Tap. Tap. Tap.
Iva sat by the window, rhythmically drumming her fingers on the windowsill. The sky had turned a soft blue, the three moons fading behind golden morning clouds. Somewhere below, bells chimed softly — deep, echoing, and solemn.
She hadn’t slept.
How could she?
She was trapped in an ancient kingdom.
Her phone was dead.
And the historical warlord she’d written a paper on was now her captor.
Still, she couldn’t help but whisper under her breath:
“Okay, so time travel? Real. Magic? Maybe.
Prisoner in a palace? Definitely.”
The door creaked.
She turned.
A young woman entered — delicate, wide-eyed, dressed in layered silks. She looked like she had stepped out of a painting.
The girl bowed quickly, keeping her gaze low.
“I... I am called Mira,” she whispered. “I was sent to assist you.”
Iva blinked. “Assist me? What am I, royalty?”
Mira looked confused.
Iva smiled. “Right. Okay. Thanks, Mira.”
Mira led her to the washbasin. Warm water. Fragrant herbs. A robe that felt softer than anything Iva had worn in her life.
She was halfway through brushing her hair when a soldier appeared at the door.
“The King wishes your presence.”
They didn’t blindfold her.
They didn’t bind her hands.
But the silence of her escort made it feel like a funeral march.
The corridor was long and arched, filled with intricate carvings — stories in stone. A woman wielding fire. A dragon coiled around a tree. A sword splitting the sun.
Iva whispered under her breath:
“And I thought the museum had atmosphere…”
They stopped at tall doors. They opened without a sound.
And there he was.
Ashvardan stood by a circular window, dressed in charcoal robes, a sword slung across his back. His profile was sharp, proud — like he was carved from obsidian.
He didn’t turn when she entered.
“Did you sleep?”
“No,” she said. “Hard to sleep when I might be executed in the morning.”
He finally looked at her — unreadable.
“Come.”
She walked toward him, trying not to look like her heart was racing. The sunlight cut across his face, catching in the gold threads of his collar.
“What now?” she asked. “Another round of ‘Interrogate the Weird Girl’?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he opened a small wooden box on the table beside him.
Inside — a dagger.
He took it out slowly, almost reverently.
Then he offered it to her, hilt first.
“Defend yourself.”
She stared at the blade.
“Excuse me?”
He took a step back, drawing his sword in one smooth movement.
The silver glinted. His expression was unreadable.
“If you are not a threat,” he said calmly, “then this is merely a lesson. If you are lying, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Iva froze.
“Okay. So just to be clear — you’re going to attack me, to see if I fight back, and if I don’t fight back, I pass your weird medieval vibe check?”
He didn’t blink.
“Exactly.”
“This is insane,” she muttered. But her hand wrapped around the dagger anyway.
She barely had time to react.
He moved — not fast, but with calculated grace. His sword sliced the air in a wide arc, and she yelped, ducking instinctively.
“HEY!”
She stumbled back, waving the dagger uselessly. “I said I’m not a fighter!”
Another swing — this one close enough to snip a strand of her hair.
“STOP!”
He paused.
She was crouched behind a pillar now, breathing heavily, the dagger shaking in her grip.
Ashvardan lowered his sword slightly.
“You truly do not know how to fight.”
“NO. I don’t. I write essays and binge-watch true crime. My idea of self-defense is pepper spray!”
He looked at her strangely. Not confused. Something deeper. Uneasy.
“Then how did you survive in the forest?”
She met his eyes. Her voice was quieter now.
“I got lucky.”
A long silence.
Then, to her utter surprise — Ashvardan stepped back.
“Then you are either foolish… or very well-trained.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Or maybe — just maybe — I’m telling the truth.”
He said nothing.
Instead, he sheathed his sword and walked past her — calmly, like nothing had happened.
At the door, he turned.
“You speak like a queen. But you fight like a bird.”
She huffed. “That’s a weird compliment, but I’ll take it.”
Then, just before he left, he added:
“Be ready by nightfall. There is a feast. You will attend.”
Iva blinked. “Wait — a feast? Like... real food?”
Ashvardan’s mouth twitched. It might’ve been the start of a smile.
“Real. And dangerous.”
And then he was gone.
⟡
Back in her chamber, Iva collapsed onto the bed, groaning.
“Okay. Day Two: mildly threatened by a king, still no Wi-Fi, and now I’m going to dinner with a bunch of royal strangers.
This is fine. Everything’s fine.”
Mira entered again, holding a tray of fruit and a pale orange drink that smelled like honey and spice.
“You were brave,” she said softly, placing the tray down. “The King never tests guests unless he fears them.”
“Great,” Iva muttered. “So I’ve gone from ‘mysterious girl’ to ‘potential threat.’”
But Mira smiled.
“He never looks at anyone like he looks at you.”
Iva paused. “...Like what?”
The girl only bowed and left without answering.
That night, as the moon climbed, Iva stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair and whispering to her reflection:
“You’re not just some girl lost in time anymore, Iva.
You’re part of something now.
And someone’s watching very closely.”
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