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“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the village.” I ripped it open. “There’s still a mess to clean.”

“No more shit, Markos,” Atlas warned.

I tossed the king a grin. “Of course.”

That earned me a growled curse, but I was already leaving. Atlas could fume and rage all he wanted. He had certain rights as the oldest, but we were on equal playing ground when it came to ruling our empire. And there were matters that only I could attend to.

Chapter 4 – Serena

I woke to the soft golden glow streaming through lace curtains, the kind that looked like they’d been crocheted by hand decades ago. This was not the luxury hotel on Bourbon Street. I moved, body stiff and groggy. My senses tried to process my surroundings, but it just wasn’t computing.

With a groan, I rolled over. I was hungry, dehydrated, and my face...hurt. Gingerly, I touched the skin of my cheek, only to find a bandage covering the area.

The nightmare came back in a rush.

A slow examination of the rest of my body showed aches and discomfort, but no real pain. It seemed as though I hadn’t been shot. Thank the Holy Mother for small favors.

With a big inhale, I pushed up. The air smelled faintly of lavender and cedarwood, with a mineral, earthy undertone. The delicate blend instantly soothed me even as I blinked in confusion. The bed I’d been sleeping in creaked softly as I shifted, the thick quilt slipping off my legs. It was stitched together with patches of faded blue and navy fabric, and its weight had kept me surprisingly warm.

Where the hell am I?

Despite the lack of décor, the simple room was impossibly quaint, like something plucked from the pages of a fairytale. The walls were made of uneven, whitewashed stucco, with beams crossing the ceiling that looked like they’d been hand-hewn centuries ago. A small, round window framed by the lace curtains revealed a view of tropical flowers outside—vivid purples, yellows, and whites swaying in the gentle breeze.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and let my bare feet touch the cool, wooden floor. It was smooth but worn, with scuffs and scratches that spoke of countless footsteps over theyears. A rug lay near the center of the room, its colors faded but its intricate pattern still charming—a mix of deep reds and earthy browns.

What magical kingdom had I stepped into? I pinched my arm, telling myself I wasn’t still asleep. Not that the smashed skin on my face needed proof that my body was alive.

The furniture looked like it had been carved by someone who truly loved their craft. A small wooden table stood against one wall, its surface adorned with a simple ceramic vase holding dried herbs. Beside it was a rocking chair draped with a knitted throw that had begun to unravel at one corner. The chair swayed slightly, as if someone had just risen from it moments before.

Frowning, I looked quickly to the door, a chill skating down my spine. The sense of being watched lingered. This was so different from the last time I was kidnapped. A decade ago, I had been a girl, and a stupid stunt got me in trouble. This? This could be equally bad. However, something in my gut told me I wasn’t in any physical danger here. I hadn’t been tied to the bed; my hands weren’t cuffed. The doors weren’t locked, and this building was too clean to emit a creepy ambiance. I might still have been that stupid girl, blinded by my surroundings, but I chose to listen to my instinct.

Be brave.

I wandered from the room. The scent of aged wood and dried herbs greeted me in the hall. A bathroom was to the right, and a closed door was in front of me. Nature chose that moment to scream at me, so I tiptoed into the bathroom. As I took care of business, I continued to study this strange place. While there were no homey touches, no knickknacks in here either, there was a clean, rustic order to the bathroom. One toothbrush sat in the holder. The soap was a bar and smelled of lavender. But the products in the small cabinet behind the mirror were all masculine.

I didn’t bother looking at the mess reflecting in the mirror.

Someone patched me up, so it was unlikely they were going to kill me.

Remember your alias.

Squaring my shoulders, I left the space. There was a living room and kitchen at the front of the house. I wandered through them, taking in the homey yet sparse details. There were two high-back chairs in the living room before a cold fireplace. Running my fingers over a tall mantel with ornate carvings of flowers and vines, I fell instantly in love with this home. It was exactly like a cottage from some childhood story. I couldn’t feel uncomfortable here if I tried. It took a second glance to realize there was no television. On a nearby shelf sat a collection of books with cracked leather spines, their titles faded into obscurity, but no less intriguing for it. Beyond that was a desk with a laptop closed on the surface.

Proof that I was indeed in the modern era.

A door banged in the kitchen.

I spun around, ready to meet my savior. “Hello? I’m in here!”

A young man in a graphic tee appeared in—and nearly filled—the doorway. “You’re awake.”

He didn’t seem threatening. It wasn’t the fact that we were probably close to the same age that put me at ease. The way he hesitantly smiled was friendly. There was no malice reflected in his face, and no threat hovering over him like a dark cloud. This was a genuinely sunny soul.

“I am, thank you,” I smiled. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

The man seemed suddenly flustered. “Wait right here.”