The smell of antiseptic. That was the first thing that hit me.
I winced at the pain radiating through my skull, my brain, slightly foggy.
Antiseptic meant sterile wards, IV drips, bright white light, and doctors bustling around.
Hospitals. Safety.
I must be at a hospital, I thought groggily.
Except… when I peeled my eyes open, the ceiling above me wasn't tiled. No harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead.
Instead, I saw carved beams of polished oak, high and intricate, with chandeliers dripping golden candlelight instead of bulbs.
What kind of hospital had chandeliers?
I blinked, my vision adjusting. The sheets beneath me weren't crisp, white cotton.
They were silk...heavy, embroidered silk, with golden thread shimmering faintly in the glow.
The headboard towered over me, carved with roses and strange crests I'd never seen before.
"What the hell…?" I whispered, pushing myself up slowly.
My arm stung faintly. I glanced down.
A faint smear of dried antiseptic glistened over the cut I'd gotten three days ago, when I nicked myself slicing onions.
I turned my head, and saw three women. No...girls, probably my age.
Their clothes made my breath hitch. Long gowns, puffed sleeves, hair wrapped in veils pinned with pearls.
They weren't sitting. They weren't standing.
They were kneeling.
On the floor. Foreheads pressed to the carpet. Bodies bent so low they could've been praying.
"What...what are you doing?!" My voice came out sharper than intended. Panic clawed its way up my throat.
The girls jerked upwards, eyes widening slightly.Then one of them, said something...soft, trembling.
The words weren't clear. They weren't English. They weren't anything I fully recognized. But I caught a fragment.
"...Princess."
I raised my brow in confusion, my lips slightly parted.
"What?!"
"Princess...Ioana, thou hast finally awakened." The girl said it again, voice trembling with happiness and bowing owing even lower.
Ioana?
My name was Liana. Dr. Liana Davis. Chef. Contest winner. Born and raised in America. Not some random royal Ioana.
I shook my head furiously, scrambling back against the headboard. "No...you've got it wrong! I'm not...this isn't...where the hell am I?!"
The three maids exchanged quick, frantic looks, whispering rapidly in that strange half-language.
I caught maybe one word in ten, enough to know they weren't speaking any English I'd ever heard in America...or anywhere else, for that matter.
"Listen..." I rubbed my temple, trying to steady myself. "I think there's been a mistake. Okay? This is… some kind of old-fashioned hospital or something, right? I mean..."
I glanced around again, my voice going flat. "...a hospital with chandeliers and embroidered curtains? Really?"
No one answered. One of them scrambled to her feet, bowed awkwardly and darted toward a pair of tall wooden doors at the end of the room.
I sat there, mouth hanging open, watching as the doors creaked open.
Beyond them, a corridor stretched wide and endless.
There were no sterile white halls, no beeping machines.
Instead, I saw stone walls. High arches. Flickering torches lined in sconces.
Servants were lined up at the edge of the walls, crouching in the same position I had seen the other girls earlier.
And just faintly in the distance, I caught sight of something impossible. A banner. A red velvet banner stitched with a golden crest.
My stomach dropped.
I wasn't in any hospital. I was in a… castle.
I laughed nervously, gripping the sheets. "Okay. Okay, no. No way. This...this is impossible. There are no castles in America. At least, none that look like this. Right? Right?!"
The last maid raised her head slightly, confusion flickering across her big brown eyes.
"Princess…"
I nearly groaned. " Look, I don't know who this 'princess' person is, but I'm not her. I'm Liana Davis, okay? I'm a chef. A doctor...well, used to be. And I..." My voice cracked.
"I have a flight to Paris next week. The international competition. Do you hear me? Paris!"
They only stared.
One of them whispered something else in that archaic lilt. I caught a single word, "Paris?" But she said it as if it were a foreign planet.
I threw my hands up. "Yes! Paris! City of lights, croissants, berets...do I look like I have time for… whatever this Renaissance Fair cosplay is?"
And just as I was about to fling the covers off and march out of the room, the atmosphere shifted.
The tall doors opened again, slower this time. The maid who had gone out stepped in, hands folded neatly.
Then, as if controlled, all three maids instantly dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed hard against the floor.
I blinked. "What now?"
Then I saw her.
She stepped into the room with regal grace, the kind that made the air itself bend around her.
Gold crown resting perfectly on dark curls. Robes of crimson silk embroidered with threads that seemed to shimmer with every move she made.
Two more maids trailed behind her, peeking slightly to catch a glimpse of me.
Her face was carved from beauty and something else I couldn't name. Her eyes...sharp, yet trembling... locked on mine.
They widened. Then softened. Emotions swirled in them...shock, relief, grief, love...everything all at once.
And before I could even scramble for words, she crossed the space with slow, deliberate steps.
Her hands trembled as she reached for me.
And then...
She pulled me into her arms.
I stiffened, utterly frozen as her perfume and warmth engulfed me. She didn't care that my hair was a mess. She just held me as though she'd found something precious she'd lost.
Her hand cupped my cheek. Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
"Ioana…"