KIERAN SOLIS POV:
I wake up in silk.
Not my flannel sheets from my dorm room.
Not the scratchy hotel blanket from that road trip last month.
Black silk that feels like water against my skin, so soft it's almost obscene.
For exactly three seconds, I think I'm dreaming.
Then I open my eyes.
The ceiling above me is stone—dark, carved with intricate patterns that seem to move in the flickering candlelight. Candlelight. Not electric lights. Actual candles in iron holders mounted on walls.
"What the fuck," I whisper.
I sit up too fast. The room spins.
I'm in a massive bed with posts carved from black wood, curtains tied back with silver cord. The room around me is enormous—bigger than my entire apartment back home. More candles.
Tapestries on the walls showing battles and creatures I don't recognize. A fireplace with actual fire crackling.
And laid out on a chair beside the bed—
Wedding clothes.
Not modern wedding clothes. Medieval fantasy wedding clothes. All black and silver, embroidered with patterns that catch the light, a cape that would drag on the floor, and—
"No," I breathe. "No, no, no—"
The door opens.
A woman enters—tall, willowy, white hair cascading down her back. She's dressed like she stepped out of a period drama, all long gown and perfect posture.
She smiles, but it doesn't reach her pale eyes.
"Good morning, Your Highness. I trust you slept well?"
"I'm not—" My voice cracks. I try again. "I'm not a 'Highness.' My name is Kieran Solis. There's been a huge mistake—"
"Of course." Her smile doesn't waver. "His Majesty mentioned you might be... disoriented. The journey from Arventis must have been quite taxing."
"I'm not from Arventis! I'm from Brooklyn!" I'm talking too fast, panic rising. "I was exploring this forest and there was this glowing portal and I fell through and—"
"The wedding is this afternoon," she continues, as if I haven't spoken. "We have much to prepare. Your bath is ready."
"WEDDING?!"
She blinks slowly, like I'm a particularly slow child. "Yes, Your Highness. Your marriage to His Majesty, King Ravion Blackcourt. It was arranged months ago."
"I'VE NEVER EVEN MET THIS GUY!"
"Ah." Something flickers across her face. "Yes, His Majesty did mention you attempted to run away. How... spirited." She clasps her hands. "Nevertheless, the ceremony will proceed as planned. Now, if you'll—"
"NO." I scramble out of the bed, putting it between us. "I'm not getting married to some random king I don't know. I want to go home. Back to 2025. There has to be another portal or—"
"There is no other portal."
The voice comes from the doorway, and every hair on my body stands on end.
The man leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with those terrifying eyes. He's changed since last night—no longer wearing the cloak and crown. Now he's in black pants and a loose white shirt open at the collar, showing pale skin and dark marks that might be tattoos or scars.
He's also, horrifyingly attractive.
Which I hate.
Because he kidnapped me.
"The Night Forest only opens once a century," Ravion says, voice smooth and dark. "And only for those marked by prophecy. The portal you fell through is closed. It won't open again in your lifetime."
My blood runs cold. "You're lying."
"I have no reason to lie." He pushes off the doorframe and walks into the room with the easy confidence of someone who owns everything he sees. "You're here, Kaelis. Whether you like it or not. The sooner you accept that—"
"My name is KIERAN!"
He stops a few feet away, tilting his head. "Is this some new game? A way to delay the inevitable?"
"IT'S NOT A GAME!" I'm shouting now, fear and frustration boiling over. "I keep telling you—I'm not Prince Kaelis Drayden! I don't know who that is! I'm from 2025! I have a phone—" I pat my pockets frantically. Empty. "Where's my phone?!"
Ravion pulls something from his pocket. My iPhone, cracked screen and all, dangling from his fingers like a dead fish.
"This... device?" He examines it with cautious curiosity. "What is it?"
"It's A smartphone! For calling people and texting and—" I reach for it.
He holds it out of reach effortlessly. "It doesn't work."
"Because there's no service in 1811!" I'm on the verge of tears, which pisses me off even more. "There's no electricity! No WiFi! No cell towers! Because I'm stuck in the past with a crazy kidnapping king who won't listen—"
"I'm listening now." Ravion's expression shifts, something almost curious. "Explain. Slowly. What is '2025'?"
I take a shaky breath. "The year I'm from. It's 2025 where I come from. This—" I gesture wildly. "This is 1811. Two hundred and fourteen years in the past. I time-traveled. Through that portal."
Then a Silence...
The white-haired woman—Lyra, I heard him call her—looks at Ravion. Ravion looks at me.
Then he laughs.
Not cruelly. Just... genuinely amused, like I've told the best joke he's heard in years.
"Time travel," he says, shaking his head. "Clever. I'll admit, I didn't expect such creativity."
"I'm not being creative! I'm telling the truth!"
"The wedding proceeds as planned." His amusement fades. "Lyra, help him dress."
"NO!" I lunge around the bed, which is a mistake because my legs tangle in the sheets and I face-plant onto the floor.
Ravion sighs. "Lyra."
She moves toward me, but I scramble away, using the bedpost to pull myself up.
"Don't touch me," I gasp. "None of you touch me. I want to go home. I want—" My voice breaks. "I just want to go home."
Something changes in Ravion's expression.
The amusement fades, replaced by something I can't read.
"You truly believe you're from another time," he says slowly.
"Because I AM."
"Then prove it." He crosses his arms. "Tell me something about this '2025' that I couldn't possibly know."
My mind races. "Okay. Okay, um—we have airplanes. Giant metal machines that fly through the sky and carry hundreds of people across oceans in hours."
Ravion raises an eyebrow. "Creative."
"We have computers—machines that store infinite information. The internet, which connects everyone in the world instantly. Movies—moving pictures with sound. Cars instead of horses. Skyscrapers made of glass. We've been to the moon—"
"The moon." His voice is flat.
"Yes! In 1969—which is still your future—but yes, humans walked on the moon! We have proof!" I grab my dead phone. "This has more computing power than anything in your time! It can take pictures, play music, connect to the internet—"
"It's a black rectangle," Lyra says skeptically.
"Because the battery is dead!" I jab the power button uselessly. "I can't charge it here because electricity doesn't exist yet! But if you could power it up, I could show you everything!"
Ravion holds up a hand. "Enough."
"You don't believe me."
"I believe you believe it." He exchanges a look with Lyra. "Which means either you're telling the truth, or you've been enchanted, or you've gone mad." He pauses. "Bring the Oracle."
"Your Majesty—"
"Now, Lyra."
She curtsies and glides out, shooting me one last unreadable look.
Ravion walks to the window—real glass, with iron bars—and stares out at his kingdom.
"If you're truly from another time," he says quietly, "then this is more complicated than I thought."
"What's complicated?" I clutch my useless phone. "Just let me go!"
"I can't." He doesn't turn around. "The marriage bonds were cast the moment I brought you through my borders.." His jaw tightens. "Even if you're not Kaelis, you're bound to me now. To Nocterra. You can't leave."
The room spins. "You're joking."
"I don't joke about blood magic."
"But I—you can't—this is kidnapping!"
"This is 1811." He finally turns. "Your laws don't apply here."
I sink onto the edge of the bed, phone slipping from numb fingers.
"I want to go home," I whisper.
Silence.
Then Ravion crosses the room and—to my utter shock—kneels in front of me. Puts himself at eye level.
"I know," he says quietly. "And if the Oracle confirms your story, I will do everything in my power to send you back." He picks up my phone, examining it with genuine curiosity. "But until then—" His red eyes meet mine. "—you're stuck with me."
I laugh, but it comes out more like a sob.
"This is insane."
"Welcome to Nocterra." He almost smiles. "Insanity is our specialty."
Four hours later, I'm standing in front of a mirror, dressed in those wedding clothes, and I can't breathe.
The Oracle came. An ancient, blind woman who stared at me with white eyes and said things I didn't understand. Something about "timelines fractured" and "prophecy split" and "two princes, two fates."
Ravion's expression had gone very still.
Then he'd said: "The wedding proceeds. We'll sort this out after."
And now I'm here.
In black silk and silver embroidery. A cape that drags behind me. My hair brushed and styled by servants who wouldn't listen when I begged them to stop.
I look like a medieval bride.
"It's time, Your Highness," Lyra says from the doorway.
"I can't do this," I whisper.
"You can. You will." Her voice isn't unkind. Just... final. "His Majesty is waiting."
Two guards appear beside me. Not threatening. Just... there. Making it clear I don't have a choice.
I'm walked down corridors of black stone.
Through doors that open into a massive hall filled with people—nobles in dark clothing, all staring at me with curiosity or pity or something hungry.
And at the end of the aisle—
Ravion.
Standing before an altar, dressed in full royal regalia. Black and silver and shadows that writhe around him like they're alive.
His red eyes find mine across the distance.
He doesn't smile.
Just watches as I'm walked toward him like a sacrifice to some dark god.
My legs are shaking.
I can't do this.
I can't—
But the guards are behind me, and the crowd is watching, and Ravion is waiting, and—
I reach the altar.
The priest begins speaking in a language I don't understand.
Ravion takes my hand. His skin is cold. Not ice-cold. Just... cool. Like stone that's been in shadow.
"Breathe," he murmurs.
"I can't—"
"You can." His grip tightens. "I know this isn't what you wanted. But it's happening. So breathe, stand, and survive. That's all you have to do."
The priest continues his chanting.
Ravion says words I don't understand.
I'm supposed to respond. Supposed to say vows.
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Ravion's eyes bore into mine. "Say the words, Kieran."
"I—"
"Say them."
I don't know what I'm saying. Don't understand the language. But I repeat the sounds the priest gives me, syllable by syllable, while tears run hot down my face.
The priest raises his hands.
Magic—actual fucking magic—swirls around us. Red and black and silver. It wraps around our joined hands, sinking into our skin with a burn that makes me gasp.
"It is done," the priest intones.
Ravion pulls me closer, one hand coming up to cup my face.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. So quiet only I can hear. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
Then he removes the veil I didn't realize I was wearing.
And kisses me.
His lips are cold. The kiss is brief. Chaste, even.
But the magic surges.
Binding us.
Sealing us.
When he pulls back, his eyes are glowing brighter.
And I can feel it—a thread connecting us now. Invisible but undeniable. Tied from my chest to his.
"You're mine now," Ravion says, loud enough for the hall to hear. His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a tear. "My husband."
The crowd erupts in cheers.
And I stand there, shaking, bound by magic I don't understand to a king I never chose.
But I realised I'm Completely trapped....