POV: Maya Chen
The cage rattles over rough roads, and every bump sends pain shooting through my bruised body.
I grip the iron bars, watching the dark castle grow closer. It looks like something from a nightmare—tall black towers, thick stone walls, and flags snapping in the wind. Flags with a symbol I don't recognize: a black raven holding a sword.
The soldiers around my cage don't talk to me. They barely look at me. But I catch their whispers.
"The king's gone mad, taking a witch to the castle."
"She'll curse us all. Mark my words."
"Better her than us on that stake."
I want to scream that I'm not a witch, just a scientist who fell through time. But they wouldn't understand. Hell, I barely understand.
The Demon King rides ahead on his massive horse. He hasn't looked back once since we left the village. His scarred profile is hard as stone.
He saved me from burning. But why?
My scientist's brain knows there's always a reason. People don't act without motivation. He wants something from me—my "knowledge" that he thinks can save his kingdom.
Fine. I'll use that. I'll prove my worth, gain his trust, and find a way to survive in this medieval nightmare long enough to figure out how to get home.
If getting home is even possible.
The thought makes my chest tight. What if I'm stuck here forever? What if I never see modern medicine, electricity, or basic human rights again?
Stop. I force the panic down. One problem at a time. First, survive. Then figure out the rest.
The castle gates groan open. We enter a massive courtyard filled with soldiers, servants, and horses. Everyone stops to stare at the cage. At me.
"The witch," someone whispers.
"She'll bring plague."
"God save us all."
The cage stops. A soldier unlocks the door and drags me out by my chains. My legs barely hold me—I haven't eaten or drunk anything since the explosion. How long ago was that? Hours? Days?
"Bring her to the throne room," the king commands, already striding toward the castle entrance. "Immediately."
They march me through stone corridors lit by actual torches. The air smells like smoke and old stone and unwashed bodies. My modern brain catalogs everything: no running water, no electricity, no sanitation systems. Probably no antibiotics either.
If I get sick here, I could die from something as simple as an infected cut.
The throne room doors swing open. The space is huge, with high ceilings and narrow windows that let in cold gray light. A throne sits on a raised platform—black stone carved with ravens.
The king is already seated, looking every inch the terrifying monarch. His scarred face shows nothing.
Around the room, nobles in fancy clothes gather, whispering behind their hands. I see suspicion, fear, and calculation in their eyes. One woman in particular—blonde, beautiful, dripping with jewelry—stares at me with pure hatred.
"Present the prisoner," the king says.
The soldiers shove me forward. I stumble, catching myself before I fall. I won't kneel. I won't beg. I've been betrayed, framed, nearly murdered, and thrown through time. I'm done being a victim.
I meet the king's ice-blue eyes and stand straight.
A shocked murmur runs through the room. Apparently, prisoners are supposed to grovel.
The king's lips twitch. Almost like he wants to smile.
"You stand before King Adrian Blackthorn of Valoria," an old man announces. "Show respect, witch!"
"I'm not a witch," I say clearly. "I'm a scientist. And if King Adrian wants my help saving his kingdom, he can start by treating me like a human being instead of an animal."
The gasps are louder now. Someone shouts that I should be flogged for disrespect.
Adrian—the king—raises one hand. Instant silence.
"You claim to possess knowledge that can save lives," he says, his voice cold and sharp. "Prove it. Now."
"Prove it how?" I ask. "Do you want me to explain germ theory? Teach you about crop rotation? Design a water filtration system? Be specific."
"Your Majesty!" The blonde woman steps forward. She moves like a cat, all grace and danger. "Surely you don't believe this peasant's lies? She's clearly demon-possessed. Listen to how she speaks—challenging you, using devil words—"
"Lady Seraphina," Adrian cuts her off without looking at her. "I don't recall asking for your opinion."
Seraphina. I file the name away. She's an enemy. I can tell by how she looks at me—like I'm an insect she wants to crush.
"The prisoner makes claims about invisible creatures in water causing disease," Adrian continues. "About improper waste disposal killing my people. Can you prove these claims?"
"Yes." My mind races. What can I prove with medieval technology? "Give me access to clean water, dirty water, and a basic microscope if you have one. Which you probably don't, since they won't be invented for another two hundred years. But I can demonstrate basic principles. I can show you that boiling water kills the invisible organisms that cause illness. I can teach you about hand-washing, sterilization, proper waste management—"
"Devil magic!" a noble shouts.
"Science," I snap back. "Just because you don't understand something doesn't make it magic. The earth revolves around the sun, not the other way around. Diseases are caused by tiny living things, not bad air or God's punishment. And if you'd open your minds for five seconds, I could save thousands of lives!"
The room erupts in angry voices. Someone calls for my immediate execution. Seraphina smiles like she's already won.
Adrian stands. Everyone falls silent again.
He walks down from his throne, each step echoing in the huge room. He stops right in front of me, so close I can see the jagged line of his scar, the silver flecks in his blue eyes.
"You're either the bravest person I've ever met," he says quietly, "or the stupidest."
"Both, probably," I admit. "But I'm also your best chance at stopping whatever plague or famine is killing your people. So here's my offer: Give me resources, protection, and freedom to work. Let me prove my methods save lives. If I fail, you can burn me yourself. But if I succeed, you grant me full legal immunity and a position of authority."
"You bargain with me? A prisoner accused of witchcraft?"
"I negotiate with you," I correct. "A king desperate enough to spare a convicted witch because you hope she can help. You need me, Adrian. And I need to not be burned at a stake. So let's help each other."
Using his first name is a calculated risk. The nobles gasp again. Seraphina looks ready to murder me on the spot.
But Adrian's eyes spark with something—interest, maybe. Or amusement.
"Bold," he murmurs. Then louder: "Very well. I'll give you one week. Prove your knowledge is real and useful. Save even one life using your methods. Do that, and we'll discuss terms."
"One week isn't enough to—"
"One week," he repeats. "Or you burn. But there's one more condition."
Of course there is. "What?"
"You'll remain in the castle under constant supervision. You'll eat what I eat, drink what I drink, and sleep in quarters I assign. You won't leave without my permission. And—" his voice drops to something dangerous, "—you'll enter into a marriage contract with me."
The room explodes.
"Your Majesty, no!"
"You can't marry a witch!"
"This is madness!"
I can't breathe. "Marriage? Why?"
"Because it's the only legal protection that trumps church authority," Adrian says calmly, like he's discussing the weather. "As my wife, even in name only, you can't be tried for witchcraft without my consent. The church can protest all they want—I'm the king. My word is law."
"So I'm trading one prison for another," I say bitterly.
"You're trading burning alive for a chance to live." His scarred face is merciless. "I'm not offering love or romance. This is a political arrangement. You get protection and resources. I get your knowledge. We use each other until one of us gets what we want."
It's horrifyingly familiar—another powerful man offering a contract instead of genuine care. James flashes through my mind, his cold smile as he pressed the button.
But Adrian isn't hiding his intentions. He's brutally honest about using me.
And I need to survive.
"Fine," I hear myself say. "But I want it in writing. A real contract that protects me legally. And I want witnesses."
For the first time, Adrian smiles. It's not warm, but it's real.
"You'll have your contract, Lady Maya—"
"Mira," I interrupt. "Call me Mira. Maya Chen sounds too foreign here."
"Mira, then." He extends his hand. Not for me to shake—for me to kneel and kiss his ring, I realize.
Instead, I shake his hand like an equal. His fingers are rough, scarred, strong.
The nobles look ready to faint.
"We have a deal, King Adrian," I say firmly. "Now get me some food, clean water, and a workspace. I have a kingdom to save."
He laughs. Actually laughs. The sound is rusty, like he hasn't done it in years.
"Get her everything she needs," he orders his servants. Then to me: "Don't make me regret sparing you, Mira."
"Don't make me regret not letting myself burn," I shoot back.
As the servants lead me away, I catch Seraphina's expression. Pure, murderous rage.
I just made a powerful enemy.
But I also just bought myself time. One week to prove modern science can work in a medieval world. One week to secure my position.
One week before I'm either a queen or ashes.
As they guide me through the corridors, I hear Adrian's voice echo behind me:
"Cedric. Investigate the prisoner thoroughly. Find out everything about her. Where she really came from. What she's hiding. I want to know who—or what—I just agreed to marry."
My blood runs cold.
Because if they investigate too deeply, they might discover I'm not just from another place.
I'm from another time.
And if Adrian learns I might know about future events, about technologies centuries ahead, about weapons that could change warfare forever...
He won't marry me.
He'll lock me up and force me to give him everything I know.
I'm not a wife. I'm not even a prisoner.
I'm a weapon.
And the Demon King just claimed me.