I woke up to the sun setting on the horizon. The questions and problems clouding my mind began throbbing like a headache. I pushed myself up from the bed and sat there, looking around.
The architecture resembled the 1800s—plush red carpets covered the floor, and the walls were white, adorned with intricate gold patterns. Altogether, the room felt like it belonged in a royal palace.
I stepped onto the balcony to get my bearings, but the view was utterly unfamiliar. "Odd," I muttered. "What in the world is this place?"
The city below looked straight out of the medieval era, with people dressed in period clothing. How is this possible?
Oh god, no. Did those runes teleport me somewhere? Am I in the past—or another dimension?
The door creaked open, and a maid entered, bowing. "Your Highness, Sir Hendon is here. Should I let him in?"
Who? I needed answers, so I nodded. "Yes."
A man strode in—tall, with ocean-blue eyes and tanned skin, dressed in a black uniform trimmed with gold accents ,a sword hanging at his left side.
Suddenly, he wrapped me in a crushing embrace. "I don't know how, but I thank the gods for bringing you back."
I pushed him away. "I'm sorry, mister, but I don't know what you're talking about."
Confusion flickered across his face—mirroring my own. "Felicia, it's me, Hendon. Do you not remember me?"
"Sir, I'm not Felicia. You've mistaken me for someone else. Can you please tell me where I am?"
His expression froze—somewhere between fear and shock.
"You're telling me you're not Felicia?" he demanded.
"Yes, exactly," I replied.
Just then, the doors burst open. First, a maid entered; then a dozen more maids and guards flooded in.
Hendon leaned close, his whisper urgent: "Don't tell anyone you're not Felicia. Act like her and claim you've lost your memory. Trust me."
What? Why should I lie about my identity?
A middle-aged man strode in, dressed in regal finery—clearly royalty.
Wait. He's the one the maid called "Your Highness" earlier.
Hendon shot the man a glare before storming out.