor as I pace. It¡¯s morning. Worse, it¡¯s Monday morning. I have work today, and I only slept for a few hours. ¡°Shit shit shit!¡±


    I need to make a plan¡ªthat much is clear. I can have fun with this. Yeah, I can enjoy this. If it happens again, I¡¯ll do a better job. I already know what happens in the book and Eliana is not some kind of genius. I can outdo her. I can be a better queen. I can protect the elves from the impending attack, fix the bridge from breaking so people can flee the orc invasion, and . . . marry Peter Ward to protect the kingdom from an impending war? I groan. This is going to suck.


    As much as I love the Alvione series, I never wanted Eliana to end up with Peter. Sure, romance is a big part of the book, but I really had to forgive a lot to get over Eliana and Peter being end game. Still, in my silly mind, it did mean that Leon was up for grabs in my own private fantasies. So I didn¡¯t mind too much. But now that I¡¯m Eliana . . . I can do whatever I want. I shove another pile of cheese into my mouth. Yeah, yeah . . . I can pursue Leon. Problem is, the guy¡¯s a prince from an already friendly nation. So I¡¯ll still have to deal with the Ward invasion problem. The only reason King Paulo Ward doesn¡¯t attack Alvione is because of Eliana¡¯s marriage to Peter. He still really wants to but considers the kingdom basically his once the two of them tie the knot. Can I convince him to see a general alliance as good enough? I feel something touch my foot and nearly jump. It¡¯s just some cheese I dropped. God damn it. I need to start eating healthier.


    I dust off my hands over the sink and toss the cheese back into the fridge where it belongs. Why am I even worried about this? Just because it¡¯s a dream that¡¯s magically writing itself into my book doesn¡¯t mean it really matters what I do in it. What matters is that I have to leave for work in thirty minutes, tired or not.


    Muttering and cursing to myself, I hurry to my room and start getting ready for work. I¡¯ll have to worry about this later.


    When I push through the doors of Big Beautiful Beanery, I¡¯m immediately greeted by the tired waves of my coworkers.


    ¡°You look like shit,¡± Daisuke says with a small grin.


    ¡°So do you,¡± I say just as wryly.


    ¡°I think my sister got a busted copy of that book you¡¯re always talking about,¡± Jenna says as she absentmindedly cleans the milk frother. ¡°Bro, who closed yesterday? If you aren¡¯t going to soak the frother overnight . . . I don¡¯t know. You¡¯re fired.¡±


    ¡°Overnight? I just clean it,¡± Daisuke starts to say right as I slam my hands on the counter and practically shout, ¡°What book?¡±


    Jenna and Daisuke both jump. ¡°What the hell¡¯s wrong with you?¡± Daisuke whines. ¡°It¡¯s too early for banging on stuff and yelling.¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± Jenna says, ¡°that Avalon book.¡±


    ¡°Alvione? The Tales of Alvione?¡± I¡¯m shaking. Why am I shaking? I mean, there¡¯s no way, right? There¡¯s no way other people¡¯s books are changing with mine?


    Jenna shrugs. ¡°I dunno. Is that the one you¡¯re always talking about? Because if yes, then yes.¡±


    I tap my fingers on the counter nervously. Daisuke huffs at me and goes into the backroom. ¡°What was wrong with it?¡±


    Jenna squints at me. ¡°You¡¯re acting weird.¡±


    ¡°Just tell me! This is so frustrating! Spit it out!¡±


    ¡°Jesus, okay, okay. She just started it and said that it, like, randomly introduced a new character out of nowhere and broke the fourth wall. And she skipped ahead and that character doesn¡¯t seem to ever appear again.¡±


    I¡¯m going to pass out. Every thought . . . I had . . . in my dream . . . is in the actual book? The book that millions of people have read? Does this mean people who read it before I had my dream will find their copies bizarrely changed? Or has everyone¡¯s collective memory changed to think I was always randomly in the book? I fall into one of the stools.


    Jenna tuts. ¡°No sitting. We¡¯re about to open. Go wipe the tables or something. You know¡ªwork. And where the hell is Daisuke?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± Daisuke calls out as he returns from the backroom. ¡°Yell at Rose, not me. I¡¯m a good little barista.¡±


    Jenna rolls her eyes. ¡°Sure you are.¡±


    I can barely focus on their pointless banter. I need to go to the library. Or a bookstore. I need to check. I need to be sure. But I can¡¯t just leave either. When I turn to the door, I see some old lady peering through the glass and banging on it like a kid in an aquarium. I¡¯d hate being a fish.


    ¡°The zombies have arrived,¡± Daisuke mutters.


    ¡°Let her in, will ya, Rose?¡±


    I look over at Jenna and nod numbly, then go to the door and unlock it for the old woman.


    I¡¯ll have to find another time to check. And maybe search social media to see if anyone¡¯s talking about it. My eyes travel warily to the clock. In eight hours.


    The second my shift ends, I¡¯m running out the door. Truly a bat out of hell moment. I stumble down the street. I¡¯d been thinking about it all day. There¡¯s a big bookstore two blocks away. They¡¯ll have The Tales of Alvione. There¡¯s no doubt about it. I jaywalk recklessly¡ªat this point, getting hit by a truck wouldn¡¯t exactly change my situation all that much¡ªand slip past a family struggling with their shopping bags to run straight into the center of the bookstore. I don¡¯t have to search at all. The Tales of Alvione is on the main center table because of course it is. It¡¯s a god damn New York Times bestseller. I grab a copy and flip through the first few pages and¡ªthere it is.


    Me.


    Me tormenting Martin. For seemingly no reason at all.


    My phone. Surely the internet thinks this book is weird, right? How could it still get so popular in a universe where I¡¯m suddenly stomping the halls of Alvione Castle like a maniac?


    But no¡ªno, the internet loves it. There are think pieces, dated from six years ago when the first book came out, discussing the ¡°bold¡± and ¡°atmospheric¡± choice to add a fourth-wall breaking character into the first chapter of the first book and then never bring her up again. Wait, ¡°atmospheric¡±? Man, people will write anything these days. What a load of¡ª


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    And then there is the discussion on social media. People begging for Rose to come back in a later book, only to be disappointed when she doesn¡¯t in the last book of the series. And even more people begging for a spinoff series about Rose.


    Shit . . . I¡¯m . . . popular? No, I can¡¯t get a big head. The universe is trying to cope with the contradiction. The book is already popular. Me appearing in it suddenly can¡¯t undo its popularity, because I never would have even gotten obsessed with the book in the first place if it wasn¡¯t a smash hit.


    Martin was right. I¡¯m crazy. But as I scour the internet, hovering over the table of books and blocking annoyed customers, one thing becomes incredibly clear to me. I need to go back to sleep. I need to see what happens. I need . . . to do something.


    Like clockwork, I see that I¡¯m getting a call from Adam. My phone shakes in my hand. No, my hand¡¯s the thing that¡¯s shaking. I can¡¯t talk to him, but now, more than ever, I really want to. Because if anyone would believe me about this . . . it¡¯s him. He loves all that alternate universe shit. He would love to come up with theories about how this is all happening. My finger hovers over the answer button. Then I remember it all again. The sight of him . . . with her . . . in our bed. Fuck no. I won¡¯t give him the satisfaction.


    Instead, I find myself wandering down the street like a ghost, headed in the direction of my apartment. I should sleep. Yes. That¡¯s what I should do. Not call Adam back. Not drink wine. Not . . . eat cheese. Well, I guess I could eat cheese but¡ªfocus! I need to go to sleep and see what happens next.


    In the book, Eliana finishes the rites and is crowned as queen. In the new book, that still happens, but it¡¯s me who does it for her. And then . . . and then what?


    My hands start trembling again, but this time with nervous excitement. She meets Leon for the first time. That¡¯s right. Leon misses the coronation, so he comes to the castle the next day and requests to meet her in order to express his congratulations. Perfect. This is perfect. I¡¯ve rewritten this story a million times before in my head. Leon¡¯s going to love me! I know exactly what he likes, his tragic backstory, everything. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m fucking this up.


    Somehow, I¡¯m fucking this up. I flipped through the book to make sure I was at the part where Eliana is about to meet Leon and then fell asleep¡ªthat much is for sure, because I¡¯m back in Alvione. Because I¡¯m paranoid, I made sure to place the book on my chest, in case that was the ticket last time. No reason to change up how we do things now.


    But instead of meeting with Leon, I¡¯m hiding from him. Why am I hiding from him? Still . . . who can really blame me? I was walking down the hall, knowing full well that he would end up bumping into me in a classic meet cute, but the second I caught a glimpse of his signature gold robes rounding the corner, I peeled off into an empty room and have been standing there ever since.


    I can¡¯t do this. Or maybe I can do this. No, wait. I can¡¯t. Or can I? Stop being a fucking pussy and just¡ª


    The door creaks open slowly. I straighten up, brushing my skirts into place and fixing the crown on my head.


    It¡¯s . . . a maid.


    She looks up at me with big eyes. ¡°Your Majesty!¡± She bows low. ¡°What an honor that you have come to my room to visit with me.¡±


    I look around the room. ¡°Oh, no. No, no. I¡¯m not visiting you. I just . . .¡± Well, I can be honest with a maid, right? She¡¯s like my real life equal. ¡°Did you see Leon walk by?¡±


    ¡°Prince Leon?¡± The maid looks up at me in surprise. ¡°Yes, he just passed by. Should I fetch him for you?¡±


    ¡°NO! No. No no. Please. Don¡¯t fetch him. I¡¯ll fetch him. I¡¯m actually . . . great at fetching people. Never mind. Thank you.¡± She bows again and, because I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing, I bow back at her. Shit. I¡¯m being weird again. Fortunately, the maid just giggles and does her best to stifle the sound. I scurry past her and see Leon¡¯s back as he continues down the hall ahead of me.


    I stumble in his direction. I¡¯ll make my own meet cute, god damn it. But right as I¡¯m about to catch up with him, I step on the hem of my skirt and fall right into him, knocking us both to the floor. Because he¡¯s a graceful, perfect prince, he lands well and manages to cushion my fall, his arms coming around me protectively. I bang my head against his ribcage and hear him let out a startled oof.


    My head shoots up to look at him, and my crown immediately crashes down onto my nose, blocking my vision. I let out a sigh. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    I feel the crown growing lighter and realize he¡¯s lifting it back onto my head. My eyes meet his. And god, he¡¯s even more perfect than the book described. His hair is a flurry of dark curls, his eyes a warm, kind brown. His jaw is the definition of chiseled, offset by the cutest dimples that pop out as he smiles at me. Full lips, an adorable button nose, smooth dark skin¡ªthe man is a dream. And I¡¯m staring at him, open-mouthed, totally starstruck.


    ¡°Eliana,¡± he says softly. The tone of his voice is so warm and rich that I don¡¯t even care that he¡¯s calling me by her name. Because I¡¯m technically her, right? ¡°I did not expect us to meet like this.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± I breathe, climbing up off of him shakily so he can rise to his feet. He¡¯s much taller than I¡¯d expected. I don¡¯t think the book ever specified his height, but I have a tendency to imagine all characters are only a few inches taller than me. And he¡¯s definitely six foot. I smile up at him like a dummy in love. ¡°Because I didn¡¯t expect us to meet at all. Leon, right? It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡±


    Okay, girl, you got this. That was charming. Super old-timey and convincing. I can do this. He¡¯s just a guy, after all. A fictional guy who is fucking perfect. No big deal. God, I need to stop being such a horny geek.


    Leon¡¯s grin widens at my words, and I can feel my face getting hot. ¡°You¡¯re much more beautiful than King Roburn,¡± he says cheekily.


    ¡°Yes, well . . . I¡¯d hope that I¡¯m more attractive than an eighty-year-old man.¡±


    He laughs. I¡¯m killing this! ¡°I actually came here to meet you and offer my deepest apologies for missing your coronation. I¡¯d intended to be here as an ally to Alvione, but my carriage got stuck in the mud after the storm.¡±


    I¡¯m so busy getting lost in his friendly gaze that I almost forget to respond. ¡°Oh, no. It¡¯s no trouble. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here now. I¡¯ve heard so much about you.¡±


    He tilts his head. ¡°Have you? I didn¡¯t think a week of political training would include discussions about me. I¡¯m just a prince, you know. Hardly worth talking about at all.¡± A hint of playfulness flits across his face for a moment. I realize he¡¯s right. Why would Eliana know anything about him?


    ¡°Well, I . . . I am a quick study. So we ended up covering more topics than anticipated. Including family trees and¡±¡ªtime to be bold¡ª¡°potential suitors, considering my inexperience.¡±


    His eyebrows shoot up ever so slightly. Shit, was I too bold? He lets out a surprised chuckle, then leans in and whispers in my ear, ¡°I know you are new to all of this, but you should be aware that such discussions are not meant to be had between the likes of us. It¡¯s inappropriate.¡± I can feel my face getting even redder than I¡¯m sure it already was. This is not a sexy whisper, but thankfully, it¡¯s not a threat either. Just a friendly warning. He leans back again and puts his fingers to his lips, giving me a small forgiving smile.


    ¡°My apologies,¡± I gasp out. ¡°I¡¯m not used to so many rules.¡±


    He reaches out, and I still for a second, not sure what the hell is going to happen next. But he just straightens my crown and brushes a stray strand of hair back behind my ear. ¡°I understand,¡± he says, looking seriously at me. ¡°But as allies, it¡¯s important to me and my people that you put your best foot forward in all of your affairs. Because mistakes you make will reflect on us as well. And the kingdom of Ward grows increasingly antsy to claim more land. Yours and mine.¡±


    I nod, feeling my heart sink in my chest. He thinks I¡¯m a fool. Martin thinks I¡¯m a fool too. So far everyone I¡¯ve met who¡¯s a named character in this fuckin¡¯ book thinks I¡¯m going to ruin everything. ¡°I¡¯ll do better,¡± I promise quietly.


    ¡°No,¡± he says, leaning in and lifting my chin so I have no choice but to look directly into his eyes. They¡¯re still warm, kind eyes, but his brows are knitted in obvious concern. ¡°We must all do our very best.¡±


    The sound of my alarm jolts me awake. My bed is cold with sweat. ¡°Ugh.¡± I climb out of bed and strip out of my sweat-soaked pajamas. I thought this would be fun. So why am I so stressed out?


    And why do none of these damn characters like me? I pick up the book, which once again, I¡¯ve carelessly let fall to the floor, and check the pages. They¡¯re slightly damp from all my stress sweating. I sigh and lay it faceup in the sun, turning my tabletop fan toward it to dry the pages while I¡¯m at work.


    I don¡¯t have it in me to check the internet for what people now think of the book. Who cares? If I keep dreaming in this world and keep making changes to my own, I might as well focus on seeing it through to the end. And doing a damn good job with it.


    Because I¡¯m hopeless to figure out what the hell is even going on. If I¡¯m in some kind of long extended dream, if I¡¯m hopping universes, if my book is just magic¡ªI don¡¯t even know where to begin with all that shit.


    As the breeze from the fan flips through the book, I watch as the pages flutter by until they come to a stop on the last page.


    About the Author.


    I freeze.


    The author. That¡¯s it.


    I need to talk to the author.

 Chapter 3: The Author

    Her name is a pen name. No one has ever met her, and she¡¯s never done an interview. But she does have an email.


    I sit staring at my laptop. So far all I¡¯ve done is hit ¡°Compose¡± and paste in the email I found through some elaborate Google searching. For all I know, it¡¯s not even her real email. But I have to try.


    What can I even say? ¡°Hey, has your book ever caused any strange dreams? Do you remember writing about a character named Rose who goes on a strange meta adventure in the middle of your fantasy romance novel? Are you a witch?¡± All of these are bad places to start. But I don¡¯t want to just say, ¡°I¡¯m a huge fan,¡± because that¡¯s one sure way to get lost in the shuffle.


    ¡°Yo, customer,¡± Jenna says, nodding to the door as a group of girls come in.


    Shit. No time for this. I close my laptop and go to the register to take their orders. As I¡¯m plugging in an assortment of cold brews, fruity teas, and ice waters¡ªwhy the hell are you ordering water from us when you can get it for free?¡ªmy mind travels back to Leon. I hadn¡¯t considered the fact that The Tales of Alvione is a slow burn. Of course he would hesitate at my blatant flirting. He wasn¡¯t written to be the kind of guy who¡¯d jump at that kind of opportunity. Peter, on the other hand . . .


    ¡°Um, can I put in my card yet, or no?¡±


    I glance up at one of the girls standing in front of me. She¡¯s giving me a weird look. ¡°Yes, sorry,¡± I manage to say, my brain still conjuring up images of Leon like some kind of sickness. I run her card and offer her the receipt, but she¡¯s already walking away with her friends to get a table.


    There are also a few other things I haven¡¯t tested yet. I have no idea if leaving the book open to a certain page is how I get put into the story each night or if there¡¯s another factor at play. Is it how far I¡¯ve read in this reread? If I were to read a few pages ahead, but leave the book open to the previous page I¡¯d been on, what would happen? Could I leave the book open at an earlier page and redo what I¡¯d already done? I should be smart. Do a small test of one of these factors. Don¡¯t flip too far ahead and don¡¯t read too far ahead. But if I can redo things . . . I would definitely redo my conversation with Leon. Slow burn or not, I could at least have a better shot at things with him if I¡¯d started out our relationship on a better foot.


    ¡°Earth to Rose,¡± I hear Jenna say. I turn and look at her. She¡¯s squinting, not at me, but at someone behind me, her braids falling into her face to cover one judgmental eye. ¡°I think someone¡¯s here to see you.¡± Even Daisuke is staring, looking over her shoulder with wide-eyed curiosity.


    ¡°Huh?¡± I spin around and am immediately bombarded with a swarm of conflicting emotions.


    Adam. In the flesh. He seems uncomfortable by their stares but even more uncomfortable by the look on my face.


    And he looks the same as when I¡¯d last seen him. Hell, he might even be wearing the same shirt, the one I bought him three years ago. Seeing it fills me with a surge of satisfaction and anger. His beard¡¯s a bit more grown in, his sandy blond hair a bit floppier than before. Has it been that long?


    ¡°Rosie,¡± he says softly. ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m at work.¡± My voice comes out flat, somehow failing to convey the feelings that plague me. Good. I don¡¯t want him to know how he makes me feel right now. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this.¡±


    His blue eyes widen slightly. As if he expected me to drop everything for him right now to talk. Asshole. ¡°Right,¡± he says. ¡°Sorry. But can we . . . talk tonight, maybe?¡±


    ¡°Try never,¡± Jenna calls out from behind me. A bitter laugh escapes me. She¡¯s right. And I¡¯m relieved she has my back, as annoying as I can be to her sometimes.


    Adam looks injured by her words, but he keeps his eyes on me, clearly hopeful that I¡¯ll contradict her.


    ¡°Stop calling me¡± is all I say. A part of me hopes he does keep calling. That he keeps apologizing. That he¡¯s endlessly hung up on what he ruined. That he never forgets how badly he fucked everything up.


    He nods, but his eyes look a little bit shinier, like he might cry. Cry then, I think meanly. Boohoo. Imagine how much I cried. ¡°Can I at least . . .¡± His voice cracks, and I hear Daisuke let out an intrigued little gasp behind me. ¡°Can I at least send you pictures of Snowy? She misses you.¡±


    Snowy. His cat, who became my cat too, at least for a few years. But this isn¡¯t about Snowy missing me. This is about keeping the lines of communication open. Still about trying to get me back, to start over, to . . . whatever.


    I¡¯ve never been more happy to see new customers. A man and his teenage daughter come in and line up behind Adam. I hear Jenna and Daisuke busying themselves behind me to make the girls¡¯ drinks from earlier so we don¡¯t get bogged down. I ignore Adam¡¯s question and ask, ¡°Are you going to order something? Because, if not, I need to get back to work.¡±


    He steps aside after a moment¡¯s pause and breaks eye contact finally. I begin taking the father and daughter¡¯s orders, watching out of the corner of my eye as he waits for a moment and then decides to leave, trying to not look like he¡¯d just been rejected. When I finish charging their card, I notice the girls who¡¯d ordered a few minutes ago looking over at me and whispering. This is all your fault, Adam, I think, feeling peeved.


    I have more important things to worry about now. Things he doesn¡¯t get to know about. Fun things. Like Leon.


    If there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve never been more sure about it¡¯s that fictional men are so much better than real ones.


    When I get home that evening, I finally manage to put together an email to the author. It reads as follows:


    Hi Alys,


    I have a question about The Tales of Alvione that may be a bit unusual. I¡¯m wondering how you came up with the character of Rose, as I swear that I can remember a version of the book that didn¡¯t have her in it. Was there a previous version of the book that was released earlier that I might have read? I¡¯m certain I would have remembered her character, as my name is Rose.


    I was also wondering if you¡¯ve ever had any dreams about your book. Was the book inspired by a dream by any chance? I¡¯ve had several dreams about the characters in your book, and I can¡¯t help but wonder if you experienced something similar.


    Thank you so much for writing this amazing series,


    Rose


    Listen. I didn¡¯t want to sound totally nuts. I had to frame it in a way that might trigger her to realize that I know something is up with this damn book¡ªassuming she also knows something is up with this damn book. But if she has never experienced anything weird with The Tales of Alvione, then my email won¡¯t stand out too much or come off as noticeably strange. I don¡¯t want to scare her off. I need a response.


    I immediately get an email back, but it¡¯s just an automated response saying ¡°Thank you for contacting me.¡± At least I know it went through. The automated reply seems pretty legit, so I let myself be hopeful for now.


    Now it¡¯s time for me to test the limits of these dreams. I decided at work that I¡¯d read a bit ahead and then leave the book open a few pages back to see where my dream picks up in the story. I close my laptop and take the book off the windowsill where the pages had finished drying after last night¡¯s disaster. I flip to the page I was on. It¡¯s easy to find where to start reading, because I fucking lived it.


    I was plagued by my meeting with Leon. His beauty was unmatched, but so was his intelligence. His warning to me, of the threat of my incompetence, hovered over me like the sword of Damocles. I wondered when it would finally fall¡ªand if my head would be severed from my neck when it did.


    I pause, my fingers on the page quivering and pulling the paper taut. This is different. Eliana is changing. My meeting with Leon is seemingly recognized by her and has altered how she views herself and him. I realize I can¡¯t remember exactly how this part was supposed to go, but I¡¯m pretty sure she and Leon have a perfectly proper meeting in the original book. But now . . . is this the butterfly effect at work? More like the bull-in-a-china-shop effect. I resist the urge to flip further into the book to see what else might have changed. But now I¡¯m worried. If things change too much, then that means I don¡¯t know what will happen next with the same certainty I¡¯d had before. And Eliana . . . what happens to her when I¡¯m in the dream? Clearly the book addresses and recognizes the presence of Rose, of me, but Eliana seems to be none the wiser. She seems to accept everything I do as though I am a part of her. As if she has no idea I¡¯m a completely separate person. She is me and I am her, in her eyes at least.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    I feel a pang of guilt. Am I ruining her life? Taking her agency from her? She¡¯s a fictional character. Who cares? But I find myself caring anyway. I¡¯m not just changing my own life here. I¡¯m controlling hers. And yet, when I¡¯m not in the dream, it seems like she still exists. I decide to keep reading. I have to get further before I fall asleep, or the test won¡¯t work.


    I received little time to ponder his words. As I returned to my chambers, cloaked by the darkness of a moonless night that even the candlelit halls could not disperse, I found Court Wizard Martin waiting for me before my door.


    ¡°Martin,¡± I exclaimed curiously. ¡°Were you waiting for me long? I apologize. I hadn¡¯t known we would be meeting tonight.¡±


    Martin regarded me with a scowl that was most unmatched. I found myself struck by his hateful gaze, lost in what I had done to so upset him. ¡°So, you are acting normal again, I see?¡± he said to me in a dry manner.


    ¡°Normal?¡± I felt cornered, confused. I had barely spoken to him in my brief time at the castle, with the exception of our meeting in the midst of my coronation. He had pulled me aside most inappropriately and berated me for an imperfect presentation, but I had not thought he would still be upset about something I¡¯d seen as rather minor.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play games with me,¡± Martin snapped. He paced before my door for a moment, then motioned for me to enter. ¡°It is better we speak in private. Maybe then you will remember your behavior from before.¡±


    The truth was that I had no memory of what he was referring to. In the quiet of my dark bedchamber, I told him such. ¡°Here is what I remember, dear Martin. I was in the midst of my coronation when you insisted that I was unwell, despite my perfect health. In private, you berated me with considerable frustration over your doubts that I would be a suitable queen. I can¡¯t remember your exact words, but I recall your concern that I might be insane. Even now, I¡¯m not sure what you were referring to.¡±


    The look on Martin¡¯s face was nothing short of furious in response to my words, but he behaved with propriety and simply huffed, crossing his arms. ¡°So we are playing games,¡± he said, frustration etched across his features. His eyes glinted with magic, with wickedness, and for a moment, I felt afraid that perhaps he was not the ally he had once seemed to be. ¡°You said your name was Rose,¡± he murmured. ¡°Do you deny this now?¡±


    ¡°Rose?¡± I looked upon him with great puzzlement. ¡°I have never said such a thing.¡± Of that, I was most certain.


    He watched me for a moment longer, his eyes calculating and filled with obvious doubt. But I had not lied. Rose? I have never heard of such a woman. Why would I lie? I am Eliana. And I have always been Eliana.


    I can¡¯t keep reading this. I have to get in here. Stop Martin. I don¡¯t know what will happen if Eliana learns that I¡¯m controlling her body like she¡¯s some kind of puppet. Will she try to act against me? The worst thing she could do is . . . I don¡¯t know, drink poison or something. What if she thinks she has some kind of deranged alternate personality? Who knows how medieval fantasy people think! There¡¯s no modern medicine, no mental healthcare. What if she gets us both locked up, and my dreams become filled with medieval torture methods?


    I do feel some relief to know that she seems to be totally blind to the meta element of my involvement in the book, though clearly the other characters are able to remember me acting weird. This can work in my favor.


    I flip the book back a few pages to where I was before, then leave it draped across my chest as I lie back in bed. I flip off my light. Dream time. Let¡¯s do this.


    It takes an absurdly long time for me to fall asleep, but when I do, I wake once more in the world of Alvione. I¡¯m not where I flipped to in the book. I¡¯m in Eliana¡¯s bedroom with Martin, and he¡¯s looking at me like I¡¯m the most suspicious person on earth.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I say aloud, taking in the room. Eliana described her room later in the books, but it¡¯s one thing to read a description and another to see this kind of opulence firsthand. It¡¯s the king¡¯s bedchamber, filled with ornate finery that borders on Rococo ridiculousness. Golden chests, bronze vases, a lush, huge bed, framed by chiffon curtains. I could get used to this. My apartment is a total Ikea shithole in comparison. My eyes find their way back to Martin, whose narrowed eyes suggest that he can tell something about me has changed. ¡°It¡¯s me again. Rose,¡± I say, giving him what I hope is a reassuring smile.


    Martin throws his hands up and scowls. ¡°Where have you been? Why are you pretending like you¡¯re not who you are?¡±


    I laugh awkwardly. ¡°What, miss me?¡±


    He glowers, giving me a disapproving frown. ¡°Of course I didn¡¯t miss you. Though I¡¯m glad to know I am not the one who is totally insane here.¡± He looks me over. ¡°Eliana has a condition, then? One in which you seemingly inhabit her body on a random whim? This will be a deeply difficult situation for me going forward¡ªyou do realize that, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± I pout, ¡°I didn¡¯t ask to be here. And no, Eliana does not ¡®have a condition.¡¯ This is clearly some kind of weird magic thing. So be a good court wizard and figure it out for me.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± Martin throws his hands up and wanders the room. This man has a serious pacing problem. ¡°My queen believes she is a woman from the future, from some other world, only sometimes, and you, whoever you are, demand that I fix it? It seems if anyone should know how to fix this situation, it is you, future woman.¡±


    A wry smile finds its way onto my face. ¡°You¡¯re pretty funny when you¡¯re exasperated.¡±


    Martin just gapes at me, then covers his face with one hand. ¡°I do despise you, Rose. You are quite exasperating indeed.¡±


    I can¡¯t help it. The grinning. This is so much better than last night¡¯s dream. At least I don¡¯t have to pretend to be Eliana with Martin. And maybe he can be an ally in this. ¡°Actually . . . I have been trying to figure out what¡¯s going on. In my world.¡± I explain the situation to him. How his world is a fictional book in mine, how the narrative seems to change with each dream, how I reappear wherever I stop reading. He listens intently. As my explanation gets longer, he settles into a loveseat in one corner of the room and rests his head in his hands, nodding occasionally so I know that he¡¯s still paying attention. His dark hair falls in his face. It¡¯s not tied up today, and I can see that it¡¯s about shoulder length and a bit greasy, unkempt. I wonder if me stressing him out has led him to look so much more . . . disheveled. Or if he always looks like that. After all, The Tales of Alvione barely focuses on him at all.


    When I finish, he says, ¡°I see,¡± and then falls silent. After an uncomfortable, long moment, I decide to sit beside him and rest my hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°You okay, buddy?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t move, his face still hidden by his hands. ¡°You say many strange things.¡±


    ¡°About what? Time-traveling, world-jumping dream worlds?¡±


    ¡°¡®Duh¡¯ and ¡®buddy.¡¯¡±


    I laugh. ¡°Well, yeah. I guess you have a point.¡±


    He finally looks up at me. The frustration that had etched his face earlier is long gone. Instead, it¡¯s been replaced with a look of concern. ¡°How will I know if I¡¯m speaking to you or Eliana? How will I be able to contact you, if you read ahead?¡±


    Hm. It¡¯s a fair question. ¡°Maybe we should have a codeword. Something weird, but not too weird. Like pineapple.¡±


    ¡°What is ¡®pineapple¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Okay, maybe something less weird. You can choose a word. Something you wouldn¡¯t say by accident but that wouldn¡¯t alert Eliana to anything strange. It seems she doesn¡¯t remember our conversations exactly right anyway.¡±


    He sighs. ¡°Pineapple is fine. It is strangely memorable for a nonsense word.¡±


    I find myself smiling at him again. He doesn¡¯t return my smile and regards me warily.


    ¡°You are unnerving.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡± I frown. ¡°Do I seem that different from Eliana?¡±


    He nods slightly. ¡°Unrecognizable.¡±


    I feel myself fading. I hadn¡¯t noticed it before, but I can tell now that I must be waking up in the real world, because he¡¯s getting further away, surrounded by blackness like I¡¯m having some kind of tunnel vision. He seems to notice it as well¡ªmaybe it¡¯s the look on my face.


    ¡°Are you waking?¡± he asks worriedly. ¡°Don¡¯t read ahead. Please! We have more to discuss!¡± I can feel his hands on my shoulders, steadying me, and the last thing I see before I wake is a frightened look on his face.


    I sit up with a start in my bed. It¡¯s morning already. My bird noises alarm is going off, getting louder and louder. I shut it off and slide the book down off my chest. I scramble for a bookmark and mark the page. I don¡¯t want to read ahead by accident. Better to be a few pages behind and read through what has already happened.


    Clearly the dreams do not move at the same pace as reality. What feels like a fifteen or twenty minute conversation in the dream seems to actually take up several hours of sleeping in the real world. Should I try timing it? No, that would be too hard. I don¡¯t think they have pocket watches in Alvione, so I¡¯d have to just stand in front of a bell tower. And that seems like a waste of time.


    I won¡¯t read ahead before tonight. I feel obligated not to for Martin¡¯s sake. But I will have to do some reading ahead if I can only progress half an hour every night. This dream thing will go on for longer than I¡¯m alive at that rate.


    I sigh and unlock my phone, settling down against the pillows for a moment. My thumb freezes in its mindless swiping through social media as I see a popup notification for an email. From Alys Stone. Author of The Tales of Alvione. I tap it and stare at the screen as the email loads.


    Hi Rose,


    It¡¯s great to virtually meet you. Unfortunately, Alys passed this last year, and I am unable to answer your question. I¡¯m glad to hear you enjoyed her books.


    Thank you for your message!


    Martha Brown, Literary Agent


    Representative of the Alys Stone Estate


    My phone drops into my lap. I close my eyes.


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    What now?

 Chapter 4: The Plan

    My work day is uneventful. I spend most of it thinking about the email I received. If I can¡¯t talk to the author, I¡¯m really on my own here. The only person I can talk to about this whole situation seems to be a fictional character, and I¡¯m starting to get worried about how I¡¯ve been changing the story with each appearance.


    The Wiki. I have to rely on the Wiki. I may not be able to read ahead, but surely I can glean some information on how things are going in the story by summaries online.


    I¡¯m eating boxed mac and cheese, perched on my kitchen counter, phone in hand. I scroll to Safari and pull up Google. ¡°Tales of Alvione fandom,¡± I mutter aloud as I type with my thumb, a scoop of mac and cheese teetering on the spoon in my other hand. I scroll until I see the plot summary and pull it up.


    The mac and cheese slips off the spoon and falls onto my pajama pants. He does what?! I slam my phone down on the counter and eat my mac and cheese as fast as I can. I need to go back to sleep. This ridiculous, frustrating little . . .


    When I¡¯m done, I place my dishes in the sink on the tip-top of an unceremonious pile and stomp off to my room. I¡¯ll brush my teeth in the morning. I have business to take care of. I pick up the book and then, after a pause, set it back down. I don¡¯t need to risk reading past where I was. I already tested for this. The dream will come. I lie down in bed and leave the book on my bedside table. That¡¯ll be my new test. If I need to have contact with the book for it to work.


    ¡°When I catch you, Martin . . .¡± I murmur furiously to myself. Then I close my eyes.


    One long hour of tossing and turning later, I wake with Martin¡¯s hands still on my shoulders, his worried expression fading into a relieved one as he sees me returning to him.


    ¡°Thank the heavens,¡± he murmurs with a sigh. ¡°I thought you might be doomed to a fainting spell.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± I snap back. He withdraws his hands, his eyes wide.


    ¡°I . . . I¡¯m sorry. I should not have . . .¡± He trails off, clearly confused about what he did wrong.


    ¡°I read a summary online,¡± I begin, glaring at him accusingly.


    ¡°Online?¡±


    I brush off his confusion. ¡°If I don¡¯t come back to this world, you lead it to ruin.¡±


    His surprise quickly transforms into annoyance. ¡°I would never do such a thing.¡±


    ¡°Oh, not deliberately. That¡¯s for sure! The summary said that you lose interest in assisting Eliana and spend the rest of your days searching for me. Eliana fails to marry Peter without your support, and the kingdom of Ward burns the castle to the ground. Meanwhile, you prance off to god knows where, growing old in some cabin, looking through spells that could bring me back. Why? Are you obsessed with me or something?¡±


    Martin jumps up from the loveseat, seething with contempt. ¡°You are a most hateful little creature. I would never obsess over someone so vapid.¡± But then he touches his chin softly, his dark green eyes glimmering with curiosity. ¡°I can imagine, though, that I likely learn a lot about interdimensional travel in my years of solitude. It¡¯s a magic I¡¯ve studied very little. Teleportation across space and negligible time is not uncommon, but to travel to another world would most likely require a portal of some sort.¡± He turns to me, and I¡¯m surprised to see the corners of his mouth turning up in a half smile. ¡°Was there anything in this ¡®summary¡¯ you read about me locating Alistria Okuta?¡±


    I blink up at him. This guy . . . is a fucking dork. ¡°I have never heard that name in my entire life.¡±


    His small smile doesn¡¯t fade, only wavers. ¡°She was said to be one of the greatest sorcerers of all time. That she traveled to the land of the fey, even after they sealed all doorways to our world. But she is famously secretive, and few are sure that she ever even returned from their domain.¡±


    ¡°So . . . what are you saying?¡±


    He grips me by the shoulders, startling me. He¡¯s grinning at me, almost maniacally, and I¡¯m overcome with the feeling that he is going to be one nightmare of an ally. ¡°It means she may have answers to how you are here at all. And she may be able to fix this . . . alternative timeline you claim that we are now on.¡±


    ¡°Fix it?¡± I don¡¯t know whether to be excited or disappointed. Because I¡¯m starting to have fun. And thinking about this world as being just as real as my own fills me with a sense of dread. Because it means that it falling to ruin could end up hurting innocent, real people. And elves. And other magical beings.


    ¡°I will begin searching. The spy network may be of use in these affairs, though their reach is limited, considering we have to keep tabs on the kingdom of Ward and their accursed orc allies.¡± He begins his classic pacing about the room, his black robes trailing after him as if desperately trying to keep up with his frantic movements. ¡°We can withdraw the spies from Viridia.¡± He turns to me. ¡°Pursue Leon for now. He has a loose tongue with those he admires. If you can get him to enjoy your company, he should keep you informed of Viridia¡¯s comings and goings and warn you of any disruptions in our alliance.¡±


    My eyebrows shoot up. I have a real reason to go after Leon? Now we¡¯re talking. ¡°That I can do.¡±


    He regards me for a moment, as if remembering I¡¯m there. ¡°Do not be reckless. He¡¯s most proper, a true royal. You must behave . . . well. Unlike yourself.¡±


    I roll my eyes. ¡°Wow, thanks.¡±


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    He¡¯s already moved on to another thought, disregarding me once more. ¡°And we must identify more about how these dreams of yours work. What laws they follow.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah. So yesterday, we spoke for maybe thirty minutes, and in my world, about seven hours passed.¡±


    ¡°Yesterday?¡± He tilts his head at me, his long hair swaying to the side with him. I can¡¯t help a small smile. He looks almost like a puppy.


    ¡°Yes, when you thought I fainted, I actually woke up and a whole day passed before I went to sleep again. And now, here I am again.¡±


    It¡¯s his turn to roll his eyes. He scoffs haughtily. Not that puppy-like, I think to myself dryly. ¡°We spoke for nearly two hours. Your internal clock is notably bad.¡±


    Two hours? ¡°How do you know?¡±


    He sighs. ¡°I am a mage, am I not? Does your little book not detail the complexities of magic?¡±


    ¡°I thought you were a wizard.¡±


    He sighs again, more heavily this time. ¡°My title is Court Wizard, and I am a mage, a human magic-user. Your species is not ¡®queen,¡¯ now is it?¡±


    I cross my arms and turn away. Sarcastic little . . . ¡°Sorry I¡¯m not a fucking expert in magic. My world doesn¡¯t have magic. And my ¡®little book,¡¯ AKA your whole world, mostly focuses on Eliana¡¯s relationships with Leon and Peter, not how you, some random mage, functions.¡±


    He pauses in his pacing and approaches the loveseat. He crouches down in front of me, his eyes level with mine. His dark eyes sweep over my face, and I can¡¯t help but feel a bit exposed under his probing stare. ¡°A few things. One: This book that describes my world seems like a load of drivel. It cannot cover everything about this place, but the fact that you describe it as following romantic relationships primarily suggests to me that we have much more work to do in the realm of politics and magic. I expect you to be a prompt and eager student.¡± He reaches out and holds my chin steady as my eyes flick away, uncomfortable with the firm eye contact. My eyes return to his hesitantly. His hold on me isn¡¯t forceful, but it isn¡¯t gentle either. He looks at me very seriously. ¡°Two: If we are to have a productive working relationship and if you intend to be a successful queen, you must stop treating this world as though it is a place for you to vacation and then abandon at will. I need you to be attentive, dedicated, and present in all affairs in Alvione. You may be a stranger from a strange land, but you are also in control of the body of our queen every night. You seem to care about the outcome of our world, the success of this kingdom, and the lives of the people. That is good. And you have chosen to return to us when you could, instead, simply read to the end of the book and let us perish as the story might then unfold. I did think that Eliana would be a difficult charge. I had little faith in her ability to succeed, and it sounds like her marriage to Peter Ward was the only thing she truly provided us politically¡ªat least, that is what I believe from what you have told me thus far. But you have something she does not. Foresight. You can see into our future, and you might know even more about our nation than Eliana does right now. I want to see Alvione survive. I want to believe that you can handle the responsibilities we will give you. But first, I need you to believe and treat us as though we are real and accept that your hand in our world is just as influential as any other¡¯s. You say I ruin the timeline as it currently stands by searching for you. So please, do not make me search. Return to me each night, and let us find answers about this world.¡±


    His grip on me loosens, and he drops his hand. He¡¯s pleading with me. I see that now. He needs me to stay. To come back and help him protect Alvione. To be a real queen. ¡°But . . . I¡¯m just a barista,¡± I choke out weakly.


    ¡°I do not know what that is.¡±


    ¡°Never mind,¡± I sigh. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. I promise. I¡¯ll charm Leon while you search for this Alexa person¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªAlistria,¡± he corrects, frowning slightly.


    ¡°Right, right. And I¡¯ll keep an eye on the summaries I find so I can anticipate what we need to worry about next. If I¡¯m remembering correctly, the first conflict Eliana has to deal with is the slaughter of an elven caravan within the castle walls. She never learns who committed the act, and it¡¯s considered her first failure as queen.¡±


    Martin¡¯s brow furrows, and he rubs his stubbly chin. ¡°The elves are quite hated by most. Their only allies were the fey, who returned to their world and left them behind. But the killing of a caravan is an undeniably hateful act, as they are meant to be protected as a show of our goodwill.¡± His eyes widen slightly. ¡°There is a caravan arriving tomorrow. Might it be them?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± I admit quietly. ¡°But we¡¯ll have to worry about that as well. Maybe find a way to prevent it, or at least catch the people who do it. If we can strengthen our alliance with the elves, Ward and his orcs may be less inclined to strike. Even though their numbers are low, elves are supposed to be great fighters, right?¡±


    ¡°And skilled magic users,¡± Martin says with a nod. He smiles up at him, and I realize this is the first genuine smile I¡¯ve seen from him. It¡¯s a relief I didn¡¯t realize I was waiting for. He pats my cheek affectionately. ¡°Very good, Rose. We have some short-term goals now, and you have proven yourself quite clever.¡±


    ¡°Gee, thanks,¡± I murmur. The praise has me feeling a bit shy but also insulted. How stupid did this guy think I was?


    ¡°We should also discuss the matter of¡ª¡±


    A loud knock on my door makes us both jump. Martin¡¯s eyes shoot over to me, and he regards me suspiciously.


    ¡°Who would be visiting you at such a late hour? You know it¡¯s highly inappropriate for a queen to be in private with men,¡± he whispers to me, an accusing look on his face. Well, so much for us getting along and trusting each other.


    ¡°What, like you?¡± I shoot back, returning his glare with one just as ferocious. Acting like I¡¯m some kind of sex-crazed harlot . . . As if he would even know. ¡°And how do you know it¡¯s a man, anyway? It could be one of the maids.¡±


    ¡°I am a mage, remember?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you can do, remember?¡± I snap back sarcastically.


    ¡°Just answer the door. I will be in your wardrobe.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡±


    With that, he climbs into one of the oversized cabinets on the far end of the room. Jesus fucking Christ. I walk over to the door and, after a brief pause, open it slowly. ¡°Yes?¡±


    The word falls out of my mouth as my jaw drops slightly.


    ¡°Eliana, right?¡± The man says, his lopsided grin shining wickedly in the candlelight. He¡¯s exactly as I expected. His cropped black hair, straight, shiny, and rain-soaked, falls down in his face, covering dark, quirked brows. His deep brown eyes look black in the low light, glittering with charm, with long dark lashes that cast shadows down the gentle slope of his cheekbones. He¡¯s wearing the signature blue cloak of his kingdom¡ªa rich navy blue that¡¯s dark enough to hide bloodstains¡ªand heavy boots splattered with mud that he¡¯s trailed all down the hall. And of course, on his clean shaven face are his two legendary, criss-crossed, pale white scars, dangerously painting an X through one brow and over and across his purposefully spared eye. He leans over me with that famous predatory grin, and I can smell the earthy stench of rain and grass wafting off of him.


    Not Jesus Christ. Peter fucking Ward.

 Chapter 5: The Other One

    Alright. I get it now. I get why Eliana chose Peter. He¡¯s disgustingly attractive with almost a clich¨¦ amount of roguish charm. But he¡¯s also kind of scary.


    Though he¡¯s not as tall as Leon, the way he¡¯s leaning over me has me feeling like a tiny little bug he could squish at any moment. Fortunately, I know that he ended up liking Eliana eventually, so surely I¡¯ll be okay?


    It takes me a moment to realize he asked me a question. ¡°Yes,¡± I say finally. ¡°I¡¯m Eliana.¡± Well, that sounded completely unconvincing. I say the name like it clearly isn¡¯t mine, which, to be fair, it isn¡¯t.


    He doesn¡¯t seem to mind my weirdness. In fact, it seems he might even like it, his brows knitting together for a moment before he barks out a loud laugh. ¡°Do you know who I am?¡± he asks quietly, leaning in even closer.


    I wrack my brain. Does Eliana know who Peter is before she meets him? I think she guesses who he is from his scar. The story of how Paulo Ward treated his children is no secret across the land. He raises them to be warriors and makes them spar with each other, regardless of their age difference. It results in his kids having a lot of different knife scars. If I remember correctly, Peter eventually reveals to Eliana that it was actually his father who marked him in a fit of rage, but I think the general rumor is that it¡¯s from one of his siblings.


    ¡°Where have you gone?¡± he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. He looks less threatening now, more curious. There¡¯s the ghost of something like warmth in his eyes, and his face is relaxed and almost . . . innocent. ¡°You went somewhere just now.¡±


    I feel a rush of nerves in my gut and stutter out, ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s late. And I¡¯m a bit scattered.¡± I¡¯m avoiding his question for now, because I¡¯m not totally sure if I, Eliana, should know who he is right now, though I, Rose, very obviously do. ¡°Was there something you needed?¡± Better to just answer a question with a question and avoid getting into anything I don¡¯t know how to deal with.


    He smirks and, thankfully, straightens back up so he¡¯s no longer right in my face. ¡°I wanted to meet you.¡±


    ¡°In the dead of night?¡± I raise an eyebrow at him. Eliana is demure and meek around Peter, and he gets protective of her. It¡¯s part of how they fall in love. But I don¡¯t care about falling in love with Peter, no matter how hot he might be. Because Leon is hot too, and he happens to be my favorite character. I¡¯m fighting too hard to be loyal to someone who isn¡¯t even mine, aren¡¯t I? Fuck it. I¡¯m not Eliana. I¡¯m not a point in some stupid love triangle. And I¡¯m not the kind of girl who goes for the bad boy. I¡¯ve learned from that, haven¡¯t I?


    Peter¡¯s grin doesn¡¯t fade. ¡°Would you have rather I waited outside your door until morning?¡±


    ¡°Would you?¡±


    Somehow, his grin widens even more, and he flashes his teeth at me wolfishly. ¡°Maybe. When I think about all of the wonderful sounds I might have heard coming from your room.¡±


    My lips part, and I resist the urge to gasp like some kind of nun. I am not a fucking nun. I will not be outdone by this cocky bastard. ¡°That desperate, are you?¡± I shoot back.


    His eyes widen slightly, and I hear stock audio of people cheering for me in my head. That¡¯s a modern woman for you, you cheeky little medieval shit! ¡°Maybe I am,¡± he admits finally, his eyes narrowing at me. ¡°Or maybe you¡¯re an exception.¡±


    Shit. My resolve falters for a moment, my confidence tearing at the seams. He¡¯s too good at this. I only have like three one-liners in my repertoire. A self-deprecating laugh forces its way out of me. ¡°I¡¯m nobody¡¯s exception.¡±


    ¡°Only your whole kingdom¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°That was chance. Who knows how many bastard children my father had? I¡¯m just the lucky one who donated blood for a loaf of bread.¡± Eliana¡¯s backstory is coming back to me now. I¡¯m kind of cooking, I think. But then I remember suddenly that Martin is in the closet or wardrobe or whatever right now and a flood of embarrassment courses through me, setting my cheeks aflame.


    Peter misreads my blush as a sign that I¡¯m shy and runs his finger along my cheek slowly. It¡¯s my turn to narrow my eyes at him. ¡°Lucky girl indeed,¡± he says simply, his eyes trailing obviously down to my lips.


    ¡°Goodbye, Peter.¡± I take a step back, letting his hand fall back down to his side, then close the door in his face. The last thing I see is his look of astonishment. I stare at the door for a moment. Ah, shit. Guess the cat¡¯s out of the bag that I knew who he was the whole time. I wait until I hear his amused chuckle and footsteps receding down the hallway, then rush to the wardrobe and throw the doors open. Martin is scrunched up in the corner, fiddling with what looks like a hand rolled cigarette. ¡°What the hell is that?¡± I snatch the cigarette from him just as his pinky finger casts a small flame to light it.


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    ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°Smoke outside, you animal. Or in your own bedroom. What¡¯s in this thing, anyway?¡±


    He glares at me. ¡°I¡¯m claustrophobic. I needed that.¡± I notice that he is covered in a sheen of sweat, and his pupils look a bit too dilated, even in the dark. ¡°And it¡¯s just . . . an herb. With essential health properties.¡±


    I roll my eyes. I¡¯m not against smoking by any means, but it would have been really stupid for him to smoke in a room he was supposed to be hiding in. That said, I can¡¯t help but pity him. He looks pathetic, all sweaty and curled up in a ball. Some wizard. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just teleport away, oh master of teleportation?¡±


    He climbs out of the wardrobe and shudders for a moment, then stretches his limbs and lets out a relieved sigh. ¡°I wanted to listen to what you two were discussing. Why is the prince of Ward even here?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s not like I invited him.¡± I walk over to the window and prop it open, then wiggle the cigarette at him. ¡°Do it out the window like a normal person.¡±


    His eyes brighten, and there¡¯s something almost childlike about his joy. He rests on the windowsill beside me and holds up his index finger, the small flame reappearing at the tip of it. I was feeling so stressed by Peter¡¯s unexpected arrival¡ªI remember distinctly that Eliana doesn¡¯t meet him for several more chapters¡ªI didn¡¯t even appreciate the fact that I was witnessing magic for the first time. My eyes follow the flame as he lights the cigarette and starts puffing on it. The scent is like nothing I¡¯ve ever smelled before. I hadn¡¯t thought about what kind of special plants would only grow here, but I suppose it makes sense given that we don¡¯t exactly have orcs or elves at home. What¡¯s an unusual flower at this point? It¡¯s the least surprising thing in my life now. He blows out the smoke with a heavy sigh. No smoke rings, no fun tricks, just a big cloud of dust.


    ¡°We should be concerned about his arrival,¡± Martin says. ¡°We should be very concerned. He wasn¡¯t invited. I¡¯m sure the guards were too scared to turn him away, and he knows it. He can go anywhere he likes, and that is a problem for us.¡±


    ¡°Obviously,¡± I reply dryly. ¡°But what are we gonna actually do about it? Do you want me to try to kick him out or something?¡±


    He pauses thoughtfully, and I find myself worrying that he¡¯s actually going to say yes to that horseshit idea. ¡°From what I heard, you spoke easily with him. You may not be the Eliana you claim he married in another lifetime, but you might still have some pull with him.¡± He looks at me pointedly. ¡°In a romantic sense.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah, no, you were making that plenty clear. And the answer is absolutely not. That guy is . . .¡± What am I going to say? Not my type? Not the guy I want to focus on? Every answer is conceited and self-important. Martin wants me to do this for the kingdom, not for my own pleasure. And mere moments ago he had practically begged me to take the plight of Alvione seriously. He hadn¡¯t said it, not directly, likely to protect me from further anxiety, but I know the real issue from reading the book. King Roburn Alvione having no heir was a sign of weakness for the kingdom. His death was hanging over everyone¡¯s heads. The man was eighty years old, and there wasn¡¯t a successor in sight. Finding Eliana, a blood relative to his brother, who had died years earlier in a duel, was both a blessing and a curse. Roburn was less favored than his brother, who was a real warrior (in addition to being a drunken scoundrel), and Eliana being of his blood made people hopeful that she would be just as fierce as he. And having a royal wear the crown rather than the country searching for a leader among various nobles certainly kept Alvione from appearing too weakened. Still, many knew it was not a good sign that an otherwise random girl had been plucked from the streets to rule as queen. Eliana had a lot to prove to stave off threats from other nations eager to expand. Ward was just the closest, far from being the only one.


    I have a lot to prove.


    ¡°Fine.¡± I¡¯ll do exactly what Eliana did. It¡¯s a defeating thought. It¡¯s not that I hated Eliana in The Tales of Alvione, but she wasn¡¯t my favorite character for a reason. Overly innocent, overly kind, deplorably naive. Just a girl playing for love, a pawn in a nation¡¯s game. If I¡¯m doing this, I want to be more than that. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to them both. Make them both feel they¡¯re serious contenders for my hand¡ªmake them want to be. I¡¯ll earn their affection and hope it¡¯s enough to protect Alvione in the future.¡± Martin gives me a small smile. He¡¯s still got his lips wrapped around that cigarette, his teeth gripping it like a vice. Whatever that herb was, it¡¯s calmed him considerably. ¡°But Peter is not like Leon. His father won¡¯t listen to him. He doesn¡¯t respect him at all.¡±


    A small frown creases Martin¡¯s face. ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°Book,¡± I say vaguely, waving my hand dismissively.


    ¡°Ah. I see.¡± Martin blows out another thick cloud of smoke, then watches as it floats off into the night sky.


    ¡°Take it easy with that thing,¡± I murmur. He reminds me of that damn caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland.


    Martin snorts quietly in response, giving his head a small shake and taking another rip, undeterred. ¡°Two hours is almost up. Will you be reading ahead?¡± He sounds almost sad, and I wonder if he¡¯s lonely.


    I look out at the stars, the new moon staring back at me like a huge black eye. ¡°I¡¯m afraid if I do, we won¡¯t be able to help the elves.¡± I pause. ¡°I¡¯d like to meet an elf. We don¡¯t have them in my world.¡±


    ¡°Really? Must make life easier.¡± He lets out a sigh and corrects himself. ¡°Not because they do anything wrong but . . . because people must be more united where you¡¯re from.¡±


    ¡°No, not at all. There is always an enemy. Always a war. Always something.¡± I look at him for a moment, my mind swirling as I think about the good I could do as queen. And the bad I won¡¯t be able to prevent. The inevitable evils and bad luck of the world. ¡°I wonder if it would be really that bad if I were to fail. What if some things are doomed to happen? What if I save the elves but even more die because of what I do, by some twisted sort of butterfly effect? Even just coming here at all has changed the ending and made things so much worse.¡± He looks at me, puzzled, trying to follow my words. His eyes are blown out now for sure, not from claustrophobia but from whatever the hell it is he¡¯s smoking. ¡°But then I remember that cheesy little story. About someone throwing starfish back into the sea so they don¡¯t dry out on the shore. How their actions are both futile and meaningful. Because they won¡¯t save every starfish¡ªwhat they¡¯re doing will never stop more starfish from washing up on land¡ªbut isn¡¯t it better to give one more starfish one more day than do nothing at all?¡±


    Martin thinks for a moment, then bravely asks, ¡°What¡¯s a starfish?¡±


    ¡°Never mind.¡±

 Chapter 6: The Elves

    My workday is spent looking for time to scour the Wiki for any information on what I can do to improve things in Alvione. My most recent dream has had little effect on the overall narrative it seems, and I find myself searching through Reddit threads for answers to highly specific questions about elves.


    At one point, I feel Daisuke hovering over my shoulder, looking at whatever the hell it is I¡¯m doing on my phone. He sighs and mutters, ¡°Girl . . .¡± but thankfully leaves it at that. Jenna, on the other hand, is a bit irritated by my lack of motion during the slow hours of the day. She¡¯s got her hair wrapped in a tight bun today¡ªa tell that she had a hard morning and now she means business.


    ¡°Tables don¡¯t clean themselves, Rose,¡± she says as kindly as she can manage, though there¡¯s a bit of an edge to her tone. ¡°And that kid from earlier got crumbs all over the place by the window table.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡± I grab a cloth and our broom and walk over to the area she pointed out, but my mind is still buzzing with anxiety of having to manage a crisis in Alvione that hasn¡¯t even happened yet. The most obvious thing to do is be in the right place at the right time, and according to the Wiki¡¯s section on elves, they are first introduced in what should be the next paragraph of the book. But the introduction to them comes after the caravan has already been killed, so sometime between where I¡¯m at and the next day, something goes terribly wrong. I remember that the caravans always arrive in the morning so they¡¯re set up to sell throughout the day. Does this mean Martin and I are going to have to stake out the entrance to the castle walls, intercept the caravan and then, I don¡¯t know, assign them a gaggle of guards?


    But what if guards are the ones who kill them, and that¡¯s why Eliana failed to identify the culprits?


    ¡°Hey, hey, hey!¡± I snap out of my reverie at the sound of Jenna freaking out. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Both she and Daisuke are staring at me, confused looks on their faces.


    ¡°I said clean the tables, not the freakin¡¯ windows,¡± Jenna sighs. ¡°What the hell¡¯s wrong with you? Did you not get any sleep last night or something?¡± I glance at the window. I guess I¡¯d scooped up some whipped cream onto the cleaning cloth and started spreading it in perfect circles on the glass, like some kind of a broken robot trying to remember its function. The white swirls cover half of the front window now.


    ¡°Oh, I . . .¡± I look at my handiwork for a moment, my brain slowly returning to the present. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°It looks like a cloud,¡± Daisuke says thoughtfully.


    Jenna shoots a quick glare at him, then turns back to me. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go home, Rose? Take a nap. We can cover the afternoon, just the two of us.¡± She points her thumb at herself and Daisuke, who makes a flat really? face at her.


    I find myself nodding. Jenna is a friend in a lot of ways, but she¡¯s also the manager, and this is not a suggestion. She¡¯s sending me home.


    ¡°Come back tomorrow well rested,¡± she adds, her face softening slightly as she takes in the lost look on mine.


    My nap sends me back to Alvione. It¡¯s surreal to go from 1 p.m. to 12 a.m. in another world, from my light pajamas to a heavy gown. Martin is still peering out the window, clueless to the fact that I¡¯d been gone for hours in what was likely not even a millisecond for him.


    I take some time to observe him as I readjust to being in Alvione once more. I can only see the profile of his face, but even from that, I can tell he¡¯s tired. His deep-set eyes have a sunken quality to them, with dark bags and the kind of glassy look of someone who¡¯s been awake for far too long. Still, he seems relaxed, quiet, almost expressionless as he zones out over the expanse of the garden below, hidden in darkness but for the light of a few scattered stars. His cigarette hangs from his fingers, dark and ashy. I hadn¡¯t noticed that it¡¯d gone out.


    ¡°You should rest.¡±


    He turns toward me, his strong nose casting a shadowy triangle across his face that flickers in the candlelight. Then he gives me the weak smile of a man with a lot on his mind. I can relate. I¡¯ve had a lot on my mind too lately. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Do you have a plan for dealing with the caravan?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. I¡¯ll handle it.¡±


    He quirks an eyebrow. ¡°Oh, will you?¡±


    I find myself grinning at him. ¡°Just go to fucking sleep already.¡± I wave vaguely toward the big bed in the center of the room. ¡°You can sleep here for all I care. I¡¯ll grab a trustworthy guard and do a little stakeout.¡±


    His lips part and brow furrows. As he stands, his dark hair falls into his face, the silver strands glinting in the warm light. ¡°An awful idea. Both of those ideas. Improper, foolish¡ªyou realize you are a queen now, do you not? You cannot have men sleeping in your bed, nor can you be going on ¡®stakeouts,¡¯ which I assume means you plan on trying to catch a murderer in the act?¡±


    ¡°Well, before the act, ideally.¡±


    He huffs and crosses his arms, his unlit cigarette scattering a few ashes into the air as he does so. ¡°This is why I cannot sleep. You cannot be trusted to be left unattended.¡±


    ¡°Why doesn¡¯t some advisor attend to me, then? Why are you the one at my beck and call? Don¡¯t you have other things to do? Like sleep?¡±


    Another frustrated sigh escapes him and his eyes narrow, then he leans down toward me to say pointedly, ¡°Because I am the one who put you into this role. I found your true lineage. I plucked you from the masses. No one else desires to watch over a girl of only twenty-one years who came from nothing and is now imbued with an excess of unearned power. You are my responsibility, and it is my fault that you are here at all, Eliana.¡±


    I blink. ¡°It¡¯s Rose, remember?¡± I¡¯m not sure what else to say. Honestly, I don¡¯t remember Martin being a very big part of the original book series. Eliana is mostly shuffled around between various advisors, spending her time with unnamed maids and guards, with the story jumping to important events, like conflicts and steamy romance scenes. Did Martin feel guilty for putting Eliana in this situation in the first place? He certainly never said anything like this in the book.


    His eyes flicker with something like annoyance. ¡°I simply misspoke.¡± But his guilt is clear, even if it¡¯s misplaced.


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    ¡°Well, me being here isn¡¯t your fault or responsibility, so . . . don¡¯t get all worked up over it. I can handle myself.¡± I try to give him a reassuring smile which he responds to with nothing more than an irritated scowl. He uncrosses his arms and tucks his half-smoked cigarette into his robes, a weary expression replacing the peeved look from before.


    ¡°I will come with you to watch the gate until morning. Do not make me regret this with your idle chatter.¡± His eyes flick down to my gown then back to my face. ¡°I¡¯ll have to give you my cloak so you do not stand out too obviously come morning. And the night can be cold.¡± He approaches me with surprising hesitation and unbuttons his cloak. I don¡¯t know what I was expecting him to be wearing underneath, but I can¡¯t help but stare curiously at his outfit when I finally see it. On top is a long black tunic with little in the way of design, with loose dark green pants underneath, which he has tucked into his boots. With all the finery of the castle around us, it¡¯s clear he cares little for anything elaborate, and I can¡¯t help but think that medieval clothing for men looks a bit silly.


    He notices me staring, and he gives me a frustrated look. ¡°Please be appropriate for once.¡± He walks over and drapes his black cloak over my shoulders before I have a chance to respond. I glare at him as he buttons the cloak in place.


    ¡°I¡¯m not ogling you. You¡¯re so easily irritated.¡±


    ¡°I am not easily irritated. You are just deeply irritating.¡±


    ¡°That must be why you insist on spending more time with me.¡±


    ¡°Hmph.¡± With that, he walks to the door. I trail behind him and follow him to the guard barracks, where he picks out two guards he assures me are trustworthy and not as adverse to magic users as some of the others. The four of us walk together out of the castle and toward the front gate. In the dark of night, it¡¯s hard to tell what the empty market looks like, especially without the light of the moon to help. Martin ignores the other guards that we pass, so I do too, though I can feel their curious looks on my back when I sweep past them.


    After several real life days, interspersed with dreams of Alvione¡ªboring dreams where our two chosen guards sleep on mats in the dirt, and Martin and I sit quietly for hours in the dark, him bouncing a magic ball of flames from one hand to another as he fills me in on everything I need to know about elf politics while I just watch and nod¡ªdawn finally breaks. Martin wakes the two guards, who sit up, mumbling, and pull from their pockets some stale-looking rations they apparently keep on them all the time. They eat quietly while Martin and I stare blankly at the gate, waiting for the caravan to finally arrive. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it.


    Eliana¡¯s body is tired. I have no idea what will happen if I fall asleep in the book, but I can¡¯t afford to, so I resist the urge. Even though I¡¯m sleeping in real life, I find myself craving sleep in these dreams.


    ¡°It won¡¯t be much longer,¡± Martin murmurs, extinguishing his fireball. In the early morning light, I can finally see the market. I don¡¯t know what I expected. It¡¯s just a bunch of wooden stalls, some with carpets and cloth draped over them to hide their contents, others revealing nothing but empty shelves. Handmade, painted signs hang from awnings or along the fronts of the tables. Fruits. Vegetables. Grain. Spices. Cloth. Weaponry.


    These people are not terribly creative.


    Martin stands, drawing my eyes back to him. He didn¡¯t complain about the cold all night¡ªI guess the fireball had more purpose than just to stave off boredom¡ªbut his cloak had undeniably kept me warm. I stand up, mirroring him, and he looks at me. We both must look exhausted, because he looks even worse than before. His eyes are tinged red, and his eyelids droop like he can¡¯t even keep them up anymore.


    ¡°You look terrible,¡± I say flatly.


    He lets out a delirious little laugh. ¡°Indeed. As do you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t insult your queen.¡± It¡¯s a weak attempt at teasing, but I¡¯m too exhausted to come up with anything better.


    ¡°I am not insulting my queen; I am insulting my time traveler,¡± he replies wryly.


    I find myself smiling at his words. But before I can think of a response, the guards on the top of the wall shout down to the guards below, who begin prying the grand doors to the bailey open. I straighten up, trying to look queenly despite my exhaustion, and am met with the sight of a group of beautiful, tall men and women. Two have dark skin and braided hair, while the other three are shockingly pale with straight white hair. Their eyes are down, and they¡¯re guiding a large tan ox that¡¯s pulling their covered wagon. They look entirely human, if you ignore the ethereal vibe that clings to them and their pointed ears.


    ¡°Iliyan,¡± Martin calls out. One of them, the young man with long black hair, glances up at Martin. His face brightens. The other elves look up at Martin as well, though they seem more confused to see him than happy.


    ¡°Martin Castillo,¡± Iliyan says, tutting playfully. ¡°To what do we owe the pleasure? I thought you might stop by at some point, but I wasn¡¯t expecting you to greet us at the door.¡± His eyes move from Martin to me. ¡°And who¡¯s this? You finally get married, you stubborn oaf?¡±


    Martin motions to me and gives Iliyan a lopsided grin. ¡°This is Queen Eliana.¡±


    Iliyan¡¯s eyes widen, and he quickly dips his head down, bowing low. ¡°My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty.¡± The other elves look similarly alarmed and copy him with low, reverent bows.


    ¡°Oh, uh, there¡¯s no need for that,¡± I babble stupidly. ¡°It¡¯s an honor to meet you. I¡¯m so glad you made it here safely.¡±


    The elves hesitantly straighten back up. The other ones won¡¯t look at me, but Iliyan does, his expression curious now. ¡°Safely?¡±


    Martin takes over. ¡°We have reason to believe that your caravan might be a target by some unsavory figures.¡±


    Iliyan doesn¡¯t seem surprised. ¡°That is quite the norm, old friend. What is different about this time?¡±


    After a short pause, Martin says vaguely, ¡°We were informed of . . . a vision. A vision that showed us your deaths.¡± I glance at Martin. Is he trying to freak them out? But his face is serious. He and Iliyan must truly be good friends. Because I sure as hell wasn¡¯t going to tell them that much of the truth.


    The elves look adequately alarmed. Two of the white-haired women begin whispering to each other worriedly. ¡°That is most concerning,¡± Iliyan finally says, his voice low. He cups Martin¡¯s face in a gesture that seems oddly intimate to me and whispers to him, ¡°Thank you, my friend.¡±


    Martin¡¯s face flushes slightly at his touch, and he moves back as if to get away. Oh? So it¡¯s like that then. Exes? Iliyan doesn¡¯t seem hurt by Martin¡¯s response, offering a small amused smile. Martin clears his throat and says, ¡°That is why we have guards here for you and your caravan.¡± He motions to the two guards. At some point, they¡¯d stopped eating and are now standing at attention. ¡°Please be cautious today and keep your weapons close. We do not know who will strike or when, but in case this vision does come to pass, I would like you to be prepared to encounter danger.¡±


    ¡°Might it be better if we were just to leave then?¡± Iliyan mutters. He looks to the other elves, who are shaking their heads frantically. He sighs and says to them pointedly, ¡°If it is not safe, would it not be best for us to leave empty handed but at least leave with our lives?¡±


    ¡°The crops will spoil before we can reach the next city,¡± one of the elven women says quietly. ¡°And townsfolk won¡¯t buy from us. Iliyan, we cannot waste these things. It is worth the risk to me.¡± The others nod in agreement.


    ¡°In that case, I suppose we will¡ª¡± Iliyan gasps and one of the women screams. A sword, red with blood, protrudes from his chest. Martin pushes me aside before I can see everything else and the guards are upon the man before I catch a glimpse of him. As I fall over, landing in the dirt with a thud, I catch sight of Martin grabbing hold of Iliyan before he collapses and our two guards embroiled in a fight with the two guards who had been guarding the entrance.


    ¡°Filth!¡± one of them shouts. ¡°Elves have no place in Alvione!¡±


    It is his last words, as one of our guards strikes him down. I watch as his body falls heavily to the ground and find myself meeting his lifeless eyes with a wide-eyed, stunned expression.


    I can¡¯t help but think, I¡¯ve never seen someone die before.

 Chapter 7: The Pineapple

    I¡¯m not going back. Nope. No way. I¡¯ll just never sleep again.


    I don¡¯t check the Wiki at work; I just work. Jenna is pleased, Daisuke doesn¡¯t seem to care either way, and I am just . . . present.


    I buy another coffee for myself at our register¡ªa small black coffee, because I¡¯m not a billionaire¡ªand down it. Then do it again and again throughout the day.


    ¡°You know, they say you shouldn¡¯t try your own supply,¡± Daisuke says wryly as I grab another coffee, my hands jittery with caffeine.


    ¡°Careful, Daisuke,¡± Jenna pipes up. ¡°You¡¯re talking to our newest best customer.¡±


    I glance at them as I sip the coffee. It¡¯s hot, but my tongue¡¯s scorched enough from the last one to be able to take it. ¡°I just want to stay awake for you guys,¡± I lie.


    Jenna¡¯s cheeky smile fades. ¡°Alright, but I will cut you off soon so you don¡¯t have a heart attack at the ripe old age of twenty-one.¡±


    I pout at her but know she¡¯s right. I haven¡¯t had coffee shakes like this since I had that 8 a.m. college class that I was always fighting for my life in.


    As Jenna goes into the back, Daisuke hovers around me, prepping drinks for our usuals, who should be arriving soon. There¡¯s the businessman in the gray suit who always gets a caramel frappuccino, the scattered looking intern who always comes in with a list of the same eight drinks, and the mom with the two-year-old who wants a cold brew and no conversation. ¡°You still applying to marketing gigs?¡± Daisuke asks quietly.


    I glance over at him. His dark hair hides his expression as he leans over the minifridge, digging around for the cold brew jug that somehow always gets lost behind the milk. ¡°I haven¡¯t in a few days.¡±


    ¡°If I were you, I wouldn¡¯t let myself get stuck here.¡± There isn¡¯t a hint of bitterness in his voice, but I still wonder how he feels, saying stuff like that. Daisuke didn¡¯t go to college. He¡¯s twenty-three now, still pursuing local acting roles. Sometimes he takes a day off to audition, but he hasn¡¯t done that in a while. I think he¡¯s been doing self tapes and not getting calls back.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I say softly. ¡°I¡¯ll get back into it tonight. Thanks for reminding me.¡±


    He looks up at me and gives me a supportive smile, tinged with sadness. ¡°Not that I don¡¯t like working here, but . . . there¡¯s more to life, right?¡±


    I return his sad smile. ¡°Yeah. There¡¯s more to life.¡±


    When I get home, I look for jobs online. I should¡¯ve done internships in the summer, back when I was in college, but I¡¯d spent my time doing small jobs at the school instead. Adam did the same. We¡¯d had a lot of good summers back then. But then Adam graduated and got a job relevant to his degree, working at some startup, and I graduated and started serving coffee.


    ¡°Junior Marketing Manager . . . Required: Three plus years of relevant experience . . . They¡¯ve gotta be fucking kidding everyone.¡± I apply anyway. What do I have to lose? My resume is trash, mostly listing college classes and clubs with some weak experience from part-time jobs. It would be embarrassing, but I know people have it worse off. I shouldn¡¯t let it get to me. Don¡¯t let it get to you.


    My phone rings, and I jump. Usually I keep it on silent, but I¡¯d taken it off earlier because I¡¯d been worried Jenna was going to call and tell me not to come in today. Thankfully, she hadn¡¯t.


    Adam. Always fucking Adam. At least someone calls me though. Don¡¯t let him get to you.


    I let it ring. After I push a few more desperate job applications out, paired with even more desperate cover letters about how ¡°I would let your company crush my spirit and ruin my sleep schedule,¡± I make some food.


    My mind drifts to The Tales of Alvione and what¡¯s become my second life this past week or so. I don¡¯t want to go back to that scene. I don¡¯t want to fall asleep and open my eyes to the sight of a dead person, even if he was a real piece of shit. I¡¯m not sure I want to go back at all.


    This isn¡¯t the book I loved. Eliana never saw anyone die. She stayed in her ivory tower and just flirted the night away, day in and day out. The rest of the series followed her life with Peter. In book two, she and Peter get married and work through the politics of ruling together, as well as figure out how to be a married couple. It¡¯s dramatic, romantic, and somehow pretty fucking boring until the end, where it¡¯s not clear if she and Peter will remain together because of disagreements over extending their lineage. Eliana is shy and wants to wait. Peter is still hung up on impressing his father and kind of a bit sexually frustrated. Then, in book three, they go their separate ways on different trips to other nations, looking to build bonds with more orc tribes, elven communities, and smaller, unruled human towns. Over the course of their journey, they each learn more about what love and a lasting relationship means, and they return to each other with different mindsets. Peter apologizes for everything and admits that all he wants in life is Eliana, and Eliana is finally ready to take the next step.


    I doubt those books are anything like that now. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve fucked everything up for Eliana and Alvione, or at least changed their fates for now.


    The inevitable hangs over my head: I¡¯ll have to sleep eventually. It¡¯s Friday, and I don¡¯t work Saturday, so I can stay up as late as I like. Still, it¡¯s not like I can avoid sleep forever.


    But there is something else I can do.


    Like a little devil on my shoulder, I feel my mind whispering, Read ahead. I finish my dinner and add my bowl to the pile in the sink. I¡¯ll have to actually clean those tomorrow, I think, forlorn. Fucking hell.


    With zombie-like movement, I approach my bedroom and turn on the bedside lamp. Then I walk up to the book slowly, like it¡¯s a bomb that could go off any second now, with just one wrong move. I¡¯ll just read a little bit . . . said everyone everywhere before staying up all night to finish reading. I flip haphazardly through the pages with my name until I get to the death of the guard. I swallow and start reading.


    Stolen story; please report.


    My movement was swift. I had awakened in my bed, a personal healer standing over me with a rather uninterested look on his face. When he¡¯d assured me that I was quite fine, except for a small bruise from when I¡¯d fallen and my clear exhaustion, I rose from the bed with great determination and brushed past him with a small grateful ¡°thank you.¡± Though he tried to insist I stay in bed and rest further, I knew what I had to do. I had to see how Martin and his elven friend had faired.


    I laugh to myself quietly. Yeah, Eliana. His ¡°friend.¡±


    In the infirmary, past vast stained glass windows that cast colors all about the room, I found Martin leaned over the elf Iliyan, whose midsection was bleeding still through his tight bandages. I averted my eyes from the scene of his graying face and limp form, feeling a great sense of shame that we had failed to protect him, even as we had stood beside him.


    Martin looked up at me, his eyes empty of tears, though his face was quite puffy from what I could only assume was hours of crying. ¡°We tried our best, did we not?¡± he said to me in a quiet, broken voice.


    ¡°That we did, Wizard,¡± I said just as gently in return.


    A look of surprise, twinged with a bit of confusion, crossed his face. ¡°Eliana,¡± he said, as if I were a revelation.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    He let out a bitter laugh, startling me. ¡°Of course.¡±


    It feels like I¡¯ve been the one stabbed. Guilt. He doesn¡¯t want to talk to Eliana. He wants to talk to me.


    ¡°Can magic not do more to heal your dear friend?¡± I asked. I sat down in the chair beside Martin, which seemed to surprise him further.


    ¡°These wounds are beyond magic. Should he heal a bit more, magic could then assist in the process. But his condition has to improve a bit more first, otherwise the body may be healed but the mind may not return.¡±


    I nodded quietly, my head lowered. ¡°I have failed you both. I am not fit to be queen.¡±


    I felt his eyes upon me, but then his next words left me most perplexed. ¡°What we really need . . . is a pineapple.¡±


    A . . . what?


    ¡°Ah, fuck.¡± Our codeword from before. I¡¯d nearly forgotten about it. He wants me to stop reading and start dreaming. I climb into bed and put the book on my lap. To do what, Martin? I can¡¯t save Iliyan. I can¡¯t save you. And I sure as hell can¡¯t do anything to make Alvione better. Sure, not all the elves had died, but I can¡¯t imagine killing a human guard to save a few elves is going to look good politically to the people of Alvione. They¡¯re clearly racist against magic users. And I can¡¯t help but feel that things will only get worse.


    ¡°I¡¯m quite sorry,¡± I said. ¡°Is that an item of healing magic? I have not heard such a word before.¡±


    Martin gritted his teeth, his eyes returning to the sight of his friend, who I now realized must surely be dying. The elf had been impaled by a long sword, and for most that I had known, this had been a death sentence. Martin continued in his speech, undeterred by my words, almost as if he had not heard them spoken at all. ¡°I said I could really use a pineapple.¡±


    I huff aloud and look up at the ceiling. ¡°Fucking hell. Fine, you little shit.¡± I slam the book shut and put it down on the side table. After I turn out the light, I snuggle into bed, glaring at no one in particular. I¡¯m still jittery from coffee, so I won¡¯t be falling asleep for a while. Or so I think, because the next thing I know . . .


    I¡¯m staring Martin right in the eye. When my face contorts into a pissed-off scowl, he returns it with fervor.


    ¡°You abandoned me,¡± he hisses quietly.


    ¡°At least act happy that your beloved pineapple is here.¡± It¡¯s not a nice thing to say to a guy still holding the hand of his dying ex-boyfriend, but I¡¯m not feeling particularly nice.


    ¡°Far from beloved. But at least we can speak freely without me having to feign ignorance in front of the sweet, foolish queen.¡± He turns back to Iliyan. His voice wavers as he says, ¡°Is it cruel to say I would have preferred if one of the others had been the one struck instead?¡±


    I follow his gaze to Iliyan and feel my stomach turn. The guy is half-dead. I don¡¯t have to be a doctor to know that.


    ¡°Could he have survived this injury in your world?¡± Martin asks.


    My heart clenches at his words, at the mix of hopefulness and hopelessness in this voice. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    Martin stares at Iliyan with an empty look in his eye. ¡°I see.¡± After a moment, he takes a breath and looks up at me. His lip doesn¡¯t quiver and his gaze is steady. I¡¯m not sure if he¡¯s trying to be strong or if he just is. ¡°I believe Peter Ward and Leon Viridia are still somewhere within our walls. This is a good opportunity for you to improve Alvione¡¯s relations with their kingdoms. There¡¯s nothing for you to do here. You should go to them and see what you can do. The world cannot stop because one man is dying.¡±


    ¡°What about . . . the guards who did this? The other elves?¡±


    Martin shakes his head. ¡°Do not tell me you wish to play interrogator and diplomat to the elves as well. Your other advisors are taking care of it.¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I meet them?¡±


    ¡°Eliana has already met them,¡± he snaps, getting irritated again. ¡°It would be quite strange for you to ask for introductions and too risky to talk to them given how much they know about you and how little you likely know about them.¡±


    He¡¯s right. The book never named the advisors. They weren¡¯t interesting or important characters in Eliana¡¯s story, though they should have been, given that they¡¯d basically run the country while she¡¯d flounced around with her two men.


    ¡°What about addressing the people? I¡¯m sure there are rumors of what happened going around.¡±


    Martin slams his hand down on the arm of his chair and rises, letting go of Iliyan in the process. Iliyan¡¯s hand falls limply to the side. Some of the nurses and healers jump at the sound, a few scattering from the room to give us privacy, while the others look over curiously. The ones who stay busy themselves with menial tasks, pretending they aren¡¯t being totally fucking nosy right now. But Martin is glaring at me, and I can¡¯t focus on anything else. ¡°Please be intelligent,¡± he says in a low, even voice. ¡°There is nothing you can do here to help. Do not take my words as an attack, but understand that we must keep moving forward with what we have discussed and that you are not wanted here in this room.¡±


    ¡°Liar,¡± I hear myself whisper. I take a step toward him, feeling indignant. ¡°You called for me. More than once. Why? Just to send me off on a little mission? Just to tell me to leave?¡±


    His steely expression gives way to a look of defeat and . . . fear? Hurt? I¡¯m not sure. It¡¯s clear that a mass of mixed emotions are stirring within him, bobbing to the surface at a whim. ¡°I do not know,¡± he says softly, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. ¡°I just . . . I think I wished . . . you had not left me here alone.¡±


    His words are like a blade to my heart. Loneliness. I know what it feels like. Doesn¡¯t everyone? So why does it feel so much worse right now, just hearing him admit it aloud? ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whisper. I¡¯m a coward. I reach out and pull him toward me, holding him tight as I wrap my arms around him, hugging him close.


    At first I think I¡¯ve made a mistake. He doesn¡¯t hug me back, his arms hanging down by his sides. But when I feel his body shuddering with broken sobs, I know I haven¡¯t crossed a line¡ªat least, not a bad one. Things do feel different now, and I realize that I don¡¯t want to ever let him down again.

 Chapter 8: The Prince of Viridia

    I¡¯m in the hall outside the infirmary when I spot that maid I talked to before.


    ¡°You,¡± I call out to her. She looks up at me, then behind her, then back at me again. She scurries over obediently. Her dark hair is tied back in a bun, just like before, her freckles resting like dark stars atop a sea of blush.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± she says formally, bowing.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Leon?¡±


    She looks up at me in surprise. ¡°I am not sure, Your Majesty. Would you like me to look for him?¡±


    Oh, yeah. The last time I talked to her, I asked her about Leon. She probably thinks I think she¡¯s Leon¡¯s maid or something. Because it is kind of weird to ask her about him twice.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°. . . Miriam.¡±


    ¡°Miriam?¡± Old lady ass name, I think to myself, before I remember that I knew a girl in high school named Miriam. A really annoying girl, actually. ¡°You have a nickname?¡±


    She blinks up at me and nods hesitantly. ¡°Miri.¡±


    ¡°Miri, can you ask around and figure out where Leon is staying? I assume he¡¯s been given a room here. And that he hasn¡¯t left yet. Though he might have. Any bit of information helps.¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course.¡± She bows again, then runs off. She looks about my age. I wonder if she¡¯s bitter at all that someone not so different from her is now queen. I¡¯d definitely be bitter if I were her.


    As I wait for her return, I catch sight of a flash of gold. No shot. Leon is walking down the hall, his nose buried in a book. He¡¯s coming from the opposite end that Miri went down, so I guess she¡¯ll be off on a wild goose chase for a while.


    ¡°Prince Leon,¡± I say loud enough for him to hear. He peeks over his book at me, and his eyes crinkle with what must be a smile, hidden still behind the pages of his novel. He approaches me with an elegant stride, his black boots thudding softly against the tile.


    ¡°Queen Eliana. I have heard talk that you were at the scene of a most violent crime this morning.¡± He reaches out and takes my hand, then presses a soft kiss to the back of it. I feel my face flushing hotly. Okay, don¡¯t be a total helpless idiot in front of this guy. Be professional. ¡°Are you unharmed?¡± He nods to the infirmary. ¡°Or are you here for care?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I was not the target of the attack.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯ve heard.¡± His face grows solemn, and he speaks quietly to me now. ¡°It might be best that we discuss these things away from prying ears.¡± He releases my hand and motions for me to walk beside him. ¡°I must return this book to your library, so I suppose there is no better place to chat.¡± He gives me a small, teasing smile. ¡°It¡¯s quite empty of people in there. Do you enjoy reading?¡±


    ¡°Not as much as I used to,¡± I grunt. I follow him down a series of hallways and stairs, feeling totally lost by the time we get to the library. He opens the door for me and I fight the urge to look surprised at the sight of the Alvione castle library. It¡¯s bigger than I¡¯d expected, given the apparent idiocy of the past two kings. Though maybe I¡¯m just being harsh. The bookshelves rise up two floors to meet the high ceiling. A tall ladder sits in each corner, hooked onto the shelves to remain steady, and there are empty tables with unlit candles, painted in bright streams of light that shine through large, clear windows all along the back wall. Leon approaches the nearest table and pulls out a chair, then looks at me expectantly.


    Oh, right. I shuffle over awkwardly and sit down, feeling out of place as he pushes the chair in. He sits across from me and sets his book down between us. I don¡¯t recognize the title of it¡ªI mean, why would I?¡ªbut it isn¡¯t a novel at all. It seems to be about some sort of technical magic.


    ¡°Do you practice magic?¡± I ask him, knowing full well that he doesn¡¯t¡ªor at least he didn¡¯t in the original book.


    He laughs quietly. ¡°No, I was not blessed with the gifts.¡±


    ¡°Blessed? Many here would call it more of a curse.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, magic is quite hated in Alvione. It¡¯s understandable, given the history. But Viridia has always welcomed magic into its halls. We accept the risks and benefit from the rewards.¡±


    The history? The Tales of Alvione is vague on why Alvione and Ward detest magic, despite both having respective allegiances with elves and orcs. Maybe fifteen years prior, when Eliana was young, there were ¡°witch hunts¡± for mages, elves, sorcerers, orcs, and hedgewitches among the common people, but they were on their way out at that point. From what I can remember . . . perhaps twenty years ago and even further back, humans clashed often with magic users in unnamed wars, most stemming from the actions of the fey, who¡¯d since retreated to their homeworld and left the others like them to fend for themselves. The fey were the most powerful foes, and yet they had given up without so much as a clear explanation why.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Viridia once worked with the fey,¡± I say aloud as some vague memories of the lore come back to me.


    Leon nods solemnly. ¡°Yes. It was a bit surprising to my father how quickly the other nations forgave our past alliances.¡± He reaches out toward me, and I freeze. I feel his fingers in my hair, brushing gently against my scalp. When he draws his hand back, he¡¯s holding a leaf, his fingertips grayed with dirt and dust.


    Am I . . . filthy? Why the hell didn¡¯t Martin say anything?


    He gives me a small smile, then flicks the leaf away. ¡°My apologies. It was distracting me. You say you were not the target of the attack, but it seems you did not get away unscathed,¡± he teases.


    My face feels hot again, and I know I¡¯m probably cherry red right now. ¡°You should see the other guy,¡± I joke weakly.


    His laugh is surprisingly loud, clear and warm, perfect like a super hero¡¯s. Guess he hasn¡¯t heard that one before. ¡°You are so different than I expected you to be.¡± His grin settles down into a charming smile, and he continues, ¡°I had thought you would be much more . . . intimidated by your new standing in life. You are a bit unusual. But the more I learn about you, the more complicated I see that you are.¡± He runs his fingers across his chin thoughtfully. ¡°When we first met, I thought perhaps you were pursuing me in order to cement your standing. That you wanted someone to guide your hand.¡± Oh, great. Bring up that mortifying moment. I feel unbearably warm under his kind gaze. ¡°Now, however, I see that you are quite the spitfire. You involve yourself in dangerous situations and come out with your humor still in tact. It seems you are who you are, all the time, most honestly, whoever that may be.¡± He leans in closer, studying me seriously. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminates his face in a way that seems to make him glow, revealing the depths to the color of his eyes and transforming them from a simple brown into a blend of maroon and amber. ¡°You know things about me, or so you claimed. Could it be true that you were already in love with me before we met¡ªbefore you took the crown?¡±


    My mind and body are screaming YES! but last time I tried to be bold with him, I totally bombed. I¡¯ll have to make something up. Something . . . believable. ¡°I . . .¡± I trail off, lost in his eyes as they search mine curiously, almost hopefully, with a glint of cheekiness. ¡°I saw you once from afar and was quite taken with you. Before I was queen. I learned of who you were from the others who had come to see your arrival, and I heard many praises of your kind nature and intelligence.¡± I pause dramatically, hoping my story is selling itself. His expression is impossible to read, as if he too is trying to decide whether or not he believes me. ¡°But love is not simply born from a glance and rumors. I am not the type to give my heart away so easily.¡± LIE. LIE LIE LIE. But he doesn¡¯t know that, right?


    At last, he frees me from his gaze and leans back in his chair, chuckling. He looks up at the ceiling, an absentminded smile on his face. ¡°I cannot tell if you are more wise or clever. Just as I cannot tell if you will be a strong or conniving leader. I hope you are the former.¡± His eyes return to mine, and he directs an easygoing smile at me. At the very least, I feel assured that he doesn¡¯t resent my company. Even if he doesn¡¯t trust me quite yet, at least I¡¯m not boring him. We¡¯ll take it. But then the playfulness fades from his face, and he grows serious once more. His voice is low and thoughtful as he says, ¡°Your people are talking. About the guard that attacked the elf. I heard whispers of it from the servants as I explored the garden.¡± He tilts his head at me, his dark eyes boring steadily into mine. ¡°What will you do next, Queen Eliana?¡±


    And that¡¯s how I find myself on the castle balcony that overlooks the bailey. I¡¯m low enough to be heard by the people gathered below if I shout. So I guess I¡¯ll be shouting. I¡¯d run into Miri, who was huffing and puffing in her fruitless search for Leon, and gave her a new mission: bring me to my advisors. I met them for the first time¡ªthe roundtable of old, white-haired men¡ªand pretended as though I¡¯d seen them at least once before. I announced my plans and, after some disagreement, they eventually relented and did the rest. The people had been gathered by word of mouth for my unexpected speech. Miri had quickly cleaned me up before my grand entrance and some other maid had come stumbling in with my crown.


    It¡¯s now or never. As I see the last few families trickling in, their curious faces shining up at me, I open my mouth to speak, then pause. Peter and Leon are there, in the back, talking quietly as they fill a small alcove with their broad frames. And worse yet, I see Martin running out one of the doors and looking up at me with a face that I can only assume is exasperated from this distance. He motions vaguely at me, shaking his head and waving his hands about as if to say, What the fuck! I look away from him and back at the people.


    ¡°For those who do not know, I am Queen Eliana of Alvione. I have come to address you directly as I presume many of you have now heard about the attack at the castle gates,¡± I shout. There are some murmurs, but the crowd mostly stays quiet. ¡°I have come to dispel rumors and spread the truth to my people. I have long been a citizen of Alvione, just like all of you. And I believe my people deserve to know fact from fiction, as well as where I stand.


    ¡°At the break of dawn this morning, the two guards at the gates of this very castle acted in accordance with their own personal beliefs¡ªand not the beliefs of this kingdom. Before my very eyes, they struck down an elf from a traveling caravan, who posed no threat, and one of them was killed in response by my own personal guards.


    ¡°I value the lives of my guards and the safety of my people. But most of all, I believe in the preservation of life. Elves are not human, and I won¡¯t pretend they are. But they are still people who live, who breathe, who have families, and who wish to live. To end the life of a person is to give up your own life in response. Killing innocent people will not be tolerated, no matter how they appear or what their standing is in Alvione. Murder makes all victims equal. And I will not allow this kingdom to be one in which people¡¯s lives are given unequal value.


    ¡°If you hate elves, I cannot stop the feelings that you have. But if you kill another person¡ªelf, orc, human, or otherwise¡ªyou will be prosecuted accordingly. Know that the deaths of all people, whether they be your brother, your mother, your child, or a complete stranger, will be treated with equal importance under my rule.


    ¡°I stand with you. I hope you will stand with me too. A united Alvione that believes in the sanctity of life is an Alvione that will flourish and prevail. Long live the people.¡±


    I step back into the castle and let out the full body shiver I¡¯d been fighting back. God, I hate public speaking. And I am not a politician. Fuck. ¡°That was amazing,¡± Miri says with bright eyes, startling me as I realize I¡¯m not alone but surrounded by my nervous looking maids and the unhappy council of advisors. ¡°You were so inspiring!¡± Yes, well, you probably would think that. But I doubt these old men found this particularly inspiring.


    Feeling dizzy, I brush past them all and head down the spiral staircase to the hallway that will eventually lead me back to my room. I have no idea if what I just did was good, pointless, or completely fucked. But . . . at least I did something. When I see the figure of a man waiting for me outside my door, I assume it¡¯s Martin, here to berate me for being reckless again.


    ¡°Come to call me a stupid little¡ª¡± The words die in my mouth as I realize it¡¯s not Martin standing there, but Peter.


    He turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised. ¡°Well,¡± he says with a dark smile plastered across his face like he¡¯s some kind of movie villain. ¡°Aren¡¯t you full of surprises?¡±

 Chapter 9: The Prince of Ward

    Before I have a chance to talk to Peter, though, I wake up. I don¡¯t just wake up like usual, though¡ªI wake up with tears streaming down my cheeks.


    So seeing a guy die won¡¯t make me cry but talking in front of a group of people will? To be fair to myself, though, this might be more cumulative stress than anything. I feel exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. My mind is struggling to compute much of anything, and I don¡¯t feel like I have it in me to get out of bed just yet. Another five minutes . . . which turns into another five hours . . . which turns into me laying down until I get hungry or have to pee.


    At least I don¡¯t have work today.


    I decide to be brave and read the Wiki. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m about to hurt my own feelings, but I can¡¯t stop thinking about everything that¡¯s transpired so far, and I¡¯m nervous to jump back into a conversation with Peter about what I¡¯m sure will be my little speech.


    The Wiki is largely unhelpful, as it always is, and I have to dig around for certain key things like the ¡°Alvione politics¡± page to get any sort of answers. It seems the people¡¯s response to my speech was a mixture of denial and acceptance, which I suppose I could¡¯ve guessed from the way Miri and my advisors had reacted¡ªor, rather, from the looks on their faces, since I¡¯d basically fled further accountability right away. The main storyline remains unchanged. When I never return to Alvione (which seems to be the recurring theme of the story whenever I read the damn Wiki), Martin falls into despair regarding the progress of the nation and wastes time trying to get to me, to my world, before he ultimately dies. Yada yada.


    God damn it, Martin, you single-minded idiot.


    Eliana, another single-minded idiot, fails to have the iron hold on her nation that a queen in a medieval fantasy world should, and Alvione falls to ruin, burned to ash by the kingdom of Ward. Peter and Leon, to my credit, seem to be much more interested in me than Eliana, which would feel like a compliment if it didn¡¯t mean that I¡¯d have to keep going back into the story to entertain them, because clearly Eliana¡¯s demure charms start to come off as weird after they¡¯ve gotten to know me¡ªthe so-called ¡°spitfire¡± (though I doubt anyone in my real life would call me that).


    Though, I wouldn¡¯t know how not to go back into the story at this point without reading ahead. And . . . would that mean I¡¯d have to read all three books in the series? Because there¡¯s no way I¡¯m reading three books in a series without falling asleep at least a few times. I¡¯m not some kind of speedreading legend. Or maybe I could just skip to the last page of the last book and read that?


    It sounds like a viable option.


    I love that it does, and I hate it too. I didn¡¯t ask for this. And I can give up whenever I want. But the thought of Martin searching for me endlessly, Alvione burning, and Eliana doing nothing of use is all pretty unsettling.


    I¡¯ll keep my options open for now. I can quit when I want. But I won¡¯t quit yet. I¡¯m not that much of a pussy.


    It takes a day of getting groceries and laying out in the sun at the park before I finally find myself falling asleep again. In the grass in a public area, no less. It doesn¡¯t matter though, as I find myself once again looking up at Peter.


    But something has changed.


    I¡¯m in my bedroom now¡ªEliana¡¯s bedroom, I mean¡ªlaying atop the lush blankets and furs and staring up at Peter¡¯s face, which interestingly, is colored with concern.


    I sit up with no difficulty, though my head and arms throb slightly from the effort, giving off a muted kind of pain. ¡°What am I doing here?¡± I look around, then at Peter, and joke, ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be in my room with me. It¡¯s not decent.¡±


    He rolls his eyes and steps back, crossing his arms. ¡°You fainted. And you were quite far from me, so I failed to catch you. You¡¯re lucky you didn¡¯t come to more harm than you did. You landed rather ungracefully, but fortunately, you mostly just crumpled from the top down, so at least you did not fall flat upon your face and smash up your lovely features.¡± The smile he gives me is weak. It seems the whole ordeal kind of freaked him out. He seems . . . tense. ¡°Perhaps speeches are too much for the little queen to handle,¡± he adds dryly, clearly trying to maintain his air of I-don¡¯t-give-a-fuck.


    I study him for a moment. There¡¯s something that¡¯s been bothering me about Peter¡¯s presence for a while now. And it¡¯s all beginning to bubble to the surface. ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    A flicker of surprise crosses his face before he hides it. ¡°Whatever do you mean?¡±


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    ¡°Why are you in my castle? Why did you arrive with no announcement? How come none of my guards told me that you¡¯d come here? It wasn¡¯t for my coronation; I don¡¯t believe that for a second. So tell me the truth. Why are you here at all?¡±


    It was a question I hadn¡¯t given much thought to until now, but it is bizarre. Eliana meets Peter at Alvione¡¯s yearly summer solstice festival, and that shouldn¡¯t be for several more weeks. Me coming into the story should not have motivated him to arrive earlier, which must mean that he¡¯s been here all along¡ªand that Eliana just never met him. He¡¯d been hiding from her. Why?


    He shrugs and dodges the question. ¡°I was curious about the forgotten child of the late King Richard. Many were. I am not the only noble who walks your halls. Leon Viridia is here as well, in case you hadn¡¯t realized. Though, from what he¡¯s told me, you¡¯re quite aware of his presence.¡±


    Is he teasing me? I don¡¯t really care. I ignore the jab. ¡°But the kingdom of Viridia is an ally. And Leon came for my coronation. In fact, he was late, because of a storm. Viridia and Ward follow the same road to the castle, but he didn¡¯t mention seeing you. Does that mean that you¡¯ve been here longer? Could you have been here . . . for weeks? And your boots. When I first met you, they were muddied, but from what? Even when it rains, the castle doesn¡¯t muddy to that extent. Which means you must have been going in and out of the castle walls while you¡¯ve been staying here. What for?¡± I straighten up, feeling like a real CSI-level, kickass detective. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be here at all.¡±


    So I may have made a bit of that up. But if I can make him feel like I¡¯m seeing right through him, then won¡¯t he have to admit something?


    Unfortunately for me, Peter¡¯s expression doesn¡¯t change. He seems both unsurprised and unentertained by my analysis, which is a little bit insulting, because I feel like I was kind of doing something cool just now. His dark eyes hold mine, unflinching. ¡°Are you suspicious of me?¡± He pauses. ¡°And the castle grounds do muddy. I have not left them since my arrival.¡±


    Okay, maybe he¡¯s right about that, but he¡¯s still acting weird as fuck! What happens next in the story? I wrack my brain. After the elven caravan is . . . the orc invasion. One of the bridges across the moat breaks, preventing the people from more easily escaping the attack and alerting the nearby villages for assistance. The slaughter is immense, and though the humans of Alvione come out on top, due to having the home field advantage, many die. And while it can be assumed that Ward was aware of this orc attack or maybe even orchestrated it, in the book, they never admit to it, claiming it was perpetrated by a rogue tribe. Could it be . . . that he . . . no, there¡¯s no way, right? ¡°You would¡¯ve told her,¡± I murmur, mostly to myself. Peter married Eliana. He loved her in the original story. Surely he wouldn¡¯t have kept secret his involvement in the slaughter of her people. Unless he thought . . . he would lose her. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell her?¡±


    Peter studies me, his eyes trailing across my face, searching for clarity. ¡°You must have injured your head worse than I¡¯d initially thought.¡± He reaches out and takes my face in his calloused hands, gently turning it from side to side to search for injuries. I let him, too focused on my thoughts to even recognize what¡¯s happening.


    ¡°You break the bridge, don¡¯t you? To ensure the success of the orc attack.¡±


    Peter freezes, and it¡¯s all I need to know that I¡¯m right. Then he continues to check me for injuries, his hands a bit more rough now. He lets out a frustrated little noise and says, ¡°There won¡¯t be an orc attack.¡± He releases my cheeks and grabs my chin, his other hand going through my hair, feeling for bumps. ¡°If you agree to merge your kingdom with Ward.¡±


    ¡°So . . . I¡¯m right.¡±


    With a grip that tightens, he turns my face to his, forcing me to look at him. It almost looks like he¡¯s . . . pleading with me. Trying to be tough, to be menacing, and suddenly failing. He¡¯s a mouse in a trap. My trap. ¡°What are you really?¡± he growls quietly, his hand sliding down to my neck. Wrong! All wrong! I¡¯m a mouse in his trap. And I just gave him a reason to get rid of me.


    Shit. Is Peter Ward about to kill me?


    ¡°A sorceress queen is better dead,¡± he whispers. His eyes search mine worriedly as he seems to realize what he thinks he needs to do. Though he looks conflicted, I¡¯m sure he won¡¯t hesitate to kill me if he believes he should. If he believes it¡¯s what his father will want. If he believes it¡¯s what will keep him out of trouble and put him back in that vile man¡¯s good graces.


    It would not be the first time the prince of Ward had dirtied his hands. And I don¡¯t know what to say back to him, the feeling of his hand on my neck making me freeze like a rabbit. Peter¡¯s brows are lifted in a way that makes him seem more afraid than angry. Worried. Guilty. His eyes seem empty with what I can only describe as a look of total hopelessness. He¡¯s resigned himself to having to kill me. That¡¯s what that look says.


    Still, it¡¯s hard to care how bad he feels about this, given that he seems to be going through with it anyway. No way I¡¯m about to get Eliana offed . . . Wait, if I die in the book, will I die in real life? I gasp for air and¡ªactually, I can still breathe. He''s not squeezing at all. He''s kind of just holding me there, and I get the feeling that he can''t do it. Just as I start to give him a confused look that says, You gonna do this thing or what? a familiar voice cuts in¡ª


    ¡°She¡¯s from the future.¡±


    Peter¡¯s hand falls away as his head whips around to face Martin, who¡¯s standing in the doorway, his eyes and palms flickering with flames. His green eyes look almost red from the magic fire that rages within them, his body tense and ready to pounce. I blink at Martin in surprise. Damn. Didn''t know he had that in him. As he catches my gaze, Martin¡¯s expression softens, and his flames fade slightly.


    ¡°I just came to tell you . . . Iliyan is dead.¡±

 Chapter 10: The Truth

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say softly.


    At the same time, Peter says, ¡°The future?¡± in a disbelieving voice.


    I smack him lightly, as if we¡¯re friends, though we¡¯re definitely not friends right now. He lets out an annoyed grunt, refusing to look at me. Out of shame, probably. Good.


    Still, the fact that he didn¡¯t have it in him to kill me makes it a bit hard to decide how to feel about him right now. I¡¯m a little jittery, sure¡ªokay, full on adrenaline rush, to be honest¡ªbut I can¡¯t help but think, pussy ass bitch, and also thank god he¡¯s a pussy ass bitch.


    (I should probably stop treating Eliana¡¯s life like she¡¯s a player character in a game I can log out of, considering I log in against my will every time I fall asleep.) Now that I¡¯m definitely not about to be killed, though, I can¡¯t help but feel a flurry of conflicting emotions.


    Because, if he had killed me, would that have been my out? Would that put an end to these dreams?


    As I look at Martin, and as he looks at me, I feel a surge of guilt. A reminder that he needs me, and I can¡¯t just abandon him . . . can I?


    Martin then rushes to my side so quickly it startles me. He runs his hand over my neck, making me jump. Can bitches stop touching my neck?! ¡°Are you alright?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Oh, ha, yeah,¡± I say awkwardly. ¡°He pussied out.¡±


    Peter and Martin both look at me with tilted heads.


    ¡°¡®Pussied¡¯?¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    I blink, still coming down from my adrenaline high. I¡¯m surrounded by idiots. No, I¡¯m the idiot. ¡°He didn¡¯t actually do anything,¡± I explain.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Peter scoffs, looking away again. The hand he¡¯d used to grab me is shaking, and he shoves it in his pocket. He¡¯s sweating, I realize, the beads stippling across his forehead in an erratic pattern. His arms are covered in goosebumps, and I can see his hand still trembling in his pocket. If you¡¯d have asked anyone now, they¡¯d think I was the one holding his neck like I was about to crush it into smithereens.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie for him,¡± Martin scolds, still looking over me worriedly and checking my neck and face like he¡¯s a doctor or something.


    ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not.¡±


    I glare at Peter. ¡°You are not helping.¡±


    He shuts up like a good boy.


    Martin brushes the hair from my forehead to check there as well, and I flush at the strange intimacy of the act. But right as I¡¯m about to push his hand away, I remember that his friend just died, and he¡¯s probably scared of losing another so soon after. Because we are friends. Aren¡¯t we? I let him keep inspecting me, if only for his own reassurance.


    Then Peter breaks the silence. Still looking away, he says quietly, ¡°Tell me everything.¡±


    Martin¡¯s eyes meet mine, and his hand stills. He draws it back but holds my gaze, his brows furrowed and mouth pressed into a thin line. It¡¯s clear he¡¯d told Peter I was ¡°from the future¡± in the hopes of distracting him from popping me like a grape, because that obviously is not the best way to describe my situation and not something I think either of us was ever planning on telling him. But what can we do now? Say we were just kidding? And will telling Peter the truth protect or harm Alvione?


    ¡°Uh . . .¡± I look over at Peter, but I can¡¯t see his expression from here. His dark hair covers his right eye, and his face is turned so far from mine that I can only see the slightest downward turn of his lips. Can¡¯t tell what he¡¯s thinking. ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡±


    Then Peter surprises me. His voice is low and clear as he says, ¡°I arrived at the end of King Roburn¡¯s rule, before you were announced as his successor. There were rumors that Roburn was sick and would not be around for much longer. My father wanted confirmation of these things, and he sent me, as I would not be missed in Ward. I¡¯ve been communicating with him via a courier, passing messages to him through a small gap along the castle wall. I remove two stone bricks and insert my letter, then he removes two stone bricks from the other side to get to it. Upon the announcement of your impending leadership, I was meant to assess your strength and test it. I planned to chain closed the latch on the northern bridge in the night, and call upon some orc allies in the south¡ªbut I have told no one of this plan, not even my father, per his specific instructions. Such things cannot be safely written in any letter. They must simply be decided upon and executed. I had decided to leave upon the orcs¡¯ arrival, ensuring none would have known of my time here at all. These plans, however, were paused upon what I¡¯d heard of your coronation from those in attendance. Your strange behavior. I thought perhaps you would destroy Alvione all on your own, without any need for my own interference. It made me . . . curious. When we first met, I felt that all of your strangeness had been confirmed, and I found myself desiring to see what you would do next. Your speech today surprised me. You made claims far grander than I would have expected and proved yourself even more strange than I had already believed you to be. But if it is true, that you are from another time, then I doubt anything I could do to aid Ward would escape your knowledge, and I am therefore stuck within these walls with no way to return home. For, you see, I am not permitted to return until Alvione has been weakened, lest I wish to return a further disgrace. Though I am sure you have already guessed such things, given your awareness of my plans. I am not my father¡¯s favorite child, and he has many heirs to choose from. Older ones. Smarter ones. Crueler ones. . . . Less expendable ones.¡± He looks up at me at last with an expression that has darkened with a blend of doubt and frustration. ¡°Now I have told you everything. Will you do the same for me?¡±


    As I open my mouth, I feel Martin¡¯s hand on my thigh. I glance at him, already knowing what he¡¯s thinking by the smallest shake of his head. You don¡¯t have to tell him anything. But I find myself wanting to. If Eliana could turn Peter¡¯s heart, then I could surely turn him as a spy, right? I can tell from the worried look on Martin¡¯s face that he¡¯s thinking the same thing¡ªweighing the benefits to Alvione if I am to tell Peter everything about my situation.


    ¡°Swear loyalty to Alvione,¡± I say. ¡°And you will know my secrets. But I won¡¯t leave you unwatched, considering what you¡¯ve admitted to already. If you¡¯ve lied to me, and your orc friends are already on their way, then you will burn with us within these castle walls.¡± He lets out an annoyed sigh, but I continue. ¡°You said it yourself. Your father will not come to save you, nor does he seem to care what happens to you. But here . . . you could have value. A life worth living. I meant what I said to the people. Everyone¡¯s lives will be equal here. It¡¯s the only promise I¡¯ve made so far, and the most important one I wish to keep. What do you say?¡±


    Peter runs his hand through his hair, his visible eye distant as he seems to ponder my words. ¡°Make me an advisor,¡± he says finally.


    ¡°What? You¡¯re only twenty-one,¡± I sputter stupidly before I can stop myself. ¡°The advisors are all old people.¡±


    ¡°Your wizard is only twenty-four,¡± Peter says pointedly, shooting Martin a dark look.


    My head whips around to look at Martin, the streaks of gray in his hair, and the lines that have begun making permanent wrinkles around his mouth and between his brows. ¡°You¡¯re twenty-four? You look old as fuck.¡±


    He scowls, rubbing his chin as an embarrassed flush of pink colors his cheeks. ¡°Focus, Rose.¡±


    If that¡¯s what stress does to a person, I¡¯m gonna wake up an old woman after this.


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    ¡°Fine,¡± I say, to Peter this time. ¡°You¡¯re an advisor.¡±


    ¡°Rose?¡± is all Peter says, as if he¡¯s trying out the word for the first time. It feels weird to hear Peter Ward say my real name for the first time. Weird for him to know it at all. He shakes his head. ¡°Your secrets are much more vast, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re vast all right.¡±


    I tell him everything. Everything so far. He gives me almost no reaction as I recount the story of my life, The Tales of Alvione, and his intended future with Eliana. Once or twice he rubs his temple as if to stave off an impending headache, but he never interrupts or makes any comments. He just listens quietly. Beside me, Martin¡¯s leg bounces nervously throughout my story, only stilling when I put my hand on his knee and give him a small reassuring smile, which he rolls his eyes at. I skip some parts that I¡¯m not sure matter¡ªlike Martin and I¡¯s embarrassing codeword¡ªand stick to the bare essentials. When I finally finish, the room falls into a long silence, marked only by the occasional chatter of birds outside the window and the scuttling footsteps of servants outside the door.


    After processing it all, Peter looks up at me, his face a series of serious lines, with none of the playfulness I¡¯d associated him with when reading the book. ¡°In another life . . . we marry?¡±


    ¡°That is your focus?¡± Martin snaps, an irritated look flashing across his face. I pat his leg and he shuts up, still glaring, but at me now.


    ¡°Well, not me. Eliana.¡±


    ¡°Certainly not you,¡± Peter mutters.


    I pout. ¡°No need to be rude.¡± I slide off the bed, leaving them both sitting there, and stand before Peter. He looks up at me, his eyes traveling up and down my form as if trying to decide if he believes me that this is the person he might have married. Of everything I¡¯ve said, I¡¯m also surprised that this seems to be the part he¡¯s the most hung up on. ¡°Will you tell your father what I¡¯ve told you?¡±


    His eyes widen slightly, and he shakes his head, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. ¡°And look even more deranged in his eyes? No. Not in this lifetime. Plus, I am one of your advisors now, am I not?¡± His lip curls in an attempt at a smile, but it does not even sort of reach his eyes, which are still marked with uncertainty. At least he¡¯s looking at me. And listening.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want war with Ward. All I want is for Alvione not to burn. And . . .¡± to not let anyone down.


    The words die in my throat before I can say them. Why do I care? Why do I find myself caring more for the people in my dreams than I seem to even care about my life outside of them? Because this is my favorite book? Because I love these characters? Because I thought it would be fun to meet Leon ¡°in real life¡± and try my hand at dating him? It all sounds ridiculous in my head and would sound even more ridiculous out loud. None of this matters at all.


    So why do I care so much about doing a good job?


    Peter does not seem to notice that I¡¯ve trailed off, his mind likely still reeling from everything I¡¯ve told him. But Martin does, and I can feel his gaze leaving my face to look out the window. The sun brightens his side profile, the sky adding a soft blue to the lighter colors in his eyes. Peter isn¡¯t the only one who doubts me; Martin does too. He knows I might leave whenever I want. That, for a few minutes, I did abandon him. That I could do it again for longer, for forever.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to keep communicating with the courier,¡± Peter says, cutting through my thoughts. ¡°To prevent suspicion. We can work together on what I send back to Ward.¡±


    I nod numbly. It¡¯s starting to hit me now¡ªthat I have a new potential ally, but they¡¯re not someone I can trust completely. That my role as queen is starting to get more complicated very quickly, but more so that my role as myself in this world is becoming complex as well. I¡¯ve promised to care for the lives of my people, which I realize now means I¡¯ll likely need to set up a task force to deal with reported crimes in order to stay good on my word. And not just knights that roam and dispatch justice¡ªpossibly a whole legal system. Then there¡¯s the matter of Iliyan¡¯s and the guard¡¯s death to deal with, as well as the other elves in the caravan and the other guard, still likely being holed up somewhere within the walls. On top of that, I¡¯ll need to oversee Peter¡¯s communications with Ward to ensure that we¡¯re sending messages that don¡¯t indicate he¡¯s switched sides but that don¡¯t endanger us either. I¡¯ll have to check the bridge for any signs of tampering¡ªbecause I can¡¯t just take Peter at his word¡ªand stay prepared for an orc invasion that could still happen, though he¡¯s reassured me it hasn¡¯t been put in place yet. Regardless of whether or not he¡¯s been honest about that, it seems it must be true that there are Ward-loyal orcs camping south of us, meaning that they could strike at any time at his father¡¯s command if not his own.


    Just when I think I¡¯ve got all of the problems sorted out in my head, in a jumbled, fucked-up little to-do list, Peter says, ¡°Do you always faint in our world when you wake into your true world? Because that could be dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Faint?¡± Martin¡¯s body tenses. His eyes dart to mine. ¡°You fainted?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a no, then,¡± Peter says dryly. ¡°So, that is a new development then?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s to say why it happened,¡± I butt in quickly before Martin can start spiraling. ¡°It could just be a one-time thing.¡±


    Too late. Martin is spiraling. ¡°I¡¯ll need to run some tests. If we find Alistria, I might be able to get more answers. Perhaps traveling across worlds could cause some kind of sickness or weaken the body.¡±


    Peter¡¯s eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a startled laugh. ¡°You¡¯re looking for Alistria Okuta? I heard she isn¡¯t even real. Just a legend made up to scare people.¡±


    Scare people?


    ¡°I¡¯m certain she¡¯s real,¡± Martin says in a voice that doesn¡¯t sound certain at all.


    But before we can discuss things further, there¡¯s a knock at my door that has all three of us jumping. We share panicked glances, and I hear the unmistakable sound of Leon¡¯s voice through the door.


    ¡°Eliana? Are you there?¡±


    Martin¡¯s hand shoots out and grabs Peter¡¯s. In the split second before Martin teleports the both of them away, I watch Peter''s eyes narrow, then his eyebrows raise in a look that says both What the hell are you doing? and Well, hello.


    And then I¡¯m alone. I unsteadily rise and walk to the door. After a deep breath and an attempt to compose my face, which I¡¯m sure is swirling with more emotions than I¡¯d care to explain right now, I open the door and look up at Leon¡¯s soft smile.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± he says with the slight bow of his head.


    ¡°Your . . .¡± Wait, what are princes called again? Never mind. ¡°Hello again,¡± I correct myself weakly. Better to come off as awkward than get something obvious wrong.


    ¡°Your speech today was most brave. Bold too. Did you mean what you said?¡± His expression is warm, almost admiring, and my heart rate doubles in response.


    ¡°I often mean what I say.¡±


    He laughs. God, I forgot how nice his laugh is . . . And god, am I unfocused. I don¡¯t have time for you and your stupid charming face, Leon! ¡°That is a good quality in a leader.¡±


    We just look at each other for a moment, and I wonder if I¡¯m imagining that he seems a bit . . . nervous around me.


    The silence seems to make him feel awkward, because he suddenly adds, ¡°I cannot help but find myself quite impressed by you.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± I squeak shyly. Fuck, I¡¯m turning red again, aren¡¯t I? He probably thinks this is my natural color.


    He takes my hands in his, and I¡¯m so surprised by the action, I don¡¯t even have time to worry about how incredibly sweaty my palms probably are right now. ¡°I want to know more about you,¡± he says. His soft eyes search mine for reciprocation.


    Oh, is he . . . Wait, seriously? Am I . . . being courted by Leon Viridia right now? And why does that make me feel like I¡¯m going to have a panic attack?


    I know why. It¡¯s because I have shit to do. Important shit. More important than this. . . . But maybe I deserve a little treat too, right? A reward for caring so much about this place? My fingers find their way between his until they¡¯re intertwined. Now he¡¯s the one blushing. Omg, I¡¯m making Leon Viridia blush. A win is a win is a win is a . . .


    A thought enters my head, one that cuts through my giddy excitement and sours the nice fluttering in my chest, pinning the wings of the happy butterflies down.


    I can use this.


    No, no, no. I¡¯m becoming an actual fucking politician now. The guy I like likes me back, and I¡¯m thinking about how I can use that to my advantage. But the thought is too loud to be ignored, too important not for me to say it.


    ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± I say as shyly as possible. I¡¯m cute. I¡¯m curious. I¡¯m not manipulating him.


    ¡°Anything,¡± he chokes out. I blink in surprise. Damn, dude is this happy about just holding hands? It almost gives me the ick. But then I look at his pretty face and innocent smile and I¡¯m un-icked instantly. Well, I guess he¡¯s always been the perfect prince, so this might actually be his first time doing anything like this. It¡¯s sweet, actually.


    Doesn¡¯t matter right now though. Because I¡¯m killing the vibe. I steel myself for what I¡¯m about to do. I¡¯m killing the vibe I¡¯ve wanted since this whole thing started. And I¡¯m doing it for you, stupid, stupid Martin. And for you, annoying, stupid Alvione. I lean in and whisper, ¡°Viridia has always had a good relationship with those who use magic.¡± I pause and take a deep breath, ignoring the way Leon¡¯s head tilts cutely in obvious confusion at the sudden change in direction that the conversation has taken. ¡°Have you ever heard of Alistria Okuta?¡±

 Chapter 11: The Kiss

    ¡°Alistria Okuta?¡± He blinks. His grip on my hands loosens, and his small smile flattens out into tense, neutral expression. ¡°Why do you want to know?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been reading about her,¡± I babble. ¡°Found an old book that mentions her. It said she might have been from Viridia.¡±


    I¡¯m lying out of my ass so it¡¯s extra surprising to me when he lets out a low sigh and drops my hands, turning away as he says, ¡°It¡¯s true that she resided in Viridia for a time. She worked with my father. I, however, have never met her.¡±


    She¡¯s real. And someone¡¯s met her.


    That means she can be found.


    I need to tell Martin. We need to talk to the king of Viridia. What¡¯s his name again? Abe? I can¡¯t remember. But Martin will know. Peter probably would too. As my brain whirs with new info, I don¡¯t notice that he¡¯s returned to looking at me, suspicion written across his face.


    ¡°I was hoping to have a conversation with you that did not involve politics.¡±


    My eyes refocus, meeting his, and I shrink. Shit. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s not about politics. I was just curious. I really do like you, Leon. I want to know more about you too. I¡¯m sorry if I disappointed you.¡±


    I sound like a fucking middle schooler with a crush. Mentally, I smack myself in the head a few times. I¡¯m a piece of shit. Just as I¡¯m starting to pity every single person in politics¡ªincluding the assholes¡ªand including myself (another asshole), he brings me back to reality with another sigh. He runs his hand through his curls and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ¡°No, no. I should really . . . temper my expectations.¡± He quirks a weak, guilty smile at me, his dimples flashing cutely. ¡°I don¡¯t have much experience with . . . Well, perhaps I should admit that I have never expressed interest in anyone before. I suppose I found myself dreaming of a much simpler outcome. Perhaps I have read too many stories and forgot how reality is quite different from fiction.¡± He takes my hands again, this time with a very serious look on his face as he leans in and says earnestly, ¡°I have put pressure on you to do well in your role, and I should not judge you for wishing to know more about the political statuses of our nations. These things do have value, and you are wise to ask these questions before accepting my . . .¡± He pauses, taking a shaky breath. ¡°. . . my attempt at courtship.¡±


    Oh, shit! He really is courting me! My self-pity transforms into an explosion of totally-not-overblown confidence. Fuck yeah! I¡¯m amazing! I turned it around. I can do anything. This shit is easy. I¡ªwait, why is he still talking about politics? I quickly realize that I¡¯m smiling like an idiot and compose my face. Play hard to get, dummy. People love that. Oh, and also . . . ¡°The political statuses of our nations?¡±


    Leon squeezes my hands gently. His hands are soft and warm, not calloused and scarred like stupid Peter¡¯s. It feels so nice to hold hands with someone cute that I have to fight to keep my stupid grin from reappearing. His lips part in a warm smile as he whispers, ¡°It seems we keep having discussions that are better done in private.¡±


    Internally, I am screaming. Externally, I am almost dizzy from staring up into his eyes and falling into their depths like the most cliche, simple-minded, lovestruck, idiotic, hopeless romantic on the planet. ¡°Okay,¡± I squeak. ¡°Where do you want to go?¡±


    His gaze moves to the room behind me¡ªmy bedroom¡ªthen sweeps away and down the hall. ¡°I believe the library was a suitable meeting place last time. Do you agree?¡±


    Meeting with the prince who¡¯s courting me in a library? Turn this man into a werewolf with a motorcycle, and this is a recipe for BookTok.


    God, am I always this embarrassing, or is this a new development?


    He¡¯s looking at me. Because I haven¡¯t said anything. I¡¯m just staring at him.


    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± I sputter out. ¡°That¡¯s perfect. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    The last thing I see is his happy expression fading into concern as I wake up with a start in the middle of the park at sunset. Someone is grabbing at my shoulder and shaking me kind of roughly.


    ¡°Hey! Fuck off!¡± I bark, scrambling back a foot and tearing up the grass with my hands in the process.


    Looking down at me is some girl I¡¯ve never seen before. She¡¯s got short black hair, deadpan brown eyes framed by heavy eyeliner, and a comic book¡¯s worth of tattoos painted up and down her arms. She steps back with her arms raised innocently. ¡°Bro, chill. I thought you were dead. You¡¯re all sunburned.¡± She motions to the right side of her face. I mirror her and flinch at the sting of my burnt skin under my fingertips.


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    With a curious grin, she crosses her spindly legs and sits down on the ground next to me, her black platform boots flatting the grass with an audible thud. ¡°Who the hell sleeps in a park?¡± Her studded tongue grabs my attention, the silver bead catching some of the gold of the setting sun as she talks.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Who let their goth gf out into my park? I think back sassily but aloud just say, ¡°Me, I guess.¡± I¡¯m still a bit too disoriented from my dream to feel embarrassed, but I do have enough awareness to realize she¡¯s looking for an introduction. ¡°Rose.¡±


    It feels weird, meeting someone new in real life. In a park. This feels more like a dream than my dreams do lately.


    ¡°Trix,¡± she replies.


    ¡°Like the cereal?¡±


    ¡°Like short for Beatrix.¡± She laughs, a rough, friendly sound. She¡¯s either a smoker or in a screamo band. Probably both. ¡°Silly rabbit,¡± she teases for good measure, her low voice scratchy and sultry and her smile cutely crooked.


    Uh oh. That does it. The stupid fluttering feeling in my chest. Nah, not a crush right now, please. Come on. Leon¡¯s courting me finally and . . .


    He¡¯s not real. The thought is a gut punch. But he isn¡¯t real, is he?


    ¡°So, what¡¯s your story, bunny rabbit? Why¡¯re you sleeping alone in a park?¡±


    ¡°Why are you waking up people sleeping in parks?¡± I shoot back, though I can¡¯t help a small smile, which she returns with a sheepish chuckle.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I did kind of think you might be dead. Or need help or something. Do you?¡± She rests her arms on her knees, her cheek in her hand as she peers at me.


    Maybe it¡¯s because she¡¯s a stranger, or maybe it¡¯s because I need someone to fucking talk to, but I reply, ¡°Yeah, actually,¡± and just start telling her everything. It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve told anyone from my world¡ªthe real world¡ªabout the dreams. About how the world is changing in small ways every time I wake. About how I don¡¯t know what the hell is happening to me. I don¡¯t care if she thinks I¡¯m crazy, because she doesn¡¯t know me¡ªa stranger can think I¡¯m crazy all they want! Who cares? It¡¯s not like anyone will believe her either if she spreads it around. And she doesn¡¯t seem like the type to do that anyway. By the time I breathlessly catch her up to my latest dream, the sun is long gone, and the pale light of the moon is all that¡¯s left to guide us. Her face has been permanently stuck in a surprised look this whole time, her bleached eyebrows frozen high on her forehead and her mouth hanging open slightly, exposing the silver piercing. She gives her head a small, slow shake as I wrap up the story thus far.


    ¡°Damn. You could write a book about this.¡± She lets out a startled laugh. ¡°Or I guess you already have.¡±


    It¡¯s my turn for my eyebrows to shoot up. ¡°You believe me?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m entertaining the idea. Why don¡¯t you show me the book?¡±


    ¡°And let you see how badly I¡¯ve embarrassed myself already?!¡±


    At that, Trix cackles, her witchy laugh making me smile. ¡°I think you¡¯re beyond embarrassment at this point, bunny.¡±


    And that¡¯s how Trix ends up at my place. How she ends up in my bed is a bit harder to explain. I guess, shit happens, might be the best way to describe it. But for the first time in a month, I¡¯m not sleeping alone, and I¡¯m just starting to wonder if that¡¯ll affect my dreams at all when I find myself fading away in Trix¡¯s embrace and coming to in Leon¡¯s. He¡¯s warm, more solid than Trix, and clinging to me with surprising tightness, his arms forming a soft shield around me and his hair tickling my cheek. I¡¯ve traded my sunburn for the bruises along my arm and the bump on my head from the last time I fainted in Alvione. I don¡¯t feel any new injuries, thankfully, so I¡¯m guessing Leon caught me.


    ¡°Eliana,¡± he breathes in relief as I find my footing. We¡¯re both still standing; I guess he¡¯s been holding me up this whole time¡ªhowever long that¡¯s been, anyway. Am I losing time in Alvione every time I faint? No time to think about that, though, because his hand is on my cheek, my forehead. With worried urgency, he pushes his dark hair out of his face and mine so he can take a better look at me. I stare back at him like a deer in headlights. ¡°You just . . . fell. So suddenly,¡± he murmurs. I feel a heavy sigh rock through him as he holds me close.


    He seems . . . really freaked out about this. I mean, it was just a fainting spell.


    Then, from the recesses of my mind, I remember him mentioning in The Tales of Alvione that his younger sister had died of an illness. Is that why?


    As my mind returns to the present, I smile up at him softly, trying to soothe the concern that plagues him. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s a thing I do sometimes. Don¡¯t worry.¡± I reach up and touch his cheek softly, feeling emboldened, I guess, by the confidence boost that was Trix¡¯s attentions. He freezes at my touch, but then a small, shy smile flickers across his face, and I can feel his muscles relaxing around me. He releases me from his hold, I guess deciding that I¡¯m steady enough now, but when I start to draw my hand back, he captures it in his.


    ¡°You are the strangest person . . . I have ever met,¡± he says, his hand trembling slightly as he intertwines his fingers with mine. My heart begins pounding in my chest. Is he . . . ? He¡¯s leaning in. In the middle of the hallway? He¡¯s getting so bold. Maybe I should faint more often. ¡°You worried me. There¡¯s still so much more I want to know about you,¡± he mutters quietly. His hand steadies in mine, and he pulls me close again¡ªinto a real hug this time.


    Oh, a hug. I mean, no, that¡¯s fine.


    As if he¡¯s read my mind, I feel him chuckling, the sound vibrating through his chest. ¡°Disappointed?¡± he whispers by my ear.


    I suck in a breath to respond, but he interrupts me by turning his head toward me. He leans in slowly, and we¡¯re already so close that it takes no time for his lips to meet mine in a brief, gentle kiss. My eyes flutter closed as I taste him, the softness, the warmth, the innocence. I almost can¡¯t enjoy it as I realize he might be too good for me, but then it¡¯s over as fast as it began, and he¡¯s drawing back once more. I open my eyes to the bright look of happiness on his dimpled face, the giddiness of someone who just had their first kiss, mixed with the wry guiltiness of a prince who knows he shouldn¡¯t have done that.


    It isn¡¯t long before the ruffling of robes draws my attention to a figure down the hall from us. No, two figures. Watching. Martin is in the process of turning away, so I don¡¯t catch his expression, but Peter is just grinning at me and Leon, his nose crinkled in a way that doesn¡¯t seem all that friendly. He uncrosses his arms to give us a painfully loud slow clap.


    That little fucking¡ª

 Chapter 12: The Proposal

    ¡°Peter,¡± Leon says with a stony smile. He steps away from me, leaving me blushing with embarrassment and glaring hatefully at Peter.


    ¡°I have to talk to the queen,¡± Peter says, his grin falling away as he storms over to me and takes my arm with surprising gentleness, before then pulling me roughly along with him.


    ¡°You know of each other?¡± Leon¡¯s previous joy has been washed away and replaced with genuine confusion. He can¡¯t seem to decide if he doesn¡¯t like how Peter is handling me or if it¡¯s none of his business, but he doesn¡¯t react fast enough because now we¡¯re halfway down the hall.


    Peter ignores him and drags me along until we catch up to Martin, who lets out a weak oof as Peter loops his arm with his and begins yanking him too down the hall. Martin huffs and puffs as he tries to turn his back on the both of us, even while being dragged, but Peter¡¯s hold on us is strong. He pulls us into a dark room and deposits us there, then turns and shuts the door. As my eyes adjust, I glance around. There are a few wooden tables with bowls of water on them, organized at the center of the room. Lining the walls is a large, wide stone step with holes carved into it. What is this place? Then, I catch a whiff of something vile and my question is answered. Never mind.


    Before I can complain, Peter points from Martin to me and snaps, ¡°Control your woman.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not ¡®my woman,¡¯¡± Martin grumbles.


    ¡°If I am to be your advisor,¡± Peter says¡ªto me now, ¡°let me advise you right now: do not kiss men who are not your husband in a public hallway. And since you don¡¯t have a husband, that makes things even simpler¡ªdo not kiss anyone at all.¡±


    Bossy little fucker! I can¡¯t help but jeer, ¡°Jealous, Peter?¡±


    With a scoff, Martin rolls his eyes, finally turning enough for me to see his face, which is ruddy and flushed. What is he so embarrassed about? ¡°Don¡¯t be childish,¡± he says.


    Peter gives me a mean smile and leans in to say, ¡°Maybe,¡± at the same time.


    Martin¡¯s jaw drops at the two of us. ¡°Are you being serious?¡± he asks, incredulous. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re both helpless idiots.¡± He tugs his cloak back in place, mumbling in annoyance. It had been pulled up to his neck earlier, when Peter had grabbed him and me. He looks beyond flustered and uncomfortable, but frankly, join the party.


    ¡°It would make more sense, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± Peter says, leaning against one of the tables. The water in the bowls sloshes loudly.


    ¡°What are you saying?¡± Martin sighs.


    ¡°You and I,¡± Peter says. He¡¯s not talking about Martin. He¡¯s tapping his foot quietly, his gaze trained on me. ¡°We married, and Alvione¡¯s problems were solved, were they not? War with Ward was prevented. Why not do what we already know will work? Then you and your wizard can focus on the magical problem of¡±¡ªhe waves his hand vaguely at me¡ª¡°whatever it is that¡¯s happening to you.¡±


    My instinct is to say, Absolutely not, but the thought of at least the politics of Alvione settling into an easy sense of normalcy is undeniably reassuring. Martin turns to me, and I glance at him in return. He¡¯s leaving it up to me to respond. As he should. But I wish I knew what he was thinking. The look on his face is unreadable, and the redness in his cheeks has faded. He¡¯s as still as a statue, expressionless and tired. He¡¯s so tired all the time.


    Peter¡¯s tapping gets louder. ¡°Well?¡± he asks gruffly.


    His hard, dark eyes remain unmoving, focused on me.


    From courting and kissing a sweet prince to getting proposed to by an asshole in a stinky bathroom. Didn¡¯t expect this to be such a hard decision.


    ¡°I need time to think about it,¡± I say finally.


    A hint of relief flashes across Peter¡¯s face before he nods sternly. ¡°I understand.¡± He looks like he has more to say, his mouth still hanging open slightly, but then he shuts it and leaves it at that.


    When a guard comes into the room, fiddling with his pants, Peter rises from the table and steps between us to block me from view. I feel someone¡¯s hand on my wrist and suddenly I¡¯m back in my bedroom. There¡¯s no whoosh, no glamor about it, no confetti, nothing. Martin lets go of me and sits down on my bed.


    ¡°Whoa! That was so¡ª¡± My excitement over being teleported for the first time dies on my tongue as I notice the way Martin is sitting, his head buried in his hands. I fall silent and cautiously approach him. When he doesn¡¯t say anything, doesn¡¯t look up at me, I sit down on the bed next to him. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    He just shakes his head. ¡°He attacked you. Do not marry him.¡±


    ¡°Well . . . only sort of. ¡®Attack¡¯ seems a bit extreme.¡±


    His head snaps up, and he glares straight at me, his anger bleeding together with flashes of fear, confusion, frustration, a whole medley of upset. ¡°You did not see your face when he grabbed you. When he was . . . holding your neck.¡± Gritting his teeth, he spits out, ¡°You looked terrified.¡± Still holding fierce eye contact, he gives his head a little shake. ¡°You can do this on your own. I believe you can. He is sufficient as an advisor. He is chained to Alvione now. Do not let him take your power because he asked politely. You are a queen, and he is the third son of Paulo Ward¡ªhe needs you more than you need him. Do not forget that. Do not forget your value.¡± A soft, pained expression settles onto his face, and his hands find mine. His touch is gentle. It always is, isn¡¯t it? ¡°You can do this, Rose. Without marrying him. I promise you that. Perhaps Eliana could not, but you can. You are smart, capable, articulate, kind¡ªyou are already better than King Roburn ever was, and you are still so new to all of this. I did not know at first what you would be able to achieve, but I know you now, and I see you. I believe in you.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    I¡¯m not sure why, but his words hit deep. Or maybe it¡¯s the way he¡¯s looking at me that leaves me feeling shaken¡ªhis faith in me, misplaced or not, is absolute in this moment. There¡¯s none of the usual wry insults, none of the jabs that may or may not be playful¡ªjust pure, unapologetic, unwavering support. I don¡¯t know what I did to earn his trust, but it seems I have it now, or at the very least, he wants to protect me. To keep me safe. It¡¯s an overwhelming feeling and not one I¡¯ve felt often, if ever. He doesn¡¯t say it directly, but I know what he means: as long as he¡¯s here, I won¡¯t be alone.


    I swallow heavily and blink hard and fast as my eyes sting with tears. Without hesitation, he reaches out and grips my forearm, pulling me in a rough embrace that buries my face in his shoulder. With a small, choked sob, I cling to him, soaking his cloak with snot and tears. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m crying,¡± I whisper pitifully.


    The truth is: I don¡¯t want to marry Peter, but I don¡¯t want to keep struggling either. It would be so much easier to share the weight of the crown. To focus on me, the dreams, and put Alvione in someone else¡¯s hands. To remove the threat of Ward off my laundry list of queenly problems. Peter¡¯s right. It makes sense. In The Tales of Alvione and its sequels, he was a good husband and king. Sure, he and I might not be pals¡ªwe might even fucking hate each other¡ªbut he¡¯s not asking me to be his little wifey; he¡¯s offering me an out. I don¡¯t know if I can trust him, and I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s a problem that will ever go away. I don¡¯t know if Eliana is the reason for his competence or if it never mattered who she was. Did she ¡°fix him,¡± or did he find his way on his own? There¡¯s no way to be certain, but I am sure, however, that it would feel really nice to trade in some of my power to get Ward off our backs.


    Because even though Martin will be on my side no matter what, I still don¡¯t know what to do about Ward.


    Then a panicked thought runs through my mind. But what if Paulo doesn¡¯t think it¡¯s enough? In the original book, Peter successfully pulls off the crippling orc invasion of Alvione, even if it''s ultimately pushed out. He returns to his father in that time and who knows what happens then¡ªEliana¡¯s point of view can¡¯t capture the exchanges made in Castle Ward. If Peter and I got married now, would it seem too sudden? Would Paulo think of Alvione as a part of Ward, or would he think of Peter as a part of me¡ªan unimpressive son lost to the influences of an enemy nation?


    Everything¡¯s so fucking complicated.


    Martin¡¯s touch pulls me out of my thoughts. He runs his fingers through my hair and rests his chin on the top of my head, his other hand rubbing the skin of my forearm gently. ¡°Whether you see your life here as real or not,¡± he says quietly, ¡°please keep yourself safe. That is all I ask.¡±


    That¡¯s . . . all he wants from me?


    To be cared for, cared about . . . it¡¯s all I ever wanted, really. He¡¯s been here since the start, and he . . . he . . .


    I let out a few more broken sobs. ¡°Stop saying nice things,¡± I complain, nuzzling into his shoulder and using his clothing as my personal tissue. ¡°I¡¯m trying to stop crying.¡±


    His hands still as he laughs softly. ¡°All right. I will be unkind to you again.¡±


    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t say that,¡± I mutter, giving him one last squeeze before I release him and he releases me.


    A gentle smile, the touch of his hand, my name on his lips¡ªI¡¯m not alone.


    No, I¡¯m not alone. I¡¯m with Trix again. Her stirring awake brings me back to my bed, back to my world. I feel a pang of loss that has me feeling guilty.


    ¡°Hey, sleepyhead,¡± Trix murmurs, her voice even more gravelly than before, thick with morning grogginess. ¡°Have another one of your wild dreams?¡±


    I nod. Martin¡¯s going to see me faint again. That can¡¯t be good for his stress.


    My quietness has Trix raising an eyebrow. She brushes a bit of hair out of my face casually, and I feel oddly exposed. A little too seen. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have told anyone about the dreams.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she says. ¡°Don¡¯t be embarrassed. I won¡¯t judge you.¡± Without another word, she slides out of bed and picks up her black bag off the floor. She digs around in it for a moment then pulls out her cell phone. She unlocks it then slides it into my hands. ¡°Let¡¯s do this again sometime.¡±


    Oh. She¡¯s leaving. Her phone background is of some anime character. Somehow this is both surprising and unsurprising. I navigate to her contacts and put in my phone number under Rose, listing my profession as ¡°crazy woman from park¡± then hand the phone back to her. She glances at what I put in and laughs.


    ¡°Bye, bunny,¡± she says and heads out of the bedroom. I remain in bed, listening as she puts on her boots, then leaves, the front door to my apartment clicking shut behind her. It¡¯s quiet.


    I don¡¯t know how I feel about the nickname she¡¯s given me. It feels too generous, too cutesy, but it also feels nice to be regarded that way. I lay back in my bed, my head sinking into the pillow, feeling the warmth her body had left behind slowly fading away.


    There¡¯s so much to think about, and yet my head feels so empty.


    My phone dings. A text. I grab it from the bedside table and can guess who it¡¯s from¡ªan unknown number sending just a rabbit emoji? Who else could it be? The smile that flits across my face falters as I remember all that¡¯s transpired in Alvione. Leon, Peter, Martin . . . I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m going to do with them. Don¡¯t even get me started on Trix. At least I don¡¯t have to worry about leading a country with her.


    Shit. I forgot to tell Martin about Leon¡¯s dad knowing Alistria. I groan. Maybe I should do some Wiki research in the meantime. I let Google autofill The Tales of Alvione the second I write T, because this is my life now, and pause as multiple news articles appear at the top of the page. My eyes skim the headlines, and I start to laugh.


    Always fucking something, man. There¡¯s always some new bullshit.


    Publisher confirms late New York Times bestselling author Alys Stone not dead, but missing.


    Missing.


    Maybe I¡¯m crazy or maybe it just makes sense, but my first thought is a simple one: Is Alys Stone in Alvione right now?

 Chapter 13: The Work That Must Be Done

    The fact of the matter is this: no one in my world seems to recognize the way that I am changing and affecting The Tales of Alvione. So, by that logic, could it be true that if someone else were changing and affecting The Tales of Alvione, I wouldn¡¯t know it either?


    If I wasn¡¯t losing my mind before, I definitely am now.


    The work day drags. According to the Wiki, the butterfly effect of my actions so far in Alvione is small, but not insignificant. I finally see some mentioned effects of the speech that I gave the other day. After Eliana fails to establish an effective system for dealing with crime in Alvione, despite her big promises that day, she loses the support of some. The anti-magic folk get increasingly rowdy, and it¡¯s believed that a handful of them begin acting in support of Ward, which is now the most socially anti-magic of the three neighboring nations. It¡¯s suspected that the help of spies working for Ward contributes to what happens next: the ruin of Alvione and the burning of the castle.


    Sort of in line with my suspicions last night, Paulo Ward does not seem to care that Peter is an advisor to Alvione¡ªat least not enough to not burn Alvione (and his son) to the ground. But this time, a dragon shows up in addition to his army. I didn¡¯t even know Ward aligned with dragons. So, if anything, he seems more angry than before. I sure as hell don¡¯t send dragons after people I only sort of dislike.


    Eliana doesn¡¯t marry Peter, yada yada, she keeps him as an advisor, yeah yeah, Martin searches for answers regarding Rose to no avail, same old same old, and Peter and Leon lose interest in Eliana because, compared to a time-traveling world-hopper, she¡¯s pretty milk toast and boring. (And yes, I still find that a bit flattering even though it¡¯s also frustrating. Like, Eliana. Pull your own weight, girl. I get that you¡¯re a Mary Sue, but like, isn¡¯t that supposed to work for you?)


    I¡¯m starting to feel increasingly certain that a wedding between Peter and I will not be nearly enough to convince Paulo to calm the fuck down. We¡¯d have to promise him things, I¡¯m sure. I¡¯d probably have to prove something to him. Declare loyalty maybe. Swear fealty. That¡¯s a thing medieval people do, right?


    And as much as I like the idea of marrying Leon, I can¡¯t help but feel like it¡¯d be ultimately pointless politically and wouldn¡¯t do either of us any favors in the realm of safety and survival. I¡¯m not sure how Martin feels now about his original idea, but I think it still might be our best bet: me playing both sides and both guys. It could lead to meeting their families in a more positive light and help me build rapport with both nations.


    Plus, if I fail to convince Paulo Ward to like me, getting along even better with Viridia could at least make the two nations united appear a bit less conquerable to Ward. So chatting up Leon is still on the table.


    Furthermore, I can¡¯t just rely on Peter to play nice because we¡¯re friendly now. I have to build that bond. He¡¯s not critical to good relations with Ward, not by a long shot, but I¡¯d be worse off without his help and his knowledge of the kingdom. So I shouldn¡¯t just drop Peter and run.


    Shit. My brain¡¯s gonna explode.


    It¡¯s getting harder and harder to remember the original story. I don¡¯t know if my memory is just getting jumbled with the constant updates and changes, or if I¡¯m starting to forget the original book the way that the rest of the world has.


    Why does Peter and Eliana¡¯s marriage in the first book temper the bad relations between Alvione and Ward? I¡¯d always kind of glossed over that part, which really sucks for me right now. I mean, who reads a romance book for the politics? I was obviously in it for the smut. (Kidding. Only the fanfiction had any smut.)


    But now the question remains. Is it because Eliana is so meek that it seems like Peter can control her? Is it because of private conversations Peter had with his father that somehow convinced him that one, he¡¯s a valuable son worth keeping alive, and two, he and Eliana¡¯s union is beneficial to Ward? Is it because Paulo saw how in love they truly were at their wedding? Is he even the kind of king who would give a shit about that? I mean, he literally makes his kids fight each other like gladiators.


    ¡°My sister¡¯s been talking about the missing author,¡± Jenna says, leaning over me and squinting judgmentally at my work. I jump, jolted from my internal panic. I¡¯m just cleaning a table, but she¡¯s been suspicious of my ability to get work done after the window incident. Which really seems like overkill. It¡¯s not like I was running around smashing mugs and punching through walls.


    ¡°Oh, yeah. I heard about that.¡± I pause. ¡°What¡¯s your sister think of The Tales of Alvione?¡±


    Jenna shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I usually zone out when she brings it up. All I know is that she¡¯s a Peter stan. Like, Peter this, Peter that, ¡®I wish Peter was real,¡¯ and ¡®Peter¡¯s so hot.¡¯ We get it. Boring. But the author being missing is kind of crazy. And her name¡¯s apparently a pseudonym so, like, internet sleuths are trying to figure out her true identity by requesting missing persons information from local police all over and scouring it for details.¡± Jenna wiggles her fingers at me mysteriously.


    ¡°Seriously? You can do that?¡± I knew Alys Stone was a pseudonym, but people actually trying to find out her real name seems . . . ambitious. In some ways, I feel stupid for not thinking about that sooner. In others, I don¡¯t think it would help me at all, given that she¡¯s not around anyway. I doubt it¡¯ll be easy to figure out who she actually is. Still, maybe if every person on true crime Reddit puts their heads together, they can do it.


    ¡°Yeah, Freedom of Information Act,¡± Jenna says with a cocky, know-it-all grin. ¡°Or at least that¡¯s what I heard on TikTok.¡±


    ¡°Ah, then it must be true.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m saying!¡±


    Daisuke calls out to us from behind the register. ¡°Hey! Back to work, you two,¡± he snaps in his best Jenna voice. ¡°Or you¡¯re both fired!¡±


    Jenna rolls her eyes, but we do both get back to working.


    I make myself a mental list of everything I need to talk to Martin and Peter about. One: Alistria Okuta and Leon¡¯s father. Two: How can we make Paulo friendly to us if marriage alone isn¡¯t enough? Three: What¡¯s up with the fucking dragon? Four: What should I do about Leon? Five: I gotta make a legal system in Alvione . . . Six: Do I need to do something about Iliyan¡¯s elf friends and the other guard? Are they just sitting in some basement prison or being held somewhere with no hope for a trial or justice?


    This is starting to feel like homework. I did not major in poli sci for a reason.


    After work, I spend the night researching the basics of forming an effective criminal justice system, and it¡¯s so fucking boring that I fall asleep at my desk.


    I wake up under a fur blanket, tucked somewhat ineffectively into my bed. No, Eliana¡¯s bed.


    As my eyes adjust, I notice Martin doing some weird magic shit in the corner. He¡¯s peering over a glowing bowl of what must be water, waving his hand occasionally like he¡¯s flipping through pages of a book.


    ¡°Yo,¡± I say weakly. ¡°I¡¯m alive, if you even care.¡±


    He turns toward me for just a split second, then returns to whatever it is he¡¯s doing. ¡°Welcome back,¡± he says gruffly. ¡°The fainting is getting rather serious. You¡¯ve been out for almost fifteen minutes.¡±


    Fifteen minutes? That¡¯s not fainting. That¡¯s blacking out. I sit up frantically. ¡°What?¡± The rules of the game are changing. If time passes in Alvione when I¡¯m not here and not reading, and no one is controlling Eliana¡¯s body . . . I need to get more shit done before it gets worse. The queen of a nation can¡¯t be knocked out every few hours, and my to-do list is way too freaking long right now to let a minute go to waste.


    ¡°I have been scrying for a book on portal jumping. I believe that might be the closest explanation for what it is you are doing each time you fall asleep. I¡¯m sure there will be information on how the body may wear down from repeated jumps, should this be the case. Maybe there¡¯s an easy solution. A salve, if you will.¡± He swipes past another book, the hardened expression on his face masking whatever it is he¡¯s feeling.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Let me tell you my to-do list before I forget,¡± I say.


    His hand grows still, mid-swipe, and he looks up at me for a moment. Then he waves his hand vaguely at his scrying bowl, and the light from the water is snuffed out. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Okay! Um . . . what was it? ¡°So, uh, I found out that Leon¡¯s dad worked with Alistria.¡±


    ¡°¡®Dad¡¯?¡± Martin looks at me flatly.


    ¡°Father.¡±


    He straightens up. ¡°Ade has met her?¡± Ade! That¡¯s what his name was. Not Abe. I¡¯m fucking dumb.


    ¡°That¡¯s what Leon said. Acted like it was some kind of big political secret though.¡± Before I can say anything else, Martin approaches me and grabs my hands tightly.


    ¡°Amazing work,¡± he says, a bright and genuine smile on his face. I blink. I¡¯ve never seen him this happy before. It¡¯d almost be unnerving . . . if it weren¡¯t kind of adorable. His scar crinkles into a squiggle as he smiles, and his eyes glimmer prettily in the afternoon light. You know, he¡¯s kind of a handsome guy when he isn¡¯t being a grouch. ¡°I have failed to get a single lead on her,¡± Martin admits. ¡°Though I suppose things have been . . . busy.¡± His sweet smile quivers and fades. A certain hollowness returns to his eyes, and I feel a pang of sadness to see him defaulting back to normal.


    Short-lived joys. Guess that¡¯s just life, as of late. ¡°That was one of the other things I wanted to talk about.¡± I squeeze his hands without even meaning to. ¡°Iliyan.¡±


    Martin nods, swallows.


    I¡¯m not sure where to start, but I have to start somewhere. ¡°What¡¯s become of the other elves? How are they taking things?¡± His hands tremble for a moment in mine, and I find myself rubbing my thumbs along his skin in an attempt to soothe him.


    ¡°They¡¯re planning to depart soon, once the shock wears off, I believe. They¡¯ve been preparing his . . . body . . . to travel. So they can bring it home to his family.¡± Martin takes a slow, deep breath, working hard to keep it together.


    But I don¡¯t need him to keep it together. He doesn¡¯t have to.


    ¡°Would they be willing to stay for a trial?¡±


    He releases his deep breath. ¡°A trial?¡±


    I go on to give him what an actual judge or lawyer would probably describe as an embarrassingly elementary explanation of a basic legal and criminal justice system for Alvione while he listens quietly. I try to remember everything I wrote down¡ªall my notes, all my research¡ªand parrot it back as best I can.


    Eventually, when it seems like the information is too overwhelming, he digs around in my drawers for something that looks like paper, or maybe cloth (¡°It¡¯s linen,¡± he tells me). As I continue my description, he uses magic to burn words into the linen without lifting a finger. I barely register it. There¡¯s too much work to be done. I can have fun with magic when there aren¡¯t looming crises.


    We lose a few hours over this¡ªfor me, a few days. We update our timing too. Every time I leave and reenter Alvione, I remain passed out for at least fifteen minutes, with maybe a minute or so tacked on each time. At least, based on Martin¡¯s magic internal clock, of which I ponder the accuracy. It adds a level of unpredictability that neither of us like. But after the course of a few days, I manage to get everything about the legal system out (with updated notes and researched answers to all his questions each time I reenter the dream).


    When I finally run out of shit to say, Martin just nods and collects the papers he¡¯s filled with notes. ¡°This I can deal with,¡± he says. ¡°I feel I understand the plan enough to describe it to the other advisors. I will oversee the hiring process for the roles you have outlined here.¡±


    ¡°You sound like a real corporate drone,¡± I quip. It¡¯s a relief to be done with this part of the process. It was starting to do my head in; I hadn¡¯t focused that hard on anything since college.


    He shakes his head slightly. ¡°You know well and good that I do not understand what you mean when you say things like that.¡±


    ¡°You will eventually. I¡¯ll teach you.¡±


    He gives me side eye. ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°What should I do in the meantime?¡±


    ¡°. . . Seriously?¡± With a small annoyed huff, Martin crosses his arms. Though he doesn¡¯t say it, I can tell he¡¯s thinking, Why the hell are you asking me? I have enough to do! from the stony expression on his face. ¡°What else is on your so-called ¡®to-do¡¯ list?¡±


    I stare at him blankly¡ªoh, right¡ªthen wrack my brain. ¡°I need to figure out what to do with Peter and Leon. Oh, and then there¡¯s the dragon.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Martin¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°What dragon?¡±


    I twiddle my thumbs. ¡°The one Paulo Ward may or may not send to burn Alvione to the ground.¡±


    He lets out an exaggeratedly loud sigh, uncrossing his arms and waving his papers at me as he says, ¡°Why was that not the very first thing you mentioned to me?¡± He sits down for a moment, then stands back up. I keep this man a nervous wreck. ¡°But now that I think about it,¡± he muses finally, breaking his self-imposed silence, ¡°that should be impossible.¡± He doesn¡¯t sound so sure though.


    ¡°Must not be, seeing as it fucking happens.¡±


    He lets out a breath, his fingers curling around the linen pages in his hand for a moment, crumpling them slightly as he seemingly fights to control what might otherwise be a mental breakdown. ¡°I suppose I will look into that,¡± he says stiffly. ¡°You try to get a meeting with Ade Viridia through Leon. Do whatever it takes. Ask Peter about the dragon. We will eventually need a good reason to meet with Paulo as well. Perhaps he can be convinced to attend the summer solstice festival.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll love dancing around the maypole.¡±


    A small laugh stutters from Martin¡¯s lips, surprising us both. The smallest bit of tension leaves his body, then returns tenfold as he notices my open-mouthed amazement.


    ¡°You liked that, huh?¡± I say, my lips curving into an uncontrolled grin.


    ¡°No,¡± he coughs, hiding the bottom half of his face with his hand. ¡°You are extremely unfunny.¡±


    ¡°Are you hiding a smile right now?¡± I bounce over and punch his arm lightly, earning me an annoyed scowl.


    ¡°Enjoy this moment of levity now because we have work to do.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon, man. I just spent literal days cosplaying as a JD candidate. At least admit you laughed.¡±


    Yeah. Okay. It¡¯s childish. I¡¯m childish. I don¡¯t want to play with Leon¡¯s heart. I don¡¯t want to marry Peter. I want a little win. A break. More ¡°moments of levity.¡± I want to make Martin laugh. For some reason, that sounds like the best thing in the world right now.


    He looks at me. His tired eyes have this way of making me feel transparent, easily read, but I don¡¯t mind being seen by him. He can see through me all he likes. ¡°Fine. I laughed,¡± he sighs. ¡°Now . . . fuck off.¡± With the smallest of smiles on his face, he teleports away before I can have the last word, leaving me with my jaw slightly unhinged and a stupid, happy grin on my face. Instant gratification.


    The truth is: it¡¯s been a hard few days. I felt like I was studying for a test, except instead of a good grade, it was the fate of real people¡¯s lives that hung in the balance.


    (Real people. I guess that¡¯s how I see the people of Alvione now. It¡¯s hard not to, when you see them every day and get to know them.)


    While awake, I¡¯d texted Trix a bit, but we hadn¡¯t met up again. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m nervous about it now¡ªwe already banged, so like, what¡¯s the big deal? But for some reason, I just didn¡¯t have it in me to invite her over again, and she didn¡¯t push things by asking.


    I¡¯d also been following the Reddit threads on Alys Stone, trying to get any new tea, should it arise. But alas, the world has been entirely tea-less; nobody knows who the fuck that lady actually is. At the very least, the Redditors say they¡¯ve ruled out Wyoming. I guess it¡¯s the state with the smallest population, so it was the easiest one to clear. Did anyone actually think she disappeared in Wyoming, though?


    Besides working, the only other ¡°fun¡± thing I¡¯ve been up to is applying to marketing jobs. I feel really great and confident about it too, seeing as every one I¡¯ve applied to has basically called me an unqualified idiot in the job description alone. And don¡¯t even get me started on the classic catch-22 of entry level jobs asking for five-plus years of experience while simultaneously offering impressively low pay and benefits summarized as ¡°free coffee and snacks.¡±


    At this rate, maybe I¡¯m better off getting burned to death in Alvione.


    I leave my room. Eliana¡¯s room. Eliana¡¯s and my room. And I walk down the hall. Time to find one of my boys. Maybe Leon will be in the library.


    With very little certainty of where I¡¯m going, I head toward where I vaguely remember the library being. A few servants scurry in the opposite direction¡ªno Miri, so no one I recognize. After walking down some dead ends and awkwardly spinning around on my heel, by some miracle, I find the library. I head in and check between the shelves. Per usual, no one¡¯s here. And that includes Leon. The place is deserted.


    Well, that¡¯s a bust. I see a flicker of movement outside the window, and my curiosity gets the best of me. I step up to the glass and peer out at the garden below.


    The first thing I see is fire. Fire, blazing along the back bushes. A controlled burn? Then I hear the screams and something unrecognizable¡ªa rumble as low as thunder. Before I can so much as stumble away from the window, I hear the roar of a raging conflagration and feel a scorching heat that grows and grows until it explodes around me, the force of it throwing me to the floor. Something smashes the window¡ªthe heat? An explosion?¡ªand I instinctively cover my face as crumbling glass rains down on me like hail. My hair sizzles and pops, my lungs, my tongue, my mouth scream with pain like I¡¯ve never felt before as I try to breathe, and the last thing I see when I squint through the flickers of blazing light, out the shattered window, is the giant eye of a dragon.

 Chapter 14: The Art of Giving Up

    I wake up screaming, as one does when they dream of their body burning. Although the physical pain is gone, the memory of it all still lingers for a few moments longer, and I stumble out of bed to rush to the mirror, checking my body for burns.


    But I¡¯m fine, of course. It¡¯s not real. Well, it¡¯s not real here.


    I can¡¯t go back. My heart hammers in my chest as the realization hits me. This is it. That was my last chapter. Because I am not surviving that. Why would I willingly return to being burned to death? I¡¯m not a total fucking psycho.


    Like a drunk, delirious and mentally gone, I wander around my apartment with a certain aimlessness, though I¡¯m not aimless¡ªI¡¯m searching for the book. I pause. No, I can¡¯t just read the end of the first book. Because there are two more books. I have no idea what will happen if I¡¯m fucking dead (or, rather, Eliana is fucking dead), and I don¡¯t skip to the absolute end of the series. What if I fall asleep and wake up in Eliana¡¯s body, buried six feet under?!


    Maybe I¡¯m being paranoid, but why take a risk now? I can¡¯t just read the ending of The Tales of Alvione or the ending of The Tales of Ward, its less popular sequel¡ªI have to read the ending of The Final Tale, the last book in the series. That¡¯s the end of the story. No spinoffs, no sequels¡ªthe complete and utter ending.


    Except there¡¯s a problem. I left my copy of The Final Tale at my parents¡¯ place, several states away. I never gave much of a fuck about the two other books in the series¡ªthe first one was always the best one, since Leon was in it prominently. So The Tales of Alvione is the only one I still have with me.


    Guess I¡¯m going to a bookstore.


    I start getting dressed with an urgency that is almost embarrassing. I¡¯m stumbling around in a fit of panic and confusion, looking for my shoes, putting my pants on backwards, spilling the contents of my purse all over the floor¡ªyou¡¯d think I was on fire right now.


    Then a new, fun, paranoid thought hits me. What if on the way to the bookstore, I¡¯m hit by a bus and knocked unconscious? Besides that being a great intrusive thought on any day, it¡¯s an even greater one today, because it could mean being stuck burning to death slowly with no idea of what to do.


    I need a backup plan. I need to look up how to survive a fire.


    I stomp over to my bedroom, one boot on, and lay down on my bed, for once in my life not giving a shit about getting my dirty shoe on the comforter. With two tense hands, I grip my pillow and scream into it, ¡°I HATE EVERYTHING.¡±


    Then I take a deep breath, pull my phone out of my pocket, and Google how to survive a fire.


    Turns out ¡°stop, drop, and roll¡± was an oversimplification. Unsurprisingly. Though Google AI¡¯s step one, ¡°don¡¯t panic,¡± is not particularly helpful advice either, as I¡¯m already quite panicked and don¡¯t plan on stopping any time soon.


    As my shaky fingers sweep across the screen, scrolling down to, god forbid, page two of Google, I see a text come in from Adam: How are you?


    I let out an exasperated scream. This man¡¯s timing is fucking amazing! As if I wasn¡¯t already about to go fucking apeshit!


    A loud knock at my door has me shutting up quick. Fuck. My neighbors probably think I¡¯m insane. And sadly, I fear they¡¯re right. After taking a deep breath and pressing my fingertips together in an attempt to calm their shaking (a failed attempt; it does nothing), I stumble over to the front door and open it, a pained apology already on my lips.


    ¡°Yo,¡± Trix says. Her rough voice is like music to my ears. She glances down at my outfit, if you could even call it that, and smirks. ¡°Are your pants on backwards?¡±


    I blink and totally ignore her question. ¡°You¡¯re here.¡± She is. And she looks nice. Did she dress up to see me? Or does she always look this good? I can¡¯t help but let my eyes travel over her, my mind automatically buzzing with memories of our past encounter, of the way she felt, of how she tasted. I notice that she¡¯s put these pretty little silver rings in her hair, and she¡¯s got red lipstick on today. Her cheeks have been swept in iridescent highlighter that makes her glow almost ethereally, and she¡¯s wearing a short black miniskirt and mesh tights that have my brain short circuiting in a new way as I imagine sticking my face in between¡ªNOPE! Focus.


    She tilts her head at me, the silver hoops in her ears swaying with her. ¡°Well . . . yeah.¡±


    I forgot what I said already. But then I say something stupid. ¡°Did we have plans?¡± I realize how icy that came out way too late, but my head is whirring with information about fires and smoke inhalation and kissing Trix and fucking Trix and¡ª


    Her smirk disappears, a frown taking its place. ¡°No,¡± she says flatly. ¡°I just thought I¡¯d come by to say hey. Is that okay with you?¡±


    Now she sounds fucking icy. ¡°Yeah, of course,¡± I babble. I stumble back into my apartment, my foot sliding out of my one boot as I motion for her to enter. ¡°Come in. You can come by anytime.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Well, don¡¯t I sound pathetic? She furrows her brow at me and takes a hesitant step into the apartment. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just . . . I just . . .¡± Then I burst into tears.


    I guess it was my embarrassment that finally broke the dam. Before I can collapse to my knees, sobbing stupidly, she wraps her arms around me and holds me up. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? What happened?¡± she asks worriedly.


    ¡°I¡¯m burning to death in Alvione,¡± I wail.


    ¡°You¡¯re . . .¡± She sputters out a laugh. ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s not funny.¡± She strokes my back comfortingly as she holds me up. She¡¯s surprisingly strong, and I find myself leaning against her chest. ¡°But you¡¯re okay here, so that¡¯s good. What can I do to help?¡±


    ¡°H-help?¡± There¡¯s nothing she can do to help. I need Martin. I need . . . Wait. She can help. ¡°Could you . . . pick up a book for me? From the library or a bookstore? It¡¯s called The Final Tale by Alys Stone. I¡¯ll pay you back, of course,¡± I add, sounding positively frantic.


    She just stares at me for a moment. ¡°You serious?¡±


    I nod. ¡°Dead.¡±


    ¡°Dead?¡±


    ¡°Dead serious.¡±


    ¡°God damn it.¡± She crosses her arms. ¡°I¡¯m not Amazon, you know.¡± But the way she says it makes it sound like she¡¯s about to fold. She reaches toward me and runs her fingers through my hair, fixing it quietly. Her touch is gentle, nurturing. I smile up at her hopefully, trying to not look as pitiful as I feel. She sighs. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re cute.¡± Then she holds out her hand.


    ¡°You¡¯re a fucking life saver. No, you¡¯re an angel. A beautiful, perfect angel!¡±


    ¡°Just give me the money,¡± she groans, rolling her eyes. Still, I can see the smallest of smiles on her face. Flattery gets you everywhere.


    I look around for my purse and see its scattered contents all over the floor. Oh, right. I get on all fours and crawl around looking for my wallet while she watches with a bemused smile. Where the fuck . . .


    ¡°There.¡± She¡¯s pointing to something sticking out under the couch. My wallet. I scramble over to it and grab it, then pull out thirty dollars. Surely that¡¯ll be enough. I hold it up to her triumphantly, and she snatches it from my hand. ¡°I¡¯ll be back. Don¡¯t do anything stupid.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a god! You¡¯re the most beautiful, most perfect person in the whole world¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bye, Rose.¡± She flashes me a quick grin, then looks me over one last time before she leaves. ¡°You look better not sunburned.¡± I feel my face flush, but she¡¯s gone before I can say anything back. The door shuts behind her, and I¡¯m met with silence and the mess around me.


    Then my phone dings with a text. I feel a surge of frustration swelling in my gut. Adam better not be¡ª


    But it¡¯s not Adam. It¡¯s Jenna, asking where the fuck I am. Oh shit. It¡¯s a work day. I totally forgot.


    I stare at my phone and know with every fiber of my being that I can¡¯t go in today. No fucking way. I¡¯m calling in sick. After a realistic pause, I type out a quick text to Jenna that says I can¡¯t stop puking and shitting, and I think I have a stomach bug. After a painful pause, she finally likes my text and leaves it at that.


    Good enough. I mean, honestly, who fucking cares about work right now! A bitch is burning to death! Hello!


    So I return to reading about surviving a fire. The gist of it is that I don¡¯t want to breathe in so much smoke that I pass out and that I need to find a way out of the room. No offense, but fucking duh, man¡ªI coulda told you that! Though being advised to stay low to the ground and crawl my way out is probably advice I needed to hear, even if it now sounds like the most obvious thing in the world.


    Okay. Time to focus.


    I close my eyes, sitting meditatively on the floor, surrounded by the random junk from my purse, and visualize the castle library. As far as I know, there¡¯s only two exits: the door that I¡¯d entered in the first place and the big windows facing the garden. One of those windows is smashed to bits. If it weren¡¯t for the fact that the dragon was right outside it when I¡¯d left Alvione, the window would be the most obvious escape. I think it¡¯s on the second floor¡ªand those are some tall floors¡ªbut surely a fall would be preferable to whatever would happen to me if I didn¡¯t jump. But because of the fucking dragon, I should probably try the door first. It says online that if the door or the handle is hot, it could mean that there¡¯s just as much fire on the other side of it. Still, it¡¯s the only exit I know about, so what else am I supposed to do? Get eaten by the dragon? Lay on the ground until the fire dies out, which it won¡¯t because the damn window is letting oxygen in? Why don¡¯t these fire safety websites address dragon attacks?!


    I decide I¡¯ll use my silly little queen dress as an oven mitt to tear the door open. And if that doesn¡¯t work, then I¡¯ll go out the window, dragon or no dragon. I¡¯m not sure this is the best plan, but it¡¯s all Plan B anyway. Plan A is to end this story where it is.


    Right?


    I find myself thinking about Martin, Leon, and Peter. Miri even. Are the elves still there in the castle too? How many people will die? Is there anything I could even do for them if I stayed? Would they hate me for giving up, or would they understand?


    Then I realize what I¡¯ve failed to do: check the Wiki. What if Eliana doesn¡¯t even die?


    I close the fire safety tabs on my phone and search up the Wiki.


    Well. It¡¯s not good news. Eliana dies in the fire.


    Worse yet, so do Martin and Peter, who, idiots that they are, try to get other people out and end up perishing as a result. Martin teleports into a room that immediately collapses on him, causing him to fall unconscious and, ultimately, die. Peter goes looking for me¡ªwhich is nice, I guess, except for the fact that he too ends up backed into a corner and passes out from smoke inhalation, which leads to his death as well. Leon¡¯s the only one who makes it out, because he has enough sense not to go back into the burning building once he¡¯s outside. Though it¡¯s not very heroic of him, it is the only reason he doesn¡¯t keel over like the rest of them.


    Interestingly, or perhaps annoyingly, it¡¯s not clear why the dragon shows up at all. All the Wiki says is that it seems to be searching for something as it flies overhead, ¡°perhaps a particular person to burn or an object to recover.¡± I love how no one questions this literary loose end! Fantastic.


    More interestingly, once Eliana dies, the novel doesn¡¯t just end. It keeps going.


    I¡¯m not sure if reading the ending text will affect where I appear in the dream, especially given that I¡¯m reading an online copy of the text and not from the book itself. But I doubt it, given that the text just says over and over again for seventy-eight pages straight:


    ERROR: SEED VALUE MISSING. ALISTRIA OKUTA DOES NOT EXIST. ERROR: SEED VALUE MISSING. ALISTRIA OKUTA DOES NOT EXIST. ERROR: SEED VALUE MISSING. ALISTRIA OKUTA DOES NOT EXIST.

 Chapter 15: The Aftermath

    When Trix gets back, bag in hand, I¡¯m still sitting on the floor. I don¡¯t know what to make of this. I don¡¯t know what to say.


    No, actually, I do know what to say.


    I look up at Trix, and she looks down at me. ¡°Do you think we¡¯re in the Matrix?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she says immediately. ¡°I don¡¯t think we have the technology.¡± She hands the bag to me. ¡°Here¡¯s your book.¡±


    She sits down next to me on the floor, studying me. I must look pretty shaken because she takes my hand in hers. Her short nails are painted a light pink with black lines and symbols all across them. They suit her. But mostly I notice how warm and soft her hand is. I lean my head down on her shoulder, squeezing her hand gently.


    ¡°You¡¯re strange, you know that, bunny?¡±


    I nod. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    She rests her head on top of mine. ¡°You sure you¡¯re okay?¡±


    I shake my head slightly. ¡°No. I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? Tell me.¡±


    I sigh. ¡°Things are getting weird, man. Really fucking weird.¡±


    The sound of her chuckling softly reverberates from her body to mine as she wraps her arms around me. ¡°Things were already weird for you.¡± It¡¯s true.


    ¡°Will you spend the day with me? Do you have time?¡±


    I feel her shrug around me. ¡°I¡¯m free until my shift at the bar. That¡¯s not for hours. I can hang.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Really.¡±


    ¡°Really, really?¡±


    She laughs. ¡°You¡¯re being irritating now.¡±


    ¡°So now I¡¯m strange and irritating?¡± I nuzzle against her. She¡¯s so soft and warm and . . . ¡°Why do you like me anyway?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she sighs into my hair. ¡°Shall I compare thee to a summer¡¯s day?¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Hot.¡±


    ¡°O-oh.¡± My choked laugh turns into a coughing fit. ¡°Thank you?¡±


    She laughs and pats my back gently until I stop coughing.


    ¡°You know, patting someone¡¯s back when they¡¯re coughing just makes it worse.¡±


    She ignores me and takes the book out of the bag, placing it in my hands. Her fingers brush against mine, and everything feels so simple. Trix likes me. She thinks I¡¯m hot. We could be together. I could get a job in marketing, live a life in the real world, move on from coffee and dragons and fictional men. Be an actual person and grow the fuck up. I look down at the book. The Final Tale.


    I¡¯m not sure I can do it.


    ¡°You want me to distract you for a bit?¡± she asks in a low voice. When I look up at her, I¡¯m met with a sneaky grin and her fingers trailing slowly up my arm.


    Fuck yeah, I do. I respond by taking off my shirt, which makes her laugh, her hand traveling higher, to my shoulder, and then down . . .


    ¡°Enthusiastic verbal consent, please,¡± she whispers in my ear, her hand lingering, waiting for the go ahead. I can hear the smile in her voice, and I let out a shuddering sigh as I lean into her touch.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I lay back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling. Trix fell asleep next to me; guess that¡¯s what working nights does to a person. Plus all the work she just did. I lean my cheek against her short tight curls and try to stay in the present. But I can¡¯t. Not really.


    Seed value. That¡¯s all I can think about. The Final Tale is on the floor out there, its last page begging to be read, to offer me relief, to save me from a future of being burnt to a crisp, and all I can think about is seed value.


    So I Google it, and Jesus fucking Christ, am I in over my head. Python. Video games. It¡¯s a number tied to a certain outcome¡ªa pseudo-randomly generated value. I feel stupid. I don¡¯t know what this means for me, for the book. All I¡¯m getting from this is that people use it when coding, which I don¡¯t know how to do, so I¡¯m just cluelessly reading through Reddit threads as if it¡¯ll suddenly make sense to me.


    From what I do understand, which is very little, the simplest answer seems to be that Alistria Okuta is the seed value. Because the book said the seed value is missing, and she didn¡¯t exist. If we take ¡°missing¡± and ¡°not existing¡± to mean the same thing, then: if A (the seed value) is B (missing) and C (Alistria Okuta) is B (missing), then A (the seed value) is C (Alistria Okuta)¡ªright?


    But . . . how would the current outcome of the book cause her to cease to exist? Because Eliana dies? Why does that matter? Is it because she¡¯s the main character?


    Man, fuck this. I crawl over Trix, careful not to wake her, and pad over to the book on the ground. I pick it up and stare at the cover.


    I¡¯m getting tired. I can¡¯t risk falling asleep before at least reading the ending. That¡¯s what I should do, or at least, that¡¯s what I¡¯m telling myself I should do. Martin will be so disappointed in me. But . . . could he understand my reasons too? I think he could. He¡¯s a smart guy. I think about Leon, his warm smile, his dimples. I even think about Peter, always brimming with anger but never giving in and overflowing. They all feel so real. As real as me, however real that is.


    What if this is all just a simulation? One I can¡¯t remember entering, but when I exit, I¡¯ll understand everything completely. What if I, too, am just a character in a book in a whole other world, considered ¡°not real,¡± thought of as fiction? At what point does reality start? Is it with my experience? Is it because I can feel myself breathing, because I can feel hungry, because I¡¯m tired and want to sleep?


    Am I really giving up the most interesting thing that¡¯s ever happened to me?


    Then the memories of pain return, of the feeling of my lungs burning, my tongue burning, my hair, my face, my skin burning, and I open the book. My eyes fall on the dedication:


    To all those who have loved these characters as if they are real. They are real because you believe in them. Thank you.


    My hands tremble slightly. I take the book with me to the couch and lay back on it. A yawn hits me. It¡¯s now or never. I¡¯m deciding my fate. I have to.


    I wait for a while. I wait until I feel my eyes fluttering shut. To the very end of the wire. Then I open the book to the last page and read it:


    When I took Peter¡¯s hands in mine, there was one thing I felt I now knew for certain. Perhaps we were fated to be, or perhaps not. I was not sure which was true, but I felt entirely confident that it had never really mattered. In some small, not insignificant way, I had always been his.


    Wait . . . Eliana . . . ? I didn¡¯t think about that. I didn¡¯t think it through. I¡¯m an idiot! The first book now ended in an error, so what could the other two have been? They should have been more errors. This was never going to work. Eliana is dead. Why is Eliana alive in this book? I¡¯ve misunderstood everything. I¡¯ve . . .


    Fallen asleep.


    The roar of the fire, the heat of it, fills my body with that impossible feeling of discomfort¡ªthe feeling of a terrible and violent end. My body struggles to breathe, I struggle to breathe, and it feels like my lungs are full of heavy, hot lava. I can¡¯t tell if my eyes are open or not. If they are, I still can¡¯t see anything but blackness and sparkling stars. I¡¯m losing consciousness, I realize. No, I¡¯m . . . dying.


    ¡°I am so sorry, madam,¡± I hear a small voice say, quiet amidst the noise of flames. ¡°I only just realized.¡± Even as I feel myself fading, my ears strain to listen to the soft, soothing voice of . . . whoever this is. Someone I think I know. Someone . . . help me.


    ¡°I have to do everything around here,¡± a different voice replies. ¡°I can¡¯t stick around. Make sure she doesn¡¯t die. Can you do that?¡± I don¡¯t recognize this voice, but I can tell they¡¯re both women.


    Women . . . I don¡¯t know many women in Alvione.


    ¡°Yes, madam.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t come back and risk the dragon following. You understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes, madam.¡±


    ¡°How long has she been out?¡±


    ¡°I am unsure. Her blackouts have been getting longer. I suspect it¡¯s been maybe twenty minutes, madam.¡±


    ¡°You should¡¯ve kept a better eye on her. You¡¯re lucky I was here. The floor might have collapsed.¡±


    ¡°I . . . Sorry. I¡¯m sorry, madam.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll lead it away. Do not fail me, child. This is all that matters. Tell me you understand.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Lead her to me.¡±


    ¡°She is already on the right path, madam.¡±


    ¡°Then speed up the process. Or what use are you anyway?¡±


    ¡°Yes, madam.¡±


    And then it¡¯s quiet. Far away, I can feel my body moving, being dragged across a hot, dry, crumbling floor. Someone is mumbling. The mumbling becomes clearer, closer, and my lungs become stronger. I can breathe? Can I . . . see?


    My vision begins to clear. I¡¯m alone, tangled in partially scorched vines that move around me, that nip at my skin and drag me, pulling me down from the second story of the castle and all the way to the ground. The view on the way down is nauseating, but I¡¯m too weak to feel sick over it. My body seems to still be healing itself, though, as my vision returns completely and the heat from my body seems to disappear. It¡¯s surreal, unnatural. Magic.


    I¡¯m so lucky I live in a world with magic.


    On the ground below stands Miri, her hands lifted to the sky and face contorted in a look of terror as she seemingly controls the plants that are pulling me down to the earth below. The garden around us still burns, but most of the bushes have been blackened so completely that there¡¯s nothing left for the fire to devour.


    ¡°Miri?¡± I manage to gasp. It doesn¡¯t burn to talk, doesn¡¯t hurt like that anymore, though the skin of my face feels taut and crackles painfully as her name leaves my lips. She finally manages to bring me to the ground with an unceremonious thump.


    ¡°My apologies, Your Majesty,¡± she whispers, her fingers shaking slightly as she releases the vines from her hold and they release me from theirs.


    ¡°Who were you talking to?¡± I ask groggily, looking up at her from where I¡¯m collapsed on the ground. As I start to sit up, I notice my gown is entirely burned away, leaving me in nothing but a torn slip of some kind.


    She tilts her head at me in confusion. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Was that not . . . her? But then who . . .


    She bows deeply then scrambles to help me up. Her big eyes, wide with fear, bore into mine. ¡°I apologize for not telling you of my magic,¡± she whispers urgently, but her concern about me giving a single shit about her powers is deeply misplaced. ¡°I was afraid I would not be trusted if such truths were known.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that, Miri,¡± I murmur as I lean weakly onto her small frame. She stumbles along with me, leading me away from the burning castle. ¡°The dragon . . . ?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°It flew away. I heard its roars coming from the far north. However, the fire it left still rages. The guards are working their way through each room with buckets of water from the well and moat, but it is a slow process. You are so very blessed to have survived this long from within and luckier still that I saw your collapsed form by the broken window.¡±


    But . . . I wasn¡¯t by the window. Those two women . . . They did something to me.


    ¡°Your voice is clear. How did you avoid breathing in the smoke?¡± Miri asks worriedly. I continue to stumble along beside her as we near a clearing where panicked and soot-covered people are laid out on the ground, others wailing and screaming the names of people still lost inside.


    Was Miri . . . not the one who healed me?


    ¡°I . . . I didn¡¯t,¡± I say finally. I let go of Miri as I feel I can walk on my own. My body is healing rapidly, from the inside out it seems, and all that¡¯s left is exhaustion and muscle tension. Who were those women?


    Before I can say more, I see Peter, and he sees the two of us. A look of surprise crosses his face and then quickly transforms into an icy coldness that muddles my already muddled brain even further. His eyes are locked on Miri, who¡¯s stopped dead in her tracks beside me at the sight of him.


    ¡°You!¡± Peter growls. He approaches us swiftly and grabs Miri by the collar of her dress, pulling her close and staring into her eyes with a viciousness I¡¯ve never seen from him before.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I gasp. ¡°What are you doing? She rescued me.¡± I try to grab her hand, but Peter swings her out of my reach like she¡¯s a ragdoll. I feel weak, unbalanced, still healing, I guess.


    ¡°She had her ear pressed to your door. I caught her, and I was about to wring answers out of her when the dragon attacked.¡±


    ¡°She . . . what?¡± My gaze travels from Peter to Miri and back again. I don¡¯t have time to deal with this. I need to find Martin. I need to find those women. But I also can¡¯t leave Miri here with an enraged Peter.


    ¡°I was just curious,¡± Miri gasps, grabbing onto Peter¡¯s hand to steady herself as he holds her up in the air. ¡°Please believe me!¡±


    ¡°Curious?¡± Peter laughs bitterly, his grip on her only tightening. ¡°Who do you work for? My father?¡±


    I¡¯m so confused all I can do is reach for Peter¡¯s free hand. He lets me latch onto him but otherwise ignores me completely. ¡°Please let her down,¡± I manage to say, swaying pathetically. ¡°You¡¯re being paranoid.¡±


    Peter turns to me, an offended, angry expression twisting his face into a hateful snarl. ¡°There is no such thing as being paranoid when you have royal blood. Maids are common spies, and she knows your secret now. Is it a coincidence then that a dragon should appear? I¡¯m not sure I believe in coincidences like that.¡± He turns back to Miri, sneering meanly at her. ¡°You know too much. Don¡¯t you, weasel?¡±


    Miri¡¯s eyes are wide like saucers. ¡°I don¡¯t know much at all!¡± she insists, still scrabbling at Peter¡¯s hand. ¡°Please! Let us speak about this like civilized people. Let me reassure you.¡± She tries to turn toward me, but Peters¡¯s hold on her is firm. ¡°Please believe me, Rose. I am a friend!¡± Rose. So she was listening. To what, exactly? I try to remember what was happening before the dragon attack. My room . . . When Martin and I were talking about Alvione¡¯s legal system? She must have been bored out of her mind, spying on that conversation.


    This new development doesn¡¯t really matter to me. Peter, on the other hand, is pissed. And the sound of my real name leaving her lips seems to infuriate him even more. ¡°You are no friend of mine. Now, tell me who you serve.¡±


    ¡°No one! No one but the queen of Alvione!¡± Peter gives me a look like Can you believe this bitch? which I do not return.


    Then a wave of dizziness hits me. From the fire? The healing? I¡¯m not sure. Either way, I find myself clinging onto Peter for balance now. I need water . . . I need something. I feel weird . . .


    ¡°Peter,¡± I pant, as my head spins. ¡°Not now . . . she saved me.¡±


    ¡°Trying to glean favor, no doubt,¡± he growls, his grip not loosening. ¡°And how did this pitiful little creature ¡®save¡¯ you?¡±


    ¡°She was, like, controlling the plants¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a hedgewitch, all right!?¡± Miri squeaks. ¡°A secret for a secret. I serve only you, Rose, I promise!¡±


    Peter just grins at her wickedly, showing no signs of releasing her. ¡°A witch, hm? Maybe you don¡¯t spy for Ward then, but whom? Enlighten us, or I¡¯ll start breaking fingers.¡±


    Martin¡¯s arrival startles us all. He teleports in a few feet away, stumbling and coughing, the caravan elves hanging onto him with trembling hands. He takes in the scene of us squabbling, and when his eyes land on me, his face is filled with palpable relief.


    Which quickly gives way to anger.


    ¡°Where were you? I searched everywhere,¡± he snaps. There¡¯s a thin layer of ash running up his hands and painting his face in dark streaks. His clothes are burnt like mine, but not as badly.


    ¡°Miri saved me,¡± I manage to say, pointing at her, still being held up by Peter like a cat grabbed by its scruff. ¡°She¡¯s a witch.¡±


    Martin¡¯s brows lower in confusion, his eyes shooting from Miri to me. Then he approaches me, leaving the elves behind, and cups my face. For a confusing split second, I think he¡¯s about to kiss me, and I stiffen, but he just inspects my face. ¡°Then she¡¯ll be able to help with this.¡±


    I don¡¯t have time to worry about my face. ¡°The fire . . .¡± I glance over at Peter. ¡°Let her down. Seriously. We have more important things to worry about.¡±


    His eyes travel to the burning castle. Most of the wood on the outside is gone now, the flags burned down to dust, but the stony skeleton remains. Through the windows, I can see the fire still raging inside. Coughing guards, their clothing blackened and torn, go in and out with buckets that are far too small to save much of anything here. ¡°Fine,¡± Peter finally relents, dropping Miri, who hits the ground with a thump. He squares his shoulders and starts heading back into the building.


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡± I gasp.


    He glances back at me and gives me a cold look. ¡°Stay here.¡±


    Obviously! ¡°Don¡¯t be a hero,¡± I call out, but I make no move to stop him. I realize that I don¡¯t want him to burn, and I don''t want to control him either.


    ¡°I never am,¡± he mutters, then disappears back inside.


    I grab Martin''s arm, turning to him. His mouth drops open in surprise. ¡°Don¡¯t go back in,¡± I say, my quiet tone barely carrying over the sound of the roaring flames. ¡°I can¡¯t lose you.¡± I keep a firm grip on him. I¡¯m not sure how teleporting works, but I¡¯m hoping he can¡¯t do it without taking me too as long as I¡¯m holding onto him.


    He just nods, but there¡¯s a softness in his eyes that I don¡¯t often see. Then I¡¯m distracted by the feeling of a cold salve being applied to my skin and Miri¡¯s tiny hands in my face. Martin and I both jump at the intrusion.


    ¡°My apologies,¡± Miri murmurs. ¡°These things should be applied immediately.¡± Martin takes a step back, though I keep a tight hold on his wrist as she works. She rubs the grease into my cheek, lip, and neck with surprising aggressiveness¡ªthough it somehow doesn¡¯t hurt. I guess you really gotta rub this shit in or something because she¡¯s halfway to giving me a facial massage with it. She looks totally frazzled too¡ªashy, a bit of her hair burnt. ¡°It¡¯s a general salve for most injuries. I¡¯m hoping it will work well for burns, though I cannot be sure.¡± She dips her fingers back into the little jar she¡¯s procured and applies a second coat.


    ¡°You just keep that on you?¡± I manage to say as she seemingly rearranges my face with her fingers.


    ¡°I¡¯m very clumsy¡± is all she says back.


    ¡°You were in there for nearly half an hour,¡± Martin murmurs. ¡°But your wounds seem to only be external. How?¡±


    My eyes flick over to him as I try to stay still for Miri. ¡°We¡¯ll talk about this later.¡± But then I remember that Miri already knows a ton about the situation, and I decide to speak frankly. If she was one of the two women, none of this will be news to her anyway. ¡°Actually . . . I¡¯ll tell you now.¡±


    I recount the conversation I¡¯d overheard in my half-dead state, trying as best I can to remember what was said and how the voices had sounded. It¡¯s all so jumbled in my head now, that I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m recounting it with any accuracy. Miri and Martin listen with rapt attention and don¡¯t interrupt. Miri even pauses in her application of the salve. When I¡¯m done, Martin just shakes his head. ¡°Hard to know what to make of that.¡±


    ¡°Helpful,¡± I say dryly.


    He glares at me. ¡°There¡¯s no time for this. We need to douse the fire, find the remaining people trapped inside, rebuild, ask our allies for assistance . . .¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going back in there,¡± I gasp, gripping his arm as tightly as I can. He gives me a bewildered look. You can¡¯t die in there. You can¡¯t die on me. I need you alive. He seems to know what I¡¯m thinking, or guesses it, because he stops fighting and pulls me into a hug. I blink, the feeling of being wrapped in his arms both comforting and dizzying.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay,¡± he promises. ¡°All right?¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I whisper back. When I pull back from the hug, Miri is scratching her head awkwardly, looking away from us. Jeez, Miri, it¡¯s not like that.


    My brain¡¯s so muddled from all that¡¯s gone on, I almost forget what I tried to do. That I tried to end this story early. But it¡¯s hard to feel guilty when all I can think about is why it didn¡¯t work. Why The Final Tale didn¡¯t seem to have changed the way The Tales of Alvione had. Why it was still exactly the same. Why I didn¡¯t burn to death like Eliana would have, despite not doing anything special. Why I got lucky when she didn¡¯t. Why all of this seems to be making less and less sense.


    I am not some ¡°chosen one.¡± I can¡¯t be. Because that would be stupid, right?


    Miri puts the bottle of salve in my hands, pulling me from more confusing thoughts. ¡°You need it more than I,¡± she says softly.


    Martin digs around in his pockets and pulls out a small mirror. ¡°Here.¡±


    I raise an eyebrow at him but accept it. ¡°You guys have mirrors?¡±


    ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡± he says in a low, annoyed tone. ¡°All fire mages know how to make mirrors. It¡¯s how many of us earn our keep, you know.¡±


    I roll my eyes and hold up the mirror to inspect myself.


    Fuck. I nearly drop the thing; no, I grip it tighter.


    I don¡¯t know what I expected Eliana to look like, but when I read The Tales of Alvione, I pictured a generic white girl with brown hair. A fully white girl. But that¡¯s not what I see.


    I see me.

 Chapter 16: The Chosen One

    Well, I¡¯m the fucking chosen one. Why the hell does ¡°Eliana¡± look exactly like me? My eyes flick to Martin. ¡°Describe me,¡± I sputter out. Maybe I¡¯m just seeing myself because I¡¯m me. Maybe that¡¯s why . . .


    Martin gives me a bewildered look then says, ¡°Well, you have dark brown hair. Almost black. Your eyes are brown, a bit angular, like Peter¡¯s. And¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good enough,¡± I say. Peter¡¯s obviously half-fucking-Asian and so am I. Martin sees me too.


    I glance at Miri, then the burning castle. ¡°Why don¡¯t you help them collect water?¡± I tell her. It¡¯s an order. One that she quickly obeys. Once she¡¯s gone, I turn back to Martin, who¡¯s watching me quietly.


    ¡°Something happened,¡± he says. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°A lot of somethings actually.¡± I take a breath. ¡°I feel dizzy. Can we sit?¡±


    Maybe it¡¯s selfish not to run in to help the people of the castle. But I¡¯m still weak. And I can¡¯t help but prioritize those I care about¡ªwhich is a short list.


    Martin helps me down into the grass, and I notice his hands are shaking slightly. He probably knows there¡¯s more he can do to help the remaining people inside, but after twenty minutes of burning, I don¡¯t have much hope for them. And Martin is special to me. He¡¯s my only true ally. The only person I can trust. I look up into his eyes. ¡°I think Miri was one of the women from that conversation.¡±


    His eyebrows shoot up. ¡°She didn¡¯t seem to know what you were talking about.¡±


    ¡°I know. But if she¡¯s working for someone else, she¡¯s already good at lying.¡± I take a breath. ¡°Peter caught her spying, and the voices I heard . . . I thought one of them sounded familiar. I don¡¯t know any women in Alvione but her. Unless someone from my actual, real life is in Alvione now, it had to have been her. I¡¯m not sure but . . . she¡¯s the best guess I¡¯ve got.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll keep an eye on her too,¡± he says softly. ¡°What else? There¡¯s more, is there not?¡±


    ¡°I was supposed to die in the fire. That¡¯s what happened in the book.¡±


    His shaking hands still for a moment. I¡¯ve been gripping his wrist all this time, but now he grips mine back.


    ¡°You were supposed to die too,¡± I continue. ¡°And the book . . . it just ended. The rest of the pages were just an error.¡±


    ¡°An error? In what way?¡±


    Fuck, how do I explain technology? ¡°In my world, we don¡¯t have magic, but we do have computers. I¡¯m not totally sure how to explain them, but they¡¯re essentially metal and electricity, and they use numbers to work. Ones and zeroes. Point is, it was like a computer error. It was technological, not magical. I don¡¯t think magic is going to answer our questions. But it mentioned Alistria Okuta, so I think you¡¯re right about that¡ªI think she¡¯s the key to this. I¡¯m not sure in what way, but it seemed like Eliana¡¯s life is connected to hers¡ªor maybe my life is connected to hers.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t say anything at first. Then he says, ¡°So nothing changes. We find her.¡±


    ¡°One more thing.¡± I motion to my face vaguely. ¡°This is what I look like. In real life. I didn¡¯t know until I saw myself in your mirror. This whole time, I guess I thought Eliana was her own person¡ªsomeone who was completely different from me in everything but age. I thought I was just inhabiting her body, but . . . she looks exactly like me. I look exactly like her. I don¡¯t understand how that could be possible.¡± I feel the tears on my cheeks before I realize they¡¯re falling. Martin¡¯s brow furrows and he cups my face gently with one hand.


    ¡°We will figure this out. I promise. You don¡¯t have to worry.¡±


    I try to speak but choke on my sobs. Then I manage to get out, ¡°I woke up in my world right as the fire started, and I . . . I tried to end the dreams. I didn¡¯t even say goodbye. I was going to let you die, let Eliana die, let Peter die. I¡¯m so sorry. I gave up. I wanted out.¡±


    He huffs and shakes his head, a pitying look painting his face with sorrow. ¡°You did not want to feel yourself die. That is nothing to apologize for¡ªit is human nature. I am glad that you wanted to live, but I am also glad that you did survive and that you¡¯re here now.¡±


    He forgives me. He thinks there¡¯s nothing to forgive. I wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly as I cry. He rubs my back in a weak attempt at reassuring me, which I appreciate nonetheless.


    ¡°Well, I am glad to know that this is what you truly look like,¡± he murmurs. I think he¡¯s trying to lighten the mood, but his heart isn¡¯t fully in it. ¡°At least there is that one consistency across our worlds.¡±


    I laugh through my tears. ¡°Yeah, I guess. But it doesn¡¯t make any fucking sense.¡± I rest my head on his shoulder. At least I have him. ¡°What do we do now?¡±


    He sighs, and I feel his fingers in my hair, each slight touch a comfort. ¡°We wait for the fire to stop.¡±


    It does stop. Eventually. Only because there¡¯s nothing left to burn. The injured are moved into the homes of nearby volunteers, and healers are stuck working near-endless shifts. The inhabitants of the castle are moved into the local inn or return to their family homes for the time being, and a portion of the army¡ªthe soldiers not stationed on the border¡ªare to arrive in the evening or at some point tomorrow to help with cleaning up the rubble.


    From eavesdropping on some gossiping women, I learn that Leon is staying at a different volunteer¡¯s house, and it¡¯s a relief to know that everyone I know here has somehow survived this madness. Miri is in the inn, and Peter and Martin are staying in the same house as I am, ¡°due to being my advisors.¡± (Though my other advisors are staying elsewhere, so I imagine Peter and Martin likely pushed for this on their own accord.)


    I spend much of my time with said advisors, Peter and Martin included, crowded into the private dining room of my new temporary home. The older advisors bristle at Peter¡¯s presence, though his efforts to pull people from the burning building has earned him some favor. Several planned trials for criminals have been postponed in the wake of this disaster, so the test of the new legal system will be delayed. One of my advisors, a man with a curled white mustache, has taken this on as his main project. It¡¯s a relief, really, to know it¡¯s off my plate.


    It¡¯s decided that I should go to Viridia and ask for disaster relief. Leon could be an asset, so I¡¯m meant to discuss this with him tomorrow and get a plan in place. Peter makes an insistent plea that I stop by Ward with him on the way over, since we¡¯ll likely need to cross through Ward anyway if we want to take the fastest route to Castle Viridia. It could be a sign of good faith to greet the king and queen rather than passing through their lands quietly. My advisors all despise this idea¡ªAlvione is weak; I will be a sitting duck. But Martin says he will go too, and then I have the final word, and I want to do it. Maybe I have too much faith in myself, but I think fostering good relations with Ward right now is worth a shot. And I think I can do it.


    We spend so long talking and discussing next steps that I¡¯m practically dizzy with exhaustion when the meeting ends. Martin and Peter both follow me to my room, acting as if they are my bodyguards or something, likely because I¡¯ve sent all the uninjured castle guards to help clear rubble so the builders can start fixing the missing floors of the castle sooner rather than later.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    When we arrive at my room, I collapse onto the bed. It¡¯s much smaller than the one I¡¯d had in the castle, which is frankly more my speed. The volunteers whose house we¡¯re staying in gave me the best room, of course. Their room. Being the queen is fucking weird.


    Peter and Martin hover in the door, looking at each other, while I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.


    ¡°What?¡± I say. The silence is getting weird.


    ¡°It¡¯s been hours,¡± Martin says slowly.


    I look over at them and catch Peter¡¯s eyes traveling across my body. I¡¯m no longer wearing the burnt slip from before; some generous women donated their clothes, so I¡¯m wearing a plain, clean dress that I imagine makes me look like any other medieval girl¡ªhardly a queen. ¡°You haven¡¯t fainted,¡± Peter adds.


    Oh shit. They¡¯re right. I sit up suddenly. I . . . I should have woken up by now. My frightened eyes flick between them and ¡°oh no¡± is all I can think to say.


    Martin appears to be deep in thought, but Peter just says, ¡°Perhaps you died in your world.¡± At that, Martin is shaken from his reverie and glares at Peter.


    ¡°Do not say that to her. There are many reasons why this could have happened.¡±


    Peter rolls his eyes. ¡°The two of you love complicated things. Sometimes the answer is simple.¡± He walks over to the bed and sits on it, which seems to irritate Martin even more. I don¡¯t think too much about it, though, as my focus remains on what Peter said. Did I really die? But . . . I was at home. What could have killed me? Trix? There¡¯s no way I¡¯m dead. There¡¯s no possible way.


    Then why am I still here?


    My mouth feels dry when I speak. ¡°Could it . . . could it be because of those women? Maybe they didn¡¯t just heal me. Maybe they did something to make my stays here longer? One of them did say I needed to meet her, and the other said I was already on the path.¡±


    Could one of those women have been Alistria Okuta? The thought comes suddenly and feels obvious as I have it. She¡¯s the only woman I¡¯m on any path to meet.


    ¡°That could be it,¡± Martin says quietly. ¡°There is no way to be sure without talking to either of them.¡±


    ¡°What women?¡± Peter¡¯s voice comes out rough and a little too loud, and he¡¯s clearly frustrated from feeling left out of the conversation. Right. He wasn¡¯t there.


    I recount the story to him, and Martin helps fill in some of the details I¡¯d said before that I forgot this time around. When we¡¯re finished, Peter looks at me, his expression flat.


    ¡°They must have been Alistria Okuta and Miriam,¡± he says. ¡°Two women who possess magic? One of whom has a dragon that seemingly follows her with the intent to destroy anything in its path? Who else could that be but Alistria? I have never heard of a dragon leaving its cave to chase after any one person, so I doubt it would do so for someone unimportant.¡±


    Martin shakes his head. ¡°We can¡¯t be sure.¡±


    A mild scowl crosses Peter¡¯s face. ¡°Once again, you seek to complicate what appears an obvious answer.¡±


    It was the thought I¡¯d just had as well, so I admit, ¡°I think Peter¡¯s right.¡± Martin¡¯s surprised look makes me feel a bit embarrassed¡ªit feels weird to take Peter¡¯s side over his¡ªbut I can¡¯t think of anything else that would make sense. ¡°But let¡¯s just pay attention to Miri for now. See what she does. If we can get more information out of her, that could help us moving forward. For now, I think we should all pretend to believe her, because if she trusts us, she may be more likely to tell us things that could lead us to Alistria on our own terms. After all, it didn¡¯t seem like these women were working against me. The one in charge wanted me to meet her.¡±


    Martin lets out a short sigh. ¡°Very well. But there is no telling what she wants from you, whoever she is. And there are fates worse than death.¡±


    He has a point. I didn¡¯t think about that. What if she just wants to torture me? Then what? Every time I fall asleep I dream of torture? Surely I could read to the end of The Tales of Alvione and get out, though. Clearly The Final Tale wasn¡¯t involved with whatever¡¯s going on with me, and that makes me doubt The Tales of Ward will be either.


    But first I have to wake up in my world. A worse thought follows: What if I can¡¯t get back at all?


    As if he can sense the stress in me building, Martin says, ¡°Do not panic. Let us take things one at a time. For now, rest. I know I need some sleep. It is possible that going to sleep here could return you to your home.¡±


    Like a forced reset? Maybe.


    ¡°Right,¡± I say softly, trying to give him a reassuring smile that I¡¯m sure comes out as a grimace.


    Martin looks at Peter expectantly, but Peter doesn''t budge from where he¡¯s sitting on my bed. ¡°Come on,¡± Martin says to him finally, motioning to the door.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to stay a bit longer,¡± Peter says. ¡°Watch over her.¡±


    Martin¡¯s expression darkens. ¡°She is safer alone than anywhere with you.¡±


    Peter stiffens and seems to be about to say something, so I interrupt. ¡°He can stay. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Martin¡¯s mouth drops open for a second, then thins into a frown, which is met with a triumphant grin from Peter.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Martin says. ¡°Scream if he tries to kill you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to¡ª¡± Martin walks away before Peter can finish. He scowls and turns to me. ¡°Do you despise me too?¡± He reaches out and runs his fingers through my hair without a lick of hesitation, but I surprise both of us by not drawing away from his hand.


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because I know your past is complicated.¡± He stiffens, but I just continue. ¡°And I suppose I can¡¯t help but pity you.¡±


    Harsh words, but he can take it. In fact, his lips curl into a half-smile at my bold words. ¡°You like playing dangerous games. Though I do too, so I cannot fault you for such things.¡± He pauses, his hand still tracing the strands of hair by my temple. ¡°To think that you know so much about me, and I know so little about you . . . It hardly seems fair. Do you agree?¡±


    I look up into his dark eyes and find them pensive. ¡°I prefer having an advantage, actually.¡±


    At that, he laughs, and it¡¯s a surprisingly soft sound for someone so rough around the edges. Then his hand stills as he considers his next question. ¡°Would you tell me more about yourself? Your . . . real self.¡±


    ¡°My real self,¡± I say thoughtfully. ¡°Well, alright. Where to begin . . .¡±


    We talk for hours. At some point he procures a flask, and we both drink from it¡ªfinish it, in fact. I blabber on, red-faced from alcohol, while he gives me a silly little drunk smile. Peter is a surprisingly good listener, who never cuts in unless he has something wry to add, and having this much uninterrupted time in Alvione is almost refreshing¡ªif it wasn¡¯t so concerning. Over the course of my ramblings about my childhood, my failed relationships, my recently budding relationship, my job, Snowy, all of it, he eventually joins me in the bed, laying beside me with his head propped up by his hand as he listens with rapt attention. When I finally catch up to where we¡¯re at now, I realize he¡¯s been playing with my hand, tracing the lines on my palm quietly, absentmindedly. ¡°Your world sounds complex,¡± he says finally. ¡°Do you prefer it over this one?¡±


    I close my hand around his, squeezing gently as his fingers intertwine with mine, and think about my answer. My head feels cloudy, my body hot and heavy with liquor. He has a faraway look in his eye, and his palms are red from his own drunkenness. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I have a preference. Sometimes it feels nice to escape the monotony of my life over there. Other times, this feels like the greatest challenge I¡¯ve ever faced¡ªbut even saying that feels silly. I can abandon this world. I truly believe I have the power to, even if I haven¡¯t done it successfully quite yet. But I keep finding myself back here anyway. I keep finding myself wanting to come back here. Maybe I¡¯m just stupid.¡±


    ¡°You are not stupid.¡± I must look sad, because he reaches out with his free hand to stroke my cheek and repeats it: ¡°You are not stupid.¡± And then . . . he¡¯s kissing me, and I¡ªI¡¯m kissing him back. I didn¡¯t mean for it to happen, but my hands are sliding behind his neck, pulling him closer, and his hands are sliding down my sides to my waist, and my fingers are playing with his hair, my tongue tangling with his, and then I¡¯m tugging at his clothes.


    I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m making a mess of everything for no good reason at all.

 Chapter 17: The Broken Hearted

    The next morning, I don¡¯t wake up in my world. No, I wake up with my head on Peter¡¯s chest, and he¡¯s still asleep, and I¡¯m hungover, and oh god¡ªlast night comes rushing back, raunchy scenes bleeding together in my mind like a bad trip. As if he can sense my eyes on him, his open as well, and he gives me a long look¡ªwhich I return.


    I hate that he¡¯s beautiful. The black hair that falls into his face, the dark depths of his gaze, even his scar that slices his eyebrow in two¡ªit¡¯s unfair, really, to get to look like that.


    And he . . . wanted me?


    ¡°Let¡¯s not think of it as a mistake,¡± he says, his voice surprisingly soft as he takes in what is probably a very dazed look on my face.


    Even though it is. A mistake, I mean.


    But I just say, ¡°Okay.¡±


    His hand cards through my hair, settling onto my cheek. Last night, my face still felt a bit raw from the burns, but now . . . I think I¡¯m back to normal. Peter¡¯s fingers brush against the new, healed skin¡ªwarm, gentle, he¡¯s so confusing. Then he smiles, that wicked, wolfish thing he does that makes my nerve endings spark like a fork in a socket. ¡°Martin will be jealous,¡± he says.


    ¡°Pfft.¡± Oh please. I sigh and roll my eyes. ¡°Of me or of you?¡±


    He laughs. ¡°Just . . . jealous.¡±


    This guy. He¡¯s unpredictable, and I¡¯m reckless. We are not a good pairing. And it is a mistake. Martin¡¯s right; I shouldn¡¯t have let him stay here¡ªthis is the guy I thought was going to kill me at one point. What the hell is wrong with me?


    It¡¯s cause we were drunk. That¡¯s why. Right?


    A bout of shame turns my stomach over. I called Eliana stupid so many times when reading The Tales of Alvione, but now I know one thing for sure: I¡¯m dumber than her. I was feeling hopeless, and he was looking hot, and he was listening to me, and that¡¯s all it took.


    I can¡¯t keep doing that.


    First Trix and now Peter? I can¡¯t just fuck my anxiety away. It¡¯s not fair to anyone.


    (No . . . I can¡¯t think about Trix. If she reads the book, she¡¯ll know I just think of her as a . . . Oh god, it¡¯s too late, isn¡¯t it?)


    Then an equally intrusive thought interrupts the last one: What does it matter? If I died over there, I can¡¯t go back anyway. I feel as though a hand has taken hold of my gut and is twisting it, squeezing tight.


    Peter¡¯s thumb runs along my cheek and down to my lips, returning me to the present. I give him a dizzied look as my eyes focus on his jaw, his mouth, his furrowed brows¡ªand the small smile that brightens his face. I hear myself murmur, ¡°You¡¯re trying to keep me from spiraling, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± he huffs. ¡°I¡¯m much more self-centered than that.¡± He pulls me in closer so my face is pressed to his bare chest, inundated with his warmth, as he runs his fingers through my hair. I wrap my arms around him instinctively, the closeness pushing away my anxieties and replacing them with an unsteady feeling of comfort. His skin is scarred but soft, and the faintest smell of burnt wood lingers in the air around us, even a day after the fire. Still, the scent of him overwhelms even that, filling my senses with a heady mix of sweat and spice, something I can¡¯t quite define. Though my mind spins, my body craves this¡ªcraves the feeling of not being alone.


    Am I pathetic, or am I just human? Is there a difference?


    ¡°Would it be that bad,¡± he whispers, ¡°if you were stuck here?¡±


    Now that¡¯s a serious question. One I don¡¯t have the answer to.


    I¡¯m not sure I care. I¡¯m not sure it matters. I¡¯m not sure any of it is even my choice at the end of the day.


    I turn my chin up toward his face, and our eyes meet.


    I . . . can¡¯t do this.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to go find Martin,¡± I say without thinking. ¡°We need to meet up with Leon today.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    He blinks and lets out a small, surprised sound as I disentangle from his limbs and start picking my clothes up off the floor. He watches me pull on my underwear silently for a moment, then says, ¡°You are strange.¡±


    I search the dress for a zipper before I remember they don¡¯t have zippers here, then start pulling it on like a pair of pants instead. ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°You are very . . . unaffected.¡±


    I pause and tilt my head at him, trying not to look as jittery as I feel. ¡°Oh. Well, yeah.¡± I finish pulling on the dress and start tying down the random strings that hang all over it, my fingers gripping the threads so roughly it seems they might snap. ¡°I mean, this is just a casual thing, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Peter just stares. ¡°. . . Is it?¡±


    I tug the last few strings taut, tightening the dress across my chest, then swirl them into awkward bows. ¡°I don¡¯t know, is it?¡± Then I shake my head. ¡°What am I doing? I don¡¯t have time for this. There¡¯s too much to do.¡± I cross the room to the door and step into my shoes, my head swirling. I turn to face him before I leave. He¡¯s still tucked into my bed, the blanket in a disarray across his lower half. His face wears a blend of confusion and surprise, his mouth slightly ajar as he looks at me like a lost puppy. I pause, then in a moment of weakness, approach him. I cup his face gently, lean in, and plant a chaste kiss onto his open mouth, which snaps shut in response. When I draw back, I see his soft gaze spinning with conflicting emotions. ¡°We¡¯ll talk about this later, okay?¡±


    His hand lifts and holds my wrist gently, as if begging me to stay. ¡°I have spent many years treating the people I take to bed the way you are treating me now,¡± he says softly. ¡°I believe I finally understand why they seemed to despise it so much.¡±


    Ouch. ¡°Do you hate me?¡±


    He shakes his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. ¡°I am not sure I can.¡±


    ¡°Give it time,¡± I joke weakly. I slip out of his grasp and head out into the hall. A heavy exhale falls from my lips as the door shuts behind me. What the fuck am I doing? But there¡¯s no time to wonder¡ªI have priorities. I am a queen, I am a barista, I am nothing and everything and¡ª


    One thing at a time.


    Martin is smoking up a storm when I find him, bent over the windowsill in his room and puffing smoke out into the spring air at a pace that can¡¯t be healthy.


    ¡°Whoa whoa whoa. What are you doing?¡± I cross the room and pluck the cigarette from his fingers before he even registers that I¡¯m there. He starts and tries to snatch it back, but I hold it out of reach.


    ¡°What do you think I am doing?¡± he snaps. ¡°I did not exactly get the most peaceful rest last night.¡± I freeze at his words, and he takes the opportunity to delicately reclaim the cigarette, then shove it between his teeth. ¡°You¡¯re very loud, you know?¡± he grumbles as he turns back to the window and releases another cloud of smoke.


    ¡°I . . . uh . . . Are you mad?¡±


    His brow drops low over his eyes as he gives me a deadpan look. ¡°Really? What are you, a child?¡± He lets out a little laugh. ¡°Well, clearly not a child.¡±


    A flash of annoyance courses through me at his petty little remarks. ¡°Peter thinks you¡¯re jealous,¡± I say before I can stop myself.


    Martin bursts out laughing at that, smoke shooting out his nose. Coughing mixes in with the laughter, and he pulls the cigarette from his lips as he waves his hand in front of his face, trying to recover. When he does, he says carefully, ¡°He certainly has been trying for a while to . . . Well, you know.¡± I raise an eyebrow, though I can¡¯t say I¡¯m shocked. ¡°But I do not take his . . . propositions seriously. Peter has a reputation for indulging in excessive sexual relations.¡±


    I pretend not to notice how he leaves me out of the equation entirely and sit down on the windowsill beside him. There¡¯s barely enough space for both of us, and my knees bump against his. ¡°Do you judge him for that?¡±


    Martin¡¯s eyes meet mine, and I see a hint of hurt there¡ªlike it offends him that I¡¯d think so little of him. I feel a twinge of guilt for this, to top off my growing mountain of guilt for everything else. ¡°Of course not,¡± he says quietly. ¡°But I would not indulge in such a thing with someone who tried to hurt you.¡± His words cut through me easily, and then his gaze does too as it runs across my face and down to my neck, where it pauses and darkens. He reaches out, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin there. ¡°Do you still have Miriam¡¯s salve?¡±


    I don¡¯t have to see it to know what he¡¯s looking at. I remember what happened last night well enough. It may be the only visible hickey, but it¡¯s certainly not the only one. I push through the humiliation. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Use it before you meet with Leon. He¡¯s rather innocent. And, I fear, easily devastated.¡± He gives me half of a smile, though his face is still dominated by worry. His hand slides from the hickey to rest against the back of my neck, and I can¡¯t help but relax into his touch. He lets out a sigh, his cigarette dying out in his fingers as it¡¯s forgotten. ¡°I know you are afraid of what might have happened to you in your world. But that is even more reason for you to be more careful here.¡±


    My chest trembles as I take a breath. What is it about him that always makes me want to cry? ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whisper. ¡°I keep letting you down.¡±


    He just shakes his head, his fingers brushing against my hairline softly. ¡°Do not worry yourself with that. I will always be on your side. Always.¡±


    A pang. A pain. No one in my world has ever said anything like that to me¡ªnot Adam, not even my own mother. ¡°Why? Because I am the queen?¡± I laugh in a weak attempt to release some of the excess tension that¡¯s begun filling my eyes with tears.


    ¡°Because you are my dearest friend,¡± he says, and the sincerity in his face shatters the dam easily.


    Can you love a person so much it breaks your heart?


    His hands find their way to my cheeks, brushing away the tears as they fall, and then he brings me close, planting a kiss onto my forehead. ¡°Everything will be alright in the end. I promise you that, Rose. We¡¯re just not there yet.¡±

 Chapter 18: The Reality of Him

    Once I¡¯m presentable, I go to meet with Leon. Martin insists on walking me there, muttering angrily about how Peter is ¡°nowhere to be found¡± after ¡°crossing lines he should never have crossed,¡± and then waits outside as I go in, a permanent scowl etched on his face.


    In the kitchen, I find Leon staring at a metal pot and some poorly chopped vegetable, clearly deep in thought. His house is a lot like the one I¡¯ve been staying in¡ªnice, probably, by medieval standards, but nothing compared to the castle. The walls are an unassuming whitish stone, all bricked together by what I assume is just mud, and the floors are covered in the same prickly rushes that haunt every room at my current place. The furniture is made up of simple wood and straw, and leaves much to be desired. But now I¡¯m just being an ass to the middle ages.


    When Leon spots me, his eyes widen, and a relieved smile spreads across his face, his cheeks dimpling cutely. He puts the pot down with a clang and says, breathlessly, ¡°Queen Eliana!¡± In three long strides, he reaches me and wraps me in his big arms. I practically disappear into the embrace, feeling lost in a sea of soft fabric and warm vanilla. I recover from my surprise quickly though and manage to hug him back before it¡¯s over, though I expend most of my energy trying not to look as startled as I feel. When he pulls away, I see a mirror of my own surprise on his face along with a mix of sheepish embarrassment and guilt.


    ¡°My apologies. I was so concerned¡ªbut I was unsure if you were well enough for visitors, if you would even want company. Seeing you now, I felt so overwhelmed with relief, I lost all sense of myself. Please forgive me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that,¡± I breathe, waving my hand dismissively. Every time I¡¯m with Peter and Martin, I forget what it¡¯s like to be in the same room as Leon. It¡¯s like being in the same room as the sun¡ªblinding, warm, impossible, and I get all sweaty. Then his words finally reach my brain. People have been talking about me getting burnt in the fire? I wonder if the rumors make me sound like a badass or like the Phantom of the Opera. I push the thought away and ask politely, ¡°How are you? Were you harmed at all?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°I am quite alright.¡± He holds out one arm, drawing back his sleeve, and I feel my stomach turn at the sight of the melted skin all up his forearm. ¡°This was all I sustained.¡±


    ¡°You should have told a healer,¡± I gasp. I automatically dig around in my skirts to grab Miri¡¯s jar of salve from one of my deep pockets. Once I find it, I quickly uncork it and scoop out some of the thick, greasy serum, then begin rubbing it onto his skin. He blinks in surprise but doesn¡¯t resist, letting me massage it in as I attempt to imitate what Miri did for me.


    ¡°It does not hurt,¡± he says softly. ¡°You should not waste it on me.¡±


    Maybe he¡¯s right, but I can¡¯t help myself. ¡°It¡¯s not a waste. This is what it¡¯s for.¡±


    He watches me for a moment as I work, and we both fall silent. I can actually see the effect of the medicine for the first time, and it is bizarre to witness. It¡¯s almost as if it is rebuilding the skin rapidly, and the burned part is just being exfoliated away. I have no problem figuring out when I¡¯m done, as he¡¯s essentially brand new by the end of it. The fresh layer of skin is still greasy and shining from the salve, but it¡¯s also noticeably paler than the rest of him. He must spend a lot of time outside. I realize I¡¯m still massaging his arm slightly, running my fingers up and down its length, and freeze as I realize how fucking weird that is.


    ¡°What did you come here to talk to me about?¡± he asks, offering me an out. When I look up at him, he smiles softly. ¡°You want to ask Viridia for support?¡±


    I cringe internally and then grimace externally because I can¡¯t control my face. ¡°I¡¯m transparent. I¡¯m sorry. I wish I didn¡¯t have to. Really, I do.¡±


    ¡°What is it that you need exactly?¡±


    I parrot what the advisors told me to say: ¡°Lumber from the forests of Viridia and some additional military support along the Ward border to discourage expeditionary forces.¡±


    ¡°But there is no war,¡± he says with a hint of a smile on his face. ¡°So there should not be any expeditionary forces.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why . . . it¡¯s to discourage them?¡± I stare up at him and admit quietly, ¡°I don¡¯t really know what I¡¯m saying.¡±


    He laughs before he can stop himself, then bites his lip¡ªprobably to hold back another laugh before it turns into more. ¡°I understand. Do not feel foolish. I have only just now realized I don¡¯t know all of the ingredients to my favorite meal. I decided to attempt to make it, but I fear all I will be making is cabbage soup.¡±


    ¡°Cabbage soup is pretty good,¡± I say unhelpfully.


    He chuckles, scratching his head. ¡°Dire times, I suppose.¡±


    I walk over to what I guess is chopped cabbage, but mostly looks like a mess, and let out a small laugh. ¡°You¡¯re just like me. I can¡¯t cook for shit either.¡±


    His eyebrows shoot up at my words, and I realize I¡¯ve just been crass in front of him for maybe the first time.


    ¡°Uh, I mean . . .¡±


    I trail off as he joins me at the counter, looking down at the cabbage. ¡°You do not have to pretend to be more than you are. I find the person you are fascinating already.¡± He picks up a cabbage leaf and observes it.


    Will he find it fascinating that I banged Peter? God, why am I thinking about that right now? I wring my hands like a guilty Scooby Doo villain.


    ¡°Are you talking to the cabbage?¡± I ask in an attempt to fill the silence.


    He quirks a smile at me. ¡°Would you prefer if I was?¡± His eyes seem to sparkle as they shine down into mine.


    No. No! No stupid flirting. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Maybe I should be happy. Maybe I should be enjoying this cute little banter, this momentary reprieve from a long list of stressors that keeps getting longer. But I¡¯m probably dead in real life. I just screwed Peter, and in some other way, kinda feel like I screwed Martin. Miri might be a spy. The whole castle got burnt down by a dragon¡ªand who knows what that¡¯s all about really, since it clearly has nothing to do with Ward. And Leon? I¡¯m not even sure I get Leon, at least not really.


    He says he likes me. Why? He says he wants to court me? Why? Nothing in Alvione is that simple¡ªwhich is a revelation I¡¯m probably having way too late. But it strikes me as true, and I want more truth right now.


    My hands tense at my sides, and I take a deep breath. I focus in on the cabbage massacre before us and decide to be honest. ¡°I find you confusing.¡± I immediately pause. Well, that¡¯s not quite how I wanted to start that, but it¡¯ll have to do. I keep my eyes fixed on the cabbage; I don¡¯t want to see what his face looks like right now. Then I open my mouth to continue. ¡°The thing is . . . I don¡¯t understand why I would be interesting to you. You¡¯re seemingly perfect, and I find it hard to believe you like me for who I am and that¡¯s that. So, why? Why are you courting me?¡± I grab some cabbage leaves and start flattening them out to try to keep my hands busy while I wait for him to respond.


    He¡¯s silent for a long time. Well, maybe not that long, but to me, it feels like centuries. Finally, he says in a flat voice, ¡°It¡¯s mutually beneficial, and you do not bore me.¡±


    Fuck. I look up at him at last, my eyebrows raised. I expect a stony expression, or a gleam of cleverness in his gaze, but I don¡¯t get any of that. He just looks kind of sad. But I believe him¡ªand that answer actually makes sense to me.


    Okay. I can work with that.


    I pick at the cabbage. ¡°You said ¡®it¡¯s mutually beneficial¡¯ first,¡± I tease.


    One corner of his lips turns up in a lopsided, weak smile. ¡°It did not seem you would have believed me if I said it in the other order.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re more concerned with me believing you than being honest?¡±


    ¡°Switching the order of my words would make them no less honest.¡±


    I study him, and he studies me right back. ¡°You¡¯re not just a pretty face, are you?¡±


    ¡°Nor are you.¡± He turns his eyes back down to the cabbage and sighs. ¡°Though it is true that I do not know what I¡¯m doing here.¡±


    Forget the fucking soup.


    I scoop up the cabbage and turn to toss it into the pot. He watches my movements with an almost distant look in his eyes. ¡°Just boil it,¡± I say. ¡°Food is food. Sometimes it¡¯s not that good.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t move. ¡°Do you find me a dishonest person?¡±


    It¡¯s his turn not to make eye contact. I shake my head. ¡°No. Though I think you might be a bit of a performer.¡± I turn to him, then reach up and touch his cheek with one hand, turning his face toward mine so he¡¯s forced to look at me. We make eye contact, and I can see now the depth of emotion in his expression, a storm of conflicting feelings. I don¡¯t remember Leon being this complicated in the books. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make you a bad person,¡± I say firmly. ¡°I¡¯m sure it has more to do with how you were raised than it does with who you are inside.¡±


    Hesitantly, he raises his hand to touch mine, holding it against his face. For a moment, I think I see a glimpse of teariness in his eyes, but then it¡¯s gone. ¡°Sometimes I don¡¯t feel like a real person,¡± he says quietly. ¡°I cannot remember what it feels like to simply live or to want something for my own. Maybe I never did.¡± He sighs. ¡°If the crown is heavier than this, then I cannot possibly imagine its weight.¡±


    To an extent, I know what he means. Hell, I¡¯d been a bit of a robot for quite a few years now. The last time I felt truly alive . . . was probably when I¡¯d first read this book series. No worries about school, about a job, about money, bills, health insurance. Just me and my escapism. I felt alive.


    In Alvione, I feel alive.


    An invasive thought worms its way into my head: Maybe Peter¡¯s right. But he can¡¯t be¡ªnot really. This isn¡¯t where I belong. It just isn¡¯t.


    I shake the thoughts from my head as best I can. Because I can¡¯t start spiraling now¡ªit won¡¯t help me at all. I have to keep moving forward and see how this all plays out. That¡¯s my only option left. The crown is heavy, but it¡¯s mine; this life is confusing, complicated, and stressful, but it¡¯s mine.


    I take a deep breath and say, ¡°You can always start now, by making some shitty soup with me.¡±


    Leon lets out a laugh. It¡¯s raspy, a bit broken, but it feels real. ¡°Alright.¡±


    ¡°You have water?¡±


    He brings over a bucket, prefilled from god knows where. A well probably. As he fills the pot, I investigate the bed of wood and straw in the hearth.


    ¡°And uh . . . do you know how to light this?¡±


    With a grin, he places the bucket aside, slings the pot onto the trammel, and bends down to grab a stone and some weird metal handle from the lower shelf. I watch as he strikes them together a few times until sparks form. Ah, flint and steel. Duh. Minecraft. ¡°Should we not flavor the soup?¡± he asks once the fire starts to burn.


    I raise an eyebrow at him. ¡°Do you have ¡®flavors¡¯?¡±


    ¡°I do not know,¡± he says very seriously, his brow furrowed in concentration. ¡°This is not my house.¡±


    I laugh at that, probably harder than I should, but it makes him laugh too, and for a moment, I don¡¯t feel nervous around him. I just like him. I forget that I¡¯m hanging out with my favorite character from my favorite book, and suddenly we¡¯re just two people who don¡¯t know what the fuck we¡¯re doing.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I say. Bright eyes meet mine. I reach out and take his hand, then ask earnestly, ¡°When I go to Viridia Castle to speak with your parents about assistance for Alvione, will you come with me? I think having you by my side could help me better connect with them. And . . . frankly, I think it would also make me more comfortable.¡±


    To my relief, he smiles. I hope it''s a real one. ¡°Of course,¡± he says. He motions to the soup, if you can even call it that, and a certain cheekiness turns his grin toothy. ¡°I owe you one.¡±


    ¡°All I did was put leaves in a pot.¡±


    But I know that¡¯s not what he means.


    As his eyes meet mine, and his contagious smile has me smiling back, a reckless, freeing thought crosses my mind: Nothing matters, and I feel alive.


    Fuck it.


    I cup his face and pull him down toward me, down to my height, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He gasps at first¡ªa quiet, shy little sound¡ªbut then, thankfully, kisses me back. I press my body to his and tentatively deepen the kiss, leaning in further, until his tongue is tangling with mine and his hands are finding their way to my waist. I run my own hands across his chest and can feel his stuttering heart pounding against his ribcage. ¡°It¡¯ll take a while for the water to boil,¡± I murmur against his lips. I step back so I can look at his face, and I can¡¯t help but be amused by his wide-eyed expression.


    His mouth falls open and he whispers, ¡°What did you have in mind?¡±


    I grin. Then I drag him with me to the first bedroom I can find, my mind buzzing with stupid, happy thoughts, as I completely forget Martin is waiting for me outside.