POV: Maya Chen
The servants lead me to a small room in the castle's west tower.
It's not a dungeon, which surprises me. There's a real bed with blankets, a wooden table, and even a window—narrow, but it lets in light. A fire crackles in the stone fireplace, warming the cold air.
"Someone will bring food and water shortly," a middle-aged woman says. Her accent is thick, but I'm getting better at understanding. "Don't try to escape. Guards are posted outside."
She leaves, and I hear the door lock from the outside.
I'm alone.
I collapse onto the bed, my whole body shaking. Everything hits me at once—the explosion, the time travel, nearly burning at the stake, the forced marriage contract. It's too much. Way too much.
I curl into a ball and let myself cry. Just for a minute. Just to release the terror I've been holding back.
Then I force myself to stop. Crying won't help. Action will.
I stand and pace the small room, thinking like a scientist again. Adrian ordered an investigation into my background. That's bad. If they discover I'm from 2024, from the future, everything changes.
Right now, they think I'm just a strange foreign woman with unusual knowledge. Weird, but explainable.
But if they learn the truth? That I know exactly what technologies will be invented, what diseases will emerge, what wars will happen, what political systems will develop?
I become too valuable to ever be free.
Adrian won't marry me as an equal partner. He'll lock me in a tower and extract every piece of knowledge from my brain. He'll use me to build weapons, win wars, dominate his enemies.
I'll be a prisoner forever.
Unless I control the information. Feed him useful knowledge slowly. Make myself valuable but not irreplaceable. Stay essential but not threatening.
A knock interrupts my planning. The door opens and a young girl enters, carrying a tray. She can't be more than fifteen, with brown hair and nervous eyes.
"Your food, my lady," she whispers, setting the tray on the table. Bread, cheese, some kind of stew, and a cup of water.
My lady. Already they're calling me that because of the marriage contract.
"Thank you," I say gently. "What's your name?"
She looks shocked that I asked. "Elara, my lady."
"Just call me Mira. I'm not really a lady. Not yet, anyway."
Elara's eyes widen. "But you're to marry the king! That makes you—"
"A woman who made a deal to stay alive," I interrupt. "Trust me, there's nothing noble about it."
She studies me curiously. "The servants are saying you're a witch. That you know dark magic."
"No magic. Just science." I gesture to the water. "Like, I could tell you that water can carry invisible creatures that make people sick. That's not magic—it's biology. Basic stuff."
"Invisible creatures?" Elara looks terrified.
Right. Germ theory won't be discovered for another four hundred years here. I'm literally trying to explain concepts that won't exist in their world for centuries.
"Forget it," I say quickly. "The point is, I'm not dangerous. I just know things that could help people."
Elara relaxes slightly. "Sir Cedric wants to speak with you. The king's command. Should I bring him?"
My stomach drops. The investigation is starting already.
"Sure," I say, trying to sound calm. "Send him in."
Elara hurries out. Minutes later, a tall man enters. This must be Sir Cedric—one of the soldiers from earlier. He's built like a tank, with a scarred face and hard eyes that miss nothing.
"Lady Mira," he says, not sitting. "I'm here on the king's orders. I have questions."
"Of course you do." I gesture to the chair. "Sit. Let's talk."
He doesn't sit. "Where are you from?"
"Far away." Not technically a lie.
"Be specific."
"A land across the ocean. Very far east." Still not technically a lie—I'm from the future, which is kind of like being from far away.
"What land? What kingdom?"
I scramble for something that sounds medieval but vague. "A place you wouldn't know. It's... small. Not important."
Cedric's eyes narrow. "You speak strangely. Your accent is unlike anything I've heard. Your words—'science,' 'biology,' 'germ theory'—these aren't normal speech."
"I'm educated," I say carefully. "In my homeland, we study these things."
"What things?"
"Medicine. Engineering. Natural philosophy." I'm using terms they might understand. "Ways to help people live longer, healthier lives."
"And your family? Your parents?"
My throat tightens. "My father died three years ago. Heart failure. My mother died when I was young."
Truth. That part is all truth.
"Siblings?"
"Just a cousin. Lisa." I can't keep the bitterness from my voice.
Cedric catches it. "You don't like this cousin."
"She betrayed me." The words slip out before I can stop them. "Stole from me. Destroyed my life."
"How?"
I meet his eyes. "She took credit for my work. Made people think I was a liar and a fraud. Helped the man I loved try to kill me."
All true. Every word.
Cedric studies me for a long moment. "You've been hurt badly. By people you trusted."
"Yes."
"So you came here to escape them?"
"Something like that." I didn't come here on purpose, but I'm not explaining time travel to a medieval knight.
"The king thinks you're hiding something," Cedric says bluntly. "He's right, isn't he?"
My heart pounds. "Everyone hides something."
"Not from their future husband."
"This isn't a real marriage," I snap. "It's a business deal. He said so himself. He uses me for knowledge, I use him for protection. There's no trust required."
"Trust is always required." Cedric finally sits, his expression softer. "The king has been hurt too. More than you know. That's why he's hard. Cold. Why they call him the Demon King."
I don't want to care about Adrian's past. I don't want to humanize him. It's easier to see him as just another powerful man using me.
But curiosity wins. "What hurt him?"
"That's his story to tell." Cedric stands. "One more question. The village priest said you claimed to be born in 1998. Six hundred years from now. Was that delirium from fear? Or truth?"
Ice floods my veins.
"Delirium," I say quickly. "I was terrified. Confused. I probably said all kinds of crazy things."
"Probably." But he doesn't sound convinced. "I'll report to the king. One week, Lady Mira. Prove your worth. Because if you fail..." He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to.
After he leaves, I slump against the wall.
They're already suspicious. Already questioning. And I have one week to prove I'm useful without revealing I'm from the future.
One week to save lives using only basic medieval resources.
One week before I either secure my position or burn.
I look at the food on the table. My stomach growls—I haven't eaten since before the explosion. Before everything fell apart.
I reach for the bread, then pause.
What if it's poisoned?
Adrian said I'd eat what he eats, but I'm not with him now. What if Seraphina bribed a servant? What if someone wants me dead before I can prove anything?
I examine the bread carefully. It looks normal. Smells normal. But I'm a scientist, not a food taster. I don't know how to detect medieval poisons.
I'm about to risk it anyway—starvation will kill me just as surely as poison—when my door crashes open.
A man stumbles in, bleeding heavily from his arm. Behind him, panicked servants crowd the doorway.
"Please!" a woman cries. "You're the healer, aren't you? You said you know medicine! My husband—he was cut by a rusty blade. The wound festers. The physician says he'll lose the arm or die!"
I jump up, my hunger forgotten. "How long ago was he cut?"
"Three days," the man gasps. His face is flushed with fever. The wound on his arm is swollen, red, oozing pus.
Infection. Serious infection. Without antibiotics, he could die.
But I don't have antibiotics. I don't have proper surgical tools. I don't have anything a modern doctor would need.
"I can't promise anything," I say honestly. "But I'll try. Bring me clean water—boiled if possible. Clean cloth. The strongest alcohol you have. And honey if you have it. Move!"
The servants scatter.
I turn to the injured man. "This will hurt. But if we don't clean the wound properly, the infection will spread to your blood and kill you. Do you understand?"
He nods weakly.
I take a deep breath. My first test. My first chance to prove modern medicine works.
I'm about to perform medieval surgery with no training and no tools.
And if this man dies, they'll blame me.
They'll say I'm a witch who kills instead of heals.
And Adrian will burn me himself.
The servants return with the supplies. I wash my hands thoroughly—even without soap, clean water is better than nothing.
"Hold him down," I order. "This is going to hurt."
I start cleaning the wound. The man screams.
And somewhere in the castle, I know Adrian is listening.
Watching.
Judging whether I'm worth keeping alive.