Chapter Four Elara

Chapter Four

Elara

Warm rays of sunlight caress my face, stirring me from the depths of sleep. I sigh and nuzzle deeper into the plush pillows as the remnants of an impossible dream cling to the edges of my consciousness. My eyelids flutter open, and for a blissful moment, everything is bathed in a golden haze.

Beside me lies a figure so striking that I wonder if I’m still dreaming. His dark hair falls in tousled waves across his forehead, framing a strong, angular face. High cheekbones and a perfectly sculpted jawline give him an almost regal appearance. Long, dark lashes rest against his sun-kissed skin, and his lips, full and inviting, part ever so slightly with each slow, steady breath.

The early morning light plays over the contours of his naked torso, highlighting every dip and curve of well-defined muscle. One powerful arm is bent above his head, the other resting lightly against the rumpled sheets. Even asleep, he exudes confidence, a quiet strength that draws me in.

My thoughts are slow and honey-sweet, and for a heartbeat, I’m captivated, lost in admiration. The world feels distant, muffled, wrapped in cotton.

Then reality crashes through me like thunder.

With a startled gasp, I bolt upright and scramble out of the bed. Heart pounding, I press my back against the wall. I flatten my palms against the solid stone as though it might anchor me and dissolve this dream once and for all.

But nothing changes. The room remains stubbornly real—the copper tub still filled with water, the remnants of food and ale strewn across the wooden table, the massive bed with its disheveled sheets and the unmistakable imprint of where I slept. And most undeniably, the imposing man still sleeping beside that spot, utterly unbothered by my panic.

Raking my hands through my tangled hair, I struggle to make sense of the chaos swirling in my mind. “What in the actual fuck is going on?”

The question is directed at the universe, but without opening his eyes, the sleeping giant answers instead. “I imagine you are realizing that this is not, in fact, a dream,” he says, his morning voice more deliciously gruff than it has any right to be. “But please do so silently. Unlike you, I was awake rather late.”

“The last thing I’m worried about right now is your beauty sleep! And why are you even in the damn bed? Were you lying when you told me I could have it, or did you conveniently forget?”

His eyes crack open at that, revealing a sharp gaze the color of storm clouds. “I do not lie, and once spoken, I never forget my words. I gave you the option of the bed or the floor. I never said I would not be in the bed as well. You simply assumed that to be the case.”

“A lie by omission is still a lie,” I insist, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Hold your outrage, woman. Your virtue is still intact. I did not touch you.”

He sits up with a groan and drags his hands down his stubbled jaw before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The movement presents me with a view of his back—taut, muscular, and frustratingly perfect. Each muscle shifts beneath his bronzed skin, the early light casting subtle shadows that accentuate every contour.

Stop lusting after the man, Elara!

I huff, cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “That’s not the point. You should have told me you’d be sleeping there too.”

He glances over his shoulder, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Would it have made a difference? You slept soundly enough.”

I open my mouth to retort, but the truth is I hadn’t even noticed him climb into the bed. How could I have been so oblivious?

“I’ll be more considerate of your delicate sensibilities in the future,” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t do me any favors.”

“As you wish.” He stands, his broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist, and I’m mostly relieved to see he’s wearing pants and partially irritated that I’m not entirely relieved. He stretches his arms above his head, sending a ripple through every stiff muscle. I’m transfixed by the sight of his tawny skin and the muscular ridges of his powerful form. I want to kiss the flat, brown discs of his pecs and run my nails through the dusting of black hair that trails through the valley between his abs, swirls around his navel, then disappears beneath the waistband of the pants hanging low on his hips.

Jesus, it’s been too long since I’ve had sex.

Like a rabbit clocking the movements of a panther, I watch as he retrieves his shirt from the end of the bed, then sidles over to me with more grace than a man of his size should possess. He’s close enough that I have to tip my head back to meet the steel gray of his penetrating gaze.

“However,” he croons, his deep baritone voice making heat pool low in my belly. “I am not the one who brazenly took in my naked form last night. Perhaps that is why you are upset.”

My face flames as the memories flood back, the way I shamelessly admired every inch of him when I thought this was all just a vivid dream. Every. Single. Inch.

Oh God, I ogled him like a piece of meat. I practically started drooling.

I give him a saccharine grin. “Don’t flatter yourself. It wasn’t that impressive. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

He chuckles softly, one side of his mouth curling into a sly smile. “If you say so, naughty nymph.”

The unexpected pet name sends a jolt through me, equal parts annoyance and something else I refuse to acknowledge.

He turns away and resumes dressing, leaving me reeling from everything—his closeness, his intensity, the reminder of last night, and the fact that I’ve either had a break with reality or this is actually happening.

As soon as his shirt is covering the rest of his bare skin, the fog in my head lifts, allowing me to think clearly again. “The reason I’m upset is because I have no fucking clue what’s going on. One minute, I’m in my best friend’s apartment— in New York , mind you—and the next minute, I end up wherever the hell this is. I don’t belong here!”

He pointedly looks at my tank top and yoga pants. “That is obvious.”

I glare at him. “No one likes a smart-ass, Gary.”

His dark brows knit together. “That is not my name.”

“I couldn’t care less about your name. I am in crisis. Tell me where I am. What is this place?”

He sighs softly, as if weighing how to explain. “You are in the Kingdom of Pentacles within the realm of Towerfall.”

“Towerfall?” I repeat, trying to wrap my head around the unfamiliar name and the fact that he called it a realm and not a city. The walls seem to close in, but I force myself to take a deep breath, the scent of wood smoke filling my lungs.

He nods. “Towerfall is divided into four kingdoms: Pentacles, Swords, Cups, and Wands. Each is ruled by its own royal family. Each has its own strengths and weaknesses.”

“Wait,” I say, holding up my hands. “Pentacles, Swords, Cups, and Wands? Like the suits in a tarot deck?”

He goes rigid, fisting his hands at his sides. “You mean magick?”

“No. Well, yeah. But not really. It’s complicated—”

“Few would dare practice the magickal abilities passed to them through birth. Within Towerfall, magick is outlawed. Punishable by death.” His gaze sharpens, stormy eyes locking on mine. “I know a little of magick—enough to have seen its dangers—and perhaps that is how you have come to be here, but we will not speak of its existence.”

“That’s fine. There’s no magick in New York either. Not real magick anyway,” I snort. “But those suits, they’re part of a card game, not actual kingdoms.”

He steps closer, studying me intently, and I can’t help but hold my breath. “In New York , they are not actual kingdoms. But you, naughty nymph, are no longer in your realm. There seems to be more connection between our worlds than you realize.”

My heartbeat quickens despite myself, and I clear my throat. “Okay, let’s say I believe that I somehow fell through space and time like I’m suddenly on an episode of Outlander .” The confusion on his face every time I reference pop culture only emphasizes my situation. “ How do I get back home? ”

He shrugs noncommittally. “I would assume in the same manner that brought you here.”

“Well, that’s just great.” I throw my hands up and let them slap against my thighs. “Then all I need is some wine, an edible, and an old tarot deck. While I’m at it, I should try clicking the heels of my ruby slippers three times.” Dropping onto the end of the bed, I brace my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands, fighting the rising panic clawing its way up my throat. “What am I going to do?” The words are barely a whisper, but without the ambient hum of electronics or the cacophony of big city traffic, I might as well have shouted them.

“I will make you a deal,” he says, moving to stand in front of me. “There are those in Towerfall who are wise in the ways of the unexplained and old magicks. If you help me in my mission, I will take you to meet with them. I am certain they will know how to get you home.”

I lift my head, a glimmer of hope igniting within me, but caution quickly tempers it. “Before I agree to anything, what’s your mission?”

“I need to gain an audience with Lady Levina Clayton, a high-ranking noblewoman within this kingdom, in regard to previous business she had with my father.”

I frown. “That doesn’t sound worthy of mission status. I assume you can’t call her, but why not just go to her house and tell her you want to talk?”

He shakes his head, a hint of frustration flickering in his eyes. “She is eccentric in that she refuses to interact with those outside her small, trusted circle, with the exception of a single night. Every year, she hosts the Mabon Festival, an exclusive event where the elite of the Kingdom of Pentacles indulge themselves in the name of celebrating the fall harvest. I have exactly one week to secure myself a place on that guest list without alerting her beforehand.”

“Based on your need for subterfuge, can I safely assume she doesn’t want to see you?”

“Yes, you can.”

I chew my lower lip as I mull over the situation. His heated gaze drifts to my mouth, sending a warm flush through me that makes me clench my thighs together. I mentally shake myself free of the salacious thoughts before my starved libido runs away with my senses.

“So for my own clarification,” I say, “your plan is to get an invitation to the party without anyone knowing you’re the one who needs it, then find a way to get Lady Clayton, who does not like you or want to see you, alone for five minutes to discuss her business dealings with your father. Do I have it right?”

He hesitates for several moments, his expression unreadable. “More or less.”

I don’t like how cryptic he’s being, but I decide to let it go for now. My current options are essentially nil, so his lack of transparency is pretty much a moot point. “And what’s my role in all this, Gary?”

His eyes narrow. “I told you that is not my name.”

“Still don’t care. Tell me why you need my help.”

For a second, I think he might be irritated enough to abandon the idea altogether. But then he crosses his arms over his broad chest, muscles flexing beneath his tunic, and resigns himself to ignoring my attitude. “Too many witnessed me purchasing you for a hefty sum last night. If I am seen without you, it will raise questions and invite them to look into my identity and purpose for being here. I need to be overlooked as just another traveler exploring the kingdom with his new pawn.”

“Pawn?” I echo, the word leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

“The name for servants who are not employed but rather owned.”

I clench my teeth so hard they might crack. Objectively, I understood last night that I was being auctioned off to the highest bidder. But hearing it said out loud—and realizing now that it was in fact real —is another thing entirely.

“We have a different word for that where I’m from,” I grate out. “Treating humans like property is a vile fucking practice, no matter what it’s called.”

His expression grows somber, and he dips his chin in acknowledgment. “On that, we can agree. Your role as a pawn will be solely for the sake of appearances. Once I have my invitation to the Mabon Festival, I will take you to someone who can help you return home. Do we have a deal?”

I study his face, searching for any hint of deceit. His storm-gray eyes hold steady, his gaze unwavering under my scrutiny. The tension in his jaw softens slightly, as if he’s trying to appear less imposing. A flicker of sincerity crosses his features, but I can’t be sure if it’s genuine.

I need to think—fast. Maybe agreeing to his deal is actually in my best interest. If I play along, not only will I get out of this room with an escort who will protect me from any strange men—well, other strange men—but he’ll also take me to someone who can get me back home. He knows a lot more about this world than I do, and in the grand scheme of things, a week isn’t really all that long.

However, time might actually be a critical factor. What if the portal or whatever brought me here is closing? I can’t risk waiting a week to find help.

Plus he’s hiding something. I can feel it. Trusting others has never been my strong suit, and I shouldn’t change that now. I need to control this situation, save myself, go along with his plan until I find an opportunity to escape.

“First, let’s get one thing straight,” I declare, lifting my chin defiantly. “I’m not your property, and I won’t act like I am.”

“Understood. But for our ruse to be convincing, there will be times when appearances must be maintained.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And how do you suggest we do that?”

He steps a little closer, the space between us shrinking. “By blending in. That means adopting the customs and attire of this kingdom. It will help us both avoid unwanted attention.”

I glance down at my tank top and yoga pants. “I suppose I do stand out.”

Taking a deep breath, I weigh my nonexistent options. If playing along gets me closer to finding a way home, so be it.

“Okay, Gary, we have a deal,” I say, extending my hand for a customary shake.

He ignores it entirely, his eyes narrowing as his lip curls in a subtle sneer. “Do not call me that again, nymph, or I will place you over my knee and spank the insolence out of you.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks at the image he’s painted in my mind. I wish I could say it was from embarrassment, but that would be a lie. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to share names. If you can call me a nymph, then I can call you Gary.”

“Fine,” he growls. “Tell me what to call you, and I will do the same.”

Feeling petulant, I consider refusing. But that would be childish. Or at least more childish than naming him after SpongeBob’s pet snail, not that he’d get that reference either. “My name is Elara, but people usually call me El for short.”

“Elara,” he repeats softly, the syllables rolling slowly as though he’s savoring the word against his tongue. Like it’s the first one he’s spoken after a lifetime of silence. His gaze softens, and I swear desire flashes in his eyes before it disappears like a wisp of smoke.

He turns away abruptly, moving to a chair to gather up a stack of folded clothes I hadn’t noticed. He drops them in my arms. “Put these on,” he instructs gruffly. “I’ll step out into the hall.”

Just before he reaches the door, I call out. “Wait. What do I call you?”

He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder with a half grin. The devious tilt of his mouth reveals a single dimple in his right cheek. “You may call me ‘my lord.’ For now you are mine.”