Page 5 of Song of the Shadow Prince (The Dragon’s Ballad #1)

4

CAT

F eeling as if my eyelids had been super glued shut, I struggled to peel them open. The sun's blinding light forced me to raise an arm to block it, and I rolled over onto the hard surface on which I currently lay. Groaning, I rubbed my pounding head as the unmistakable signs of a hangover made themselves known.

“Angie,” I grumbled, my voice thick with sleep. “I need Advil.”

“Lady Arya!”

A shrill voice pierced my foggy mind. I jolted awake, startled, and looked around in confusion. I was definitely not in my apartment in West Hollywood.

The same girl from my nightmare came running toward me and dropped to her knees beside me. She was dry this time, and the absence of thundering rain revealed details I hadn’t noticed earlier. Her eyes were wide with relief, and she had a delicate, almost ethereal appearance. Her auburn hair framed her face in soft curls, and her pale skin glowed in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Oh, thank the immortals you’re okay, Lady Arya!” she cried out, hugging me tightly and trapping my arms against my chest.

“What the hell?” I murmured, my head still spinning. My gaze scanned the strange room. It didn’t look like the type of place where I would be held for the purpose of having my organs trafficked, but it was still unfamiliar.

The room was lit by gas lamps and candles, their flickering flames casting warm, dancing shadows on the walls. There wasn’t a TV in sight, much less an electrical outlet. Heavy, ornate furniture filled the space and richly embroidered tapestries adorned stone walls. I was lying on a large, canopied bed that dominated one side of the room, its velvet curtains partially drawn back. The heavy scent of lavender and beeswax filled the room, mingling with the faint aroma of fresh herbs from a nearby table. It was sensory overload, and I struggled to make sense of it all.

“Excuse me,” I tried to gently push the stranger named Maeve away, “but can I borrow a phone?”

The woman pulled back with a frown, her expression puzzled. “Pardon?”

“Cell phone?” I made the universal phone gesture with my hand, bringing it to my ear. “I need to make a call.”

Her frown deepened. “I’m not following, Lady Arya.”

I sighed in exasperation. “Look, I’m not Lady Arya. My name is Cat… short for Catalina. I don’t know where I am, but I can just Uber home if it isn’t too far. I appreciate your hospitality, but I really do need to go—”

“U-Uber?” Maeve repeated the word as if it was completely foreign to her.

“Yeah… like a taxi. If you have a phone, I can use your app. I promise to Venmo you once I get back on set—”

“My lady!” she cried out, collapsing onto me again. “What has been done to you?”

My eyebrows shot up at her overly dramatic display. I raised my hands, trying to avoid touching her. What was happening? Did she really believe I was this Arya chick?

“How far from Los Angeles am I?” I whispered, hoping not to set her off again.

She raised her head, sniffling. “Where?”

“Los Angeles.”

“I don’t know where that is, my lady.”

I furrowed my brows. Who doesn’t know where Los Angeles is? “Where am I?” I asked instead.

“You’re in Elaria.”

“Say what now?” I deadpanned.

Maeve started to cry again, her bottom lip trembling. “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten everything.”

“I haven’t forgotten; I just don’t know geography too well,” I muttered, scratching my head. “Are we still in SoCal? I’m not a native, so there could be—”

“SoCal?” she repeated, confusion etched on her face. “What language are you speaking, my lady?”

I stared at her, feeling a mix of frustration and bewilderment. The room, the clothes, the lack of modern technology—it was beginning to feel like I had been transported to another world… certainly another time.

Speaking of clothes, I looked down and noticed I’d been changed from my costume into… a dress. Like something out of a period drama, it was made of fine silk with intricate lace at the collar and cuffs. The fabric felt alien against my skin, soft and delicate, like something my great-great-great-grandmother might have worn. I mean, if she was rich, that is.

“What the hell?” I pulled the silk fabric away from me, the cool touch making me shiver. “Where are my clothes?”

She grimaced. “That ghastly black suit you had on? I burned it.”

“You what ?” I shouted. “It might have been ridiculous, but it cost hundreds to make! Shit, Trish is going to kill me,” I groaned and covered my face with my hands.

“Oh!” Maeve gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. “I… I noticed the markings on your arm.”

I chuckled, a dry, humorless sound as I uncovered my face. “Shouldn’t that be your first clue that I’m not your Lady Arya?” I raised an eyebrow at her.

She frowned and looked genuinely perplexed. “No, you’re definitely my mistress. You even have the same mole at the bottom of your right foot. As for the markings, I cannot explain that, but magic runs through these lands and it would be quite easy to—”

“I’m sorry, what?” I choked out, my heart skipping a beat. “Did you just say magic?” My eyes widened to the size of golf balls.

Maeve nodded innocently. “Of course.”

“Like witches and shit?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes, witches, warlocks, werewolves, and vampires. And of course, we cannot forget the dragons.”

My mouth fell open slowly as my heart began to beat like a thousand wild horses. I laughed awkwardly. “You’re joking.” I waved her off. “Dragons? Girl, please. If there are dragons, you might as well call me Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Who?” Maeve scrunched her nose in confusion.

I eyed her carefully, wondering if she was joking or not. She had a really good poker face if she was. Who the hell didn’t watch Game of Thrones ? Even if they hadn’t seen it, they at least knew the pop culture references. The series was far too popular.

“Okay, fine, so you say we’re living in a magical land. On what continent is this magical land? Are we still in North America?” I smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Maeve’s frown deepened as a look of utter cluelessness stole across her features. “North America? My lady, I’ve never heard of this place! Are you unwell? Maybe I should get the healer to come take a look at you.”

When she turned to leave, I grabbed her wrist. Her skin was soft and warm, the pulse steady under my fingers. Her expression remained stoic. “You’re not joking, are you?” I whispered, searching her face for any hint of deception.

She shook her head, her eyes earnest and filled with concern.

I released her as if she’d burned me. Nervously, Maeve left the bedroom, casting a worried look over her shoulder. I sat up on the bed, dumbfounded, wondering where the hell I was. I pinched myself again and counted my fingers, even my toes, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, but I was wide awake… unless this was an incredibly vivid dream or I was in a coma. I smacked my cheek and winced as I rubbed away the sting.

“Fuck, that hurt,” I groaned. “I… I think I made a wrong turn at Albuquerque,” I muttered, my voice sounding bizarrely steady as I imitated one of the key lines from my favorite Looney Tunes character.

I attempted to remember everything before I was pulled up onto the boat. I was on set, preparing for the lake scene. I jumped into the water and… something grabbed my ankle and pulled me underwater. I scratched my head as I recalled my final memories.

“There was a mirror underwater,” I murmured. “I saw myself!” I quickly climbed off the bed and started to pace. “But was that me? In the reflection, I wasn’t wearing my costume… Was it possible I saw the real Arya?”

I nervously nibbled my lower lip as I tried to piece everything together. It sounded absurd! Did I fall through some magical portal or worm hole?

Nah… that’s too freaking weird.

But did I?

A cool breeze wafted across the room and teased my cheeks. I turned to face the expansive French doors framed in thick, burgundy drapes and noticed they were slightly ajar. The light wind carried the scent of fresh rain. Before I could second-guess my decision, I hurried out of the room, eager to get a sense of my surroundings.

I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and was immediately hit by the fresh, earthy scent of the outdoors as I stepped into a pristine courtyard. The space was an open-air sanctuary with pathways of smooth, weathered stones that branched out, leading to other living spaces. I'd never seen a living area designed this way, with nature seamlessly integrated into the architecture.

I rushed down one of the walkways, the cool stone under my bare feet contrasting sharply with the warmth of the sun filtering through the canopy of trees above. Birds merrily chirped, their songs blending with rustling leaves and the distant trickle of a burbling fountain. The air was fresh and filled with a heady mix of roses and jasmine.

As I rounded a corner, I collided with something solid and unyielding. “The fuck?” I shrieked as my forehead bounced off a rock-hard chest. Rubbing my forehead, a calloused hand gripped my wrist and pulled me upright before I could stumble.

“What are you doing out of bed?” he barked, his voice deep and guttural, the sound reverberating through me.

I looked up and stared into the eyes of a very tall man. Standing at least six-feet-five inches, he towered over me, which was saying something since I was fairly tall myself. His ebony hair gleamed like a raven’s wing, glossy and untamed. Dark eyes glistened in the sunlight, their intensity almost unsettling. His sharp jawline and Roman nose lent a striking, almost regal appearance, and his muscular build suggested a life of physical rigor. He was imposing, to say the least, and the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. My mouth fell open, snapped shut, then fell open again.

There was a darkness to him that screamed a dozen red flags, but obviously I wasn’t good with heeding those given my history with Fernando, my cheating ex-boyfriend. Then I remembered I was somewhere strange, and he was unknown. I mustered up my courage, refusing to let his otherworldly beauty stun me.

I tried to yank my wrist free, but his grip was like iron. “Dude, let go!” I took a big step back and twisted my arm out and around. The maneuver forced him to release me and I stumbled backward, glaring at the handsome bastard.

He furrowed his brows and watched me carefully, his gaze sweeping up and down my form before he turned away. “You shouldn’t be out dressed like that,” he grunted. “You’ve caused enough trouble already, Arya. Stay in your room before—”

“Do I know you?” I raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into my voice. I wasn’t sure whether I was annoyed because I wanted to jump his bones, or because he seemed like a total asshole. “And what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I glanced down at the long-sleeved nightgown. “It’s covering all the naughty bits. I’ve gone to Walmart in worse,” I chuckled.

“What?” He whirled around to face me, disbelief in his eyes. “Stop messing around, Arya. You’re not fooling anyone with this act, much less me. Let me make myself crystal clear: you will leave Gianna alone . If I hear you are bothering her again, I won’t be as kind,” he growled, stepping closer, his presence invading my personal space.

Yeah, definitely an asshole.

I frowned and pushed against his solid chest. “Who the hell is Gianna?” I demanded. “Personal space, buddy. Learn about it. I don’t know you or her, and honestly, I don’t care to. So be gone!” I tried to move around him, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me in my tracks. The shot of electricity that rocketed through me at his touch made me flinch.

“Arya!” His minty breath heated my skin as he glared down at me like he was about to devour me.

He called my supposed name with a familiarity that sent goosebumps up my arms. We stared each other down, neither willing to back down. His gaze pierced me and sent a shot of coldness through my veins that you would think would be uncomfortable, but it was anything but. It was like a shot of adrenaline. Before I could respond, we were interrupted.

“Damien!” a shrill voice cut through the tension. “Arya!”

Locked in a fierce stare, neither of us looked away for several long moments. Finally, he released me and stepped back, though his eyes never left mine.

“Arya, are you okay?” the woman's voice called again.

I smirked and turned to face our new visitor. She was a beautiful young woman who bore a striking resemblance to me, almost as if she could be my twin. Her honey-brown eyes were wide with concern, and her golden skin glowed in the sunlight. Dark, wavy hair framed her face, making her look like a vision from a dream. But where she was slim, I was curvy.

“I’m fine.” I smiled at her and tried to appear composed. “And you are?” I raised an eyebrow.

Her eyes widened in shock. “Arya… it’s me, Gianna… your sister.”

The revelation hit me like a punch to the gut. The courtyard blurred as I tried to process what she just said. This beautiful, concerned woman was my sister? Trilling birds, rustling leaves, and the burble of a distant fountain faded into the background as I grappled with this new, bizarre reality.

So this was the infamous Gianna. I chuckled. “Ah, so you’re Gianna.” I glanced at the brooding beast behind us who I suddenly wanted to touch again. “Put a leash on your boyfriend. He nearly pummeled me because of you.”

Her eyes widened, panic evident. “He... he’s not my... he’s not—”

“Look, I don’t care.” I waved off her protestations. “Just deal with him.” I attempted to walk away when she gently took hold of my hand.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, her voice trembling with concern. “I heard...”

“Look, I’m not your Arya!” I said, pulling my hand from her grasp. “Sorry, but you saved the wrong person. You might want to go back to the river and find her.”

Gianna laughed awkwardly. “That’s not funny, Arya.” She glanced nervously between me and Damien.

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I said seriously. Damien narrowed his gaze at me as if trying to analyze every single word and move I made.

“Lady Arya!” Maeve shouted from across the courtyard, hurrying toward us with an older gentleman in tow. “Lady Arya, what are you doing out of your room? The cold air cannot be good for you in your condition!” She finally reached me, the old man huffing and puffing as he tried to catch up.

“Maeve, what’s wrong with my sister?” Gianna asked, true concern coloring her voice.

Damien scoffed and sent me a glare. “Can’t you see she’s lying?”

I rolled my eyes and flipped him off. “Fuck off, you twat.” Everyone stared at me as if I had three heads, clearly not understanding the word or gesture. “Never mind.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glowered instead.

“Lady Gianna, I believe my lady hit her head and has forgotten who she is,” Maeve explained, ignoring my outburst. “It’s why I brought Healer Ilan.”

Gianna nibbled on her lower lip, wringing her fingers. “Very well, then hurry along. Take her to her room and keep me updated on her condition.”

“Yes, my lady.” Maeve bowed, took my arm, and gently ushered me back toward the bedroom with the old man trailing behind us.

I peered over my shoulder and glared at Damien, who watched me intently. I flipped him off again. His expression darkened and he gritted his teeth, looking ready to pounce before Gianna placed a calming hand on his forearm. I winked at him before turning back around, ignoring him completely.

As we retraced our steps through the lush, vibrant courtyard, I took a moment to savor the fragrant flowers and towering trees swaying gently in the breeze. The perfumed scent of roses and jasmine was almost overpowering, mingling with the earthy aroma of damp soil. The cobblestones underfoot were slick from the previous night's rain, and the soft trickle of a nearby fountain added to the serene ambiance.

Maeve led me back to the bedroom, its opulence evident in every detail as I gazed at it in the light of day. The large canopy bed was adorned with silk sheets and plush pillows, and heavy drapes framed a window overlooking the courtyard. I sat on the edge of the bed with a huff.

The healer set his bag down and began to examine me with gentle hands. “Let’s see what we have here,” he muttered, his breath smelling faintly of mint and something medicinal.

I glanced back at Maeve, who watched with a mixture of concern and hope. “This isn’t necessary,” I protested, but she shook her head.

“Just let him help you, my lady,” she softly insisted.

The healer placed three fingertips on the pulse of my wrist, his touch light yet firm. I bounced my right leg impatiently, my eyes darting around the room as I waited for his verdict. The sensation of his cold fingers against my skin sent a shiver up my arm. I had no idea how one could diagnose anything from a pulse, but in this strange situation, I was just along for the ride.

“Dear, if you could stick out your tongue,” he requested gently, and I complied, feeling somewhat ridiculous. He leaned closer, examining me with a furrowed brow and contemplative expression. “Hmm. This is odd,” he mused.

“What is it?” Maeve shrieked, clutching her chest in fear, her eyes wide with panic.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Relax.” The tension in the room made my head pound. “I’m as healthy as a horse. I just had a physical at the V.A. like, a month ago. I’m fine.”

The healer’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Her pulse is not… the same.”

I raised a brow, my patience wearing thin. “Pardon?” I deadpanned, feeling a surge of annoyance.

The healer stepped back and rubbed his chin. “I believe you’re right, Maeve. She must have hit her head when she fell overboard.” He turned to the strange lady who stood wringing her hands. “Do you have parchment, ink, and a quill?”

“Yes!” Maeve dashed across the room to fetch the items he requested.

I furrowed my brows, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Look here, you quack, I’m perfectly healthy! Don’t diagnose me based on some little girl’s assumptions. What are your credentials? Are you even an M.D.?” I challenged, my voice rising with each word.

The healer didn’t look startled or confused. Instead, he nodded as if I’d just confirmed his suspicions. His bushy gray eyebrows bristled. “Oh, dear, this is worse than I predicted.”

Maeve returned, clutching the parchment, ink, and quill. The old man used the nightstand as a writing surface and slid the parchment in place. The scratching of the quill on parchment was the only sound in the room, aside from Maeve’s anxious breathing. When he finished, he handed the parchment to Maeve.

His voice was authoritative. “This is a prescription. Get the ingredients and boil them as instructed. Feed it to her in the morning and at night. She should start feeling better in the coming days.”

I laughed derisively, the harsh sound startling the hush of the otherwise quiet room. “You must have gotten your degree online.” Leaning my forearm on my knee, I stared him down. “I’m not consuming anything you prescribe. Not until I see your license to practice medicine!”

He cleared his throat and stood from the stool where he’d been sitting. “If you need anything else, Maeve, send a messenger.”

Maeve rushed to him and bowed, clutching the prescription in tense hands. “Yes, Healer Ilan. Thank you so much. And I apologize for my lady’s behavior,” she said, blushing and bowing slightly. He waved her off and collected his things, then exited the room without another word. The door closed with a soft thud.

“Don’t apologize to that quack!” I grabbed a pillow and flung it at the door, barely missing him as it closed. The pillow hit the wood with a dull thump and fell to the floor.

“Lady Arya!” Maeve scolded, her voice filled with shock and disapproval. Maeve bent to pick up the pillow, her movements quick and precise. “You need to rest, my lady. The healer knows what he’s doing.”

I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest, feeling like a petulant child. “I’m not taking any medieval potion that man conjures up! I believe in Western medicine.” I sniffed primly.

“My lady, you’re really starting to worry me.” Maeve’s voice trembled and her eyes filled with concern.

Just then, the doors creaked open and a middle-aged man strode in, his steps quick and purposeful. He wore a simple, elegant tunic, its deep blue fabric contrasting with his dark brown skin. His eyes widened when they landed on me and he hurried closer. “Darling!” he wailed, wrapping me in a tight embrace.

I tensed and my body went rigid in his arms. His grip was firm, almost desperate, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The musky scent of sandalwood clung to him, bringing a wave of confusion and fierce longing. I feared that if I moved even an inch, he would disappear like a phantom stirred from my memories.

The man pulled away, but he retained his grip on my upper arms as he held me at arm’s length. “Dear, are you alright?” His voice was thick with emotion.

The familiarity of his face sent a jolt through me. “P-Papi?” I murmured, staring at the man before me. He looked exactly like my father—except my father died two years ago. It was impossible for him to be standing here, yet there he was.

He furrowed his brows and confusion marred his features. “Pardon?”

His accent and the way he spoke snapped me out of my daze. My father had never learned English.

In every other way that mattered, this man looked just like him: dark brown skin, eyes that shimmered with hints of gray, short-cropped salt and pepper hair, and a tall build that towered over me at roughly six-feet-three inches. He was an exact replica of my father, yet this wasn’t him.

My gaze darted around the room, taking in every detail—the ornate wooden furniture, the heavy drapes framing the windows, the flickering light of the candles casting long shadows on the walls. This wasn’t a set, and this wasn’t Los Angeles.

Feeling my personal space invaded once again by a stranger, I pushed him away with more force than necessary, making him stumble back. “Who are you?”

The man frowned, his expression hurt and confused. He directed his question at Maeve. “What happened?”

“Healer Ilan said she must have hit her head when she fell overboard and temporarily lost her memories,” Maeve explained, her voice steady despite the tears brimming in her eyes. “He wrote a prescription, and I’ll go into town to get the ingredients and brew it tonight. She’ll be as good as new in no time, my lord.”

My father’s twin stepped closer again, though more cautiously this time. “I am your father, Zacharia. You don't remember me?” His voice cracked with emotion, pain evident in his eyes.

A surge of anxiety clawed at my chest. “My father died two years ago. I don’t know you.” I shook my head. “Look, I need someone to start making sense here or I’m going to lose it. Where am I? Who are all of you?” I shouted, my voice rising to a hysterical pitch.

Maeve wiped her tears and stepped forward with a resolute expression. “You are in your ancestral home of the Ryder family. You became ill after falling overboard a boat and being caught out in a major storm that swept through our region. You’ve been delirious, speaking of another life, of places and people we know nothing about. But you are Lady Arya Ryder.”

I looked around the room, every detail screaming its authenticity. Thick wooden beams overhead, rich tapestries depicting scenes of landscapes and forests, and the faint scent of lavender and beeswax. It was too real to dismiss as a dream or a set. And then there was my father’s look-alike.

The man sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his worry. “You are my daughter, the younger of two within the Ryder family.”

The raw emotion in his eyes, the way Maeve’s voice trembled with sincerity, and the solid reality of the room around me pointed to this being real. But how could it be? My mind spun with questions, although answers seemed more elusive with each passing second.

Seems like we’re not in Kansas anymore.