Was It Just a Dream?
I woke up gasping, like I’d just surfaced from deep water, struggling for breath.
My hands flew to my waist, expecting pain, blood—something.
But there was nothing.
Just the same small birthmark I’d had forever.
I blinked. Once. Twice. My vision adjusted to my dimly lit room. My real room. The messy bed, the piles of clothes, the stacks of comics scattered on the floor.
I was home.
It was just a dream.
Of course it was.
I let out a shaky laugh and pressed my palm against my chest, willing my heartbeat to slow down.
I needed a shower.
Now.
?
Water, Soap, and Sanity
I practically sprinted to the bathroom, grabbing my shower kit like my life depended on it.
The moment the warm water hit my skin, I nearly moaned in relief.
Never again would I take modern hygiene for granted.
God, the men in that world—how did they live like that? The dirt, the sweat, the stench—traumatizing. My nose needed rehab.
I scrubbed my body raw, washing away every imaginary trace of blood, fire, and dirt.
And then, as I lathered shampoo into my hair, a thought hit me.
I’m going to buy my perfume today.
The one I’d always wanted but never let myself have. The one I kept telling myself I wasn’t worthy of.
Not anymore.
I was done waiting to feel worthy.
?
The Shocked Sister
“Vivian, can you take me to the mall?” I asked, practically bouncing into the living room. “I finally decided to buy my perfume.”
Vivian didn’t even look up from her phone. “Are you planning to buy a suicidal kit or get hit by a car behind me?”
Oof.
Her words hit like a slap, making me pause.
Right.
When was the last time I voluntarily left the house?
The last time I even cared about something as small as perfume?
Vivian must’ve sensed something was off because she dropped her phone and stared at me.
“Okay, what’s the occasion for the shower?” she asked, her tone suspicious.
I hesitated.
I’d spent months shutting everyone out, barely speaking, barely existing. And now I was suddenly hyper, talking about shopping? I had to sound crazy.
I forced myself to slow down. “I just… I want a fresh start,” I said, keeping my voice even. “And I think buying my perfume will put me in a good mood. If you’re busy, forget I asked.”
Silence.
Then—
“Get your shoes,” she muttered.
?
A Glimpse of Myself
Later that night, after cleaning my entire room (who even am I?), I stood in front of the mirror, freshly showered for the second time that day.
For the first time in months, I really looked at myself.
No baggy clothes. No avoiding my reflection. Just me.
My body.
The same body I’d spent so long hating.
I had convinced myself I was too fat, too soft, too… unworthy.
But now, flashes of another world came back to me—
The way those knights looked at me.
The way their gazes lingered, dark and unreadable.
A shiver ran down my spine.
God, am I really this miserable? Am I seriously flattered by attention from blood-covered knights who might actually EAT me?
I groaned, rubbing my face. Aly, get a damn life.
Still, I took my time moisturizing my skin with floral lotion, rubbing musk oil into my wrists.
For once, I felt… good.
Like me.
At dinner, my family kept throwing suspicious glances at me, like I was about to announce my will mid-meal.
Vivian even did a fake security sweep of my room before bed. “Clear,” she muttered, then turned back to me with a smirk. “If you kill yourself, I swear I’ll drag you out of hell and murder you again.”
I burst out laughing.
It was ridiculous.
But also…
She wasn’t wrong to worry.
I didn’t have the best track record.
?
Oh, God. Not Again.
I curled up in bed, eyes heavy, body relaxed.
Then—
Wait.
What if I go back?
My heart lurched.
No.
No, no, no—
I shot up, wide-eyed.
But it was too late.
A familiar cold crept into my bones.
The smell of dirt, old wood, and fire wrapped around me, sinking into my lungs.
I clenched my fists, refusing to open my eyes.
If I pretended to sleep, maybe—maybe—
But then I felt it.
The sharp bite of pain in my waist.
My stomach dropped.
No.
I still had the injury.
Which meant—
My eyes snapped open.
I wasn’t in my room.
I was lying on a massive, Victorian-style bed, draped with sheer curtains.
Naked.
Panic shot through me. I tried to move—
Pain flared at my waist, forcing me still.
My breath hitched. I glanced down.
A clean, white bandage wrapped around my abdomen.
Someone had tended to me.
I swallowed hard, taking in my surroundings. The tent was different. Larger. Luxurious.
Still night.
Still foreign.
Then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Purposeful.
My pulse skyrocketed.
I frantically searched for something—anything—to cover myself.
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Nothing.
The steps drew closer.
I froze.
The curtain parted.
Instinct kicked in—I threw one hand over my chest, the other over my lower half, barely managing to shield myself.
My heart pounded.
The man in front of me didn’t move.
He just… stared.
A long, silent moment passed.
Then, slowly, he raised a hand—
And gestured for me to come to him.
Oh.
Oh, hell no.
Regret slammed into me.
God, if you let me survive this, I swear I will devote my life to you and never think about men again.
This Must Be a Nightmare
Please, God. Wake me up.
The heaviness of this place, the air thick with the scent of fire and leather, the way the fabric of the bed feels too real against my skin—
It’s getting to me.
I’m starting to believe it.
No.
No.
I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed, vowing to devote myself to God, to burn every single one of my erotic and romance novels, to never fantasize about a man again—
Then the mattress shifted.
A slow, deep indentation.
Heat.
His heat.
My breath hitched as I forced one eye open.
And there he was.
The same man.
The same wild, burning gaze.
His sharp features were illuminated by the flickering torchlight, his golden skin glowing like molten metal, his dark eyes locked onto mine like a predator scenting prey.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just watched.
I wasn’t sure if he was trying to read me or consume me.
But… something in his gaze wasn’t cruel.
It was curious.
A slow, shaky breath escaped my lips.
“It’s just a dream, Aly,” I whispered under my breath. “Just a dream.”
He stilled.
The sound of my voice had his full, undivided attention, like a hunter sensing something foreign in the air.
He looked like he had stopped breathing altogether.
I hesitated. Then, carefully, I spoke again.
“Can I get a cover?”
Nothing.
His expression didn’t change, but something in his body reacted.
A sudden sharp inhale, his chest rising.
I realized then—I had been assuming he understood me.
But now… I wasn’t so sure.
Did I understand him before?
I thought I had.
But now, the language he spoke with his men sounded ancient, thick, completely indecipherable.
The thought barely had time to settle before—
He moved.
Before I could react, he was on top of me, arms caging me in, his massive body pinning me beneath him.
A shudder wracked my frame.
Not from fear.
From the heat of him.
His breath fanned over my skin—hot, ragged, controlled.
Then—
He leaned in.
And smelled me.
My neck, my shoulder, his nose tracing my skin like he was committing my scent to memory.
I clenched my jaw, swallowing hard, my arms still desperately covering my chest.
But… he never tried to move them.
He was just smelling me.
And God help me, in that moment, all I could think was—
Thank God I took that shower.
A wave of satisfaction bloomed in my chest. The hours of scrubbing, the perfume, the lotion—worth it.
Then—
I almost—almost—asked him what he thought of the scent.
The thought was so ridiculous, a small, sarcastic smirk pulled at my lips.
His head snapped up.
His dark gaze locked onto mine.
His expression was unreadable.
Damn it, Aly. You even manage to be weird in your own damn dreams.
But before I could process his reaction—
I was in the air.
He lifted me.
Effortlessly.
Like I weighed nothing.
I barely had time to react before I found myself on his lap, my legs draped over his thick, powerful thighs.
Oh.
He was huge.
For the first time in my life, I felt…
Small.
Soft.
Cute.
Okay, I could die happy now.
I sat frozen, mind short-circuiting, as his hands—so large they could crush me—gently traced over my arms, my legs, like he was studying every inch of me.
My ears burned.
He was being so gentle.
Too gentle.
Like I was fragile.
My stomach twisted, heat creeping up my spine as I fought to control my expression.
And then—
His face was in my neck again.
Breathing me in.
Again.
My entire body tensed, every nerve on fire, as I clenched my fists and willed myself not to react.
Then, without warning, he pulled back.
And placed a tunic over my head.
Oh.
Okay.
That’s fine.
I was in a steamy, hot, romance dream, and this was just part of the script, right?
I obediently slipped my arms through the sleeves, adjusting the tunic over my body. It was soft, the fabric falling just below my knees.
And weirdly… clean.
I had barely settled into the fabric when—
A voice.
Sharp. Commanding. Coming from outside the tent.
I flinched.
A sharp, involuntary reaction.
His entire body stiffened.
His gaze snapped to me, unreadable, as if he had just discovered something unexpected.
Then, so gently it made my breath hitch, he placed me back on the bed.
And pulled the curtains shut.
I exhaled.
The relief was instant.
It was safer behind the curtain. Hidden.
A part of me wanted to believe this was just some fantasy dream I could enjoy before waking up.
But the moment the soldiers entered, I knew—
It wasn’t.
Three men strode in, all dressed in armor, moving with sharp, disciplined steps.
They bowed.
Then they spoke in their strange, ancient language.
I barely heard them.
Because I was watching.
Him.
How he sat so calmly at the round table, scanning maps and papers, looking so… effortlessly in control.
Powerful.
Then—
One of the soldiers glanced at me.
Just for a second.
Barely a flicker of his eyes.
But that second cost him his life.
A sharp, sickening sound filled the air.
Then—
His body hit the ground.
Lifeless.
My stomach lurched.
Blood splattered across the floor, seeping into the fabric of the tent.
A deep, growling voice spoke something.
Two men stepped forward.
Dragged the dead soldier’s body out like it was nothing.
A third one calmly started cleaning the mess.
And the whole time—
He didn’t even look up from his map.
Did he—
Did he just kill him because he looked at me?
I swallowed hard.
This is a dream.
This is just a dream.
I clenched the fabric of the tunic, staring at the growing pool of blood.
But my hands were shaking.
Because deep down, I was starting to realize—
I wasn’t so sure anymore.
The Woman Sent from Heaven
The camp was quiet when they arrived.
The fires burned low, casting flickering shadows across the tents. The scent of smoke, sweat, and blood still hung in the air.
Claudius dismounted, the weight in his arms still warm, still breathing.
She hadn’t woken.
Nestled in the thick folds of his robe, her small frame barely moved, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.
His arms tightened around her as he carried her toward his tent.
“Prepare my bath,” he ordered without looking at his men. “And bring the priest.”
The murmurs of his soldiers faded behind him as he stepped inside.
Carefully, he unwrapped her from his robe, waiting for her to stir.
She didn’t.
Her dark curls were still damp, strands clinging to the side of her face. Blood stained the flimsy fabric of her strange garments, the fabric so sheer it was practically useless.
His frown deepened.
The tent flaps rustled, and the priest entered, bowing low.
“Your Highness, how can I help you?”
Claudius didn’t look at him. His gaze remained fixed on the unconscious woman sprawled across his table.
“Who is she?”
The priest took a sharp step forward, his expression tightening with shock.
“Oh, Your Highness!” His voice wavered. “Where did you find her?”
Claudius exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “She appeared in the middle of the battlefield. After a strike of lightning.” His jaw clenched. “Is she from the heavens? Or a devil?”
The priest’s eyes widened. “I… I have never heard of such a thing.”
Claudius dragged his gaze back to her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Slowly, cautiously, he brushed a few stray curls from her face.
Too small.
Too delicate.
She didn’t belong in a battlefield.
“You will tend to her wounds,” he said, voice low, “then leave. Speak of this to no one, or you will lose your head.”
The priest bowed quickly, nodding in silent understanding.
He worked without a word, dabbing at the small, clean cut across her skin. When he was finished, he bowed again and left as quickly as he had come.
A servant arrived with steaming water for the bath.
The moment the tent fell silent, Claudius exhaled.
His gaze drifted back to her.
She was still covered in blood.
Still wearing those strange, useless garments.
With slow, deliberate movements, he peeled them away.
Nothing underneath.
His fingers stilled.
For the first time in years, heat prickled at his ears.
Ridiculous.
He shook it off, undressed, and lifted her into his arms.
The moment her body brushed against his, a sharp jolt ran down his spine.
Too soft.
Too warm.
Her damp curls tickled his chest as her head lolled against him. The moment he sank into the wooden bath, the hot water rising around them, her body melted into his.
Claudius swallowed hard.
He kept his hands steady as he washed her, keeping his touch impersonal. But when he turned her toward him, pressing two fingers under her jaw to check her breathing, his resolve wavered.
Her face was so… small.
His fingers brushed against her cheek.
Is this how women feel?
Tiny. Fragile.
He clenched his jaw, tearing his gaze away.
His hands hovered over the curve of her waist.
Don’t touch.
The vow came back to him.
He had sworn not to lay with a woman during war. Their customs believed it weakened men, drained their focus.
A sharp pang of frustration surged through him.
With a sudden scowl, he stood and dropped her onto the bed, carelessly tossing a blanket over her before returning to the bath alone.
Two Hours Later
The camp was alive with victory.
Laughter. Drinking. Fires blazing bright.
Claudius barely heard any of it.
The moment he set his cup down, a cold realization struck him.
He never gave her clothes.
He rose swiftly, pushing past his men, ignoring the drunken cheers and raised goblets. The guards outside his tent stepped aside as he approached.
And then—
He heard it.
Soft. Rapid breathing.
He grabbed a tunic and stepped inside, pushing the curtain aside.
She was awake.
Huddled at the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying—and failing—to hide.
She was shaking.
From cold. From fear.
His jaw tightened.
He lifted the tunic slightly, trying to signal for her to come closer. But she didn’t move.
Didn’t even flinch.
She just watched him.
So, he stepped forward.
Slow. Measured.
She still didn’t move.
Her breath was still unsteady, but she didn’t try to run.
As he reached her, ready to drape the tunic over her shoulders, she suddenly—
Spoke.
A string of soft, strange words spilled from her lips.
Claudius froze.
The sound of her voice—
It startled him.
Low, quiet, unfamiliar.
But beneath the strangeness, beneath the foreign syllables, was something… soft.
And the scent.
He inhaled.
Floral. Clean.
Something fresh that didn’t belong in a battlefield, in a tent filled with blood and war.
His hand tensed around the tunic.
For the first time in a long time—
He didn’t know what to do.
Mine
Claudius couldn’t stop himself.
Before he even realized it, he was on top of her, caging her in with his arms and legs, his weight pressing into the mattress.
What am I doing?
His body moved before his mind could catch up.
He lowered his face, inhaling slowly—her skin, warm and soft, smelled of something impossibly clean, a scent that didn’t belong in this world of iron and blood.
It soothed him.
A reprieve from war.
He closed his eyes, breathing her in, drowning in it—until something made him freeze.
A smile.
A soft, amused curve of her lips.
His entire body went rigid.
What?
He pulled back slightly, studying her face, his pulse thudding.
Was she mocking him? Was she… enjoying this?
Or—
His fingers flexed against the mattress.
Was she a devil?
The thought sent a strange thrill through his veins.
He couldn’t stop himself.
Lifting her effortlessly, he settled her onto his lap.
Her back was soft.
Too soft.
His hands paused, tightening slightly.
What would happen if he squeezed? If he used even half his strength?
The thought was fleeting—his war instincts creeping in—but she shifted in his hold, stealing his focus.
No fear.
She wasn’t trembling.
Wasn’t resisting.
She looked… comfortable.
He stared at her, stunned.
She was a strange woman.
His grip on her adjusted, but the movement only made him more aware—of her skin, impossibly smooth under his fingertips. Of the warmth pressing against him.
And her scent.
That delicate, floral sweetness drifted up, invading his senses.
A woman. A naked woman. Sitting in his lap, showing no signs of fear.
Something primal snapped in his chest.
He needed to touch her.
Just one more time.
His fingers skimmed over her arm, tracing the impossibly fine texture of her skin. It was… irritating. How soft she was. How much he wanted to bury himself in it.
His breath hitched.
Control yourself.
He was in the middle of a war.
Control yourself.
In a flash, his mouth was at her neck.
He inhaled, deeper this time, drowning in her scent.
His muscles coiled, his jaw clenched.
She was dangerous. In a way no blade or enemy had ever been.
With a sharp breath, he pulled back and shoved the tunic toward her.
Her expression shifted.
Need.
Not fear. Not hesitation.
Just a quiet, eager need as she reached for it—her arms rising carelessly, recklessly, exposing her bare chest without a single thought.
Claudius barely held back his smirk.
She’d done the same when they first met. Had she already forgotten?
So, it wasn’t seduction.
She wasn’t trying to tempt him.
She was just oblivious.
A woman completely unaware of her own power over men.
He opened his mouth to say something—but then—
A voice.
“Your Highness, the leaders of the left-wing and right-wing troops have arrived.”
The moment the words rang out, he felt it—
The sharp shift in her body.
The tension snapping into her muscles.
Fear.
He blinked, surprised.
So, she does feel fear.
But not toward him.
His lips twitched.
Interesting.
The idea amused him.
She had no idea that she was in the arms of the most dangerous man across all the kingdoms.
And yet, she thought he was safer than anyone outside these tent walls.
The thought stirred something deep in his chest.
He let it settle as he stood, setting her down gently before moving toward the round table.
The leaders arrived, speaking quickly, discussing the next invasion, the next steps in their conquest.
Claudius listened in silence, his fingers brushing the hilt of his dagger as his mind flickered back to the warmth of the woman behind the curtains.
Then—
A shift in the air.
A presence that didn’t belong.
His gaze flicked up.
A knight’s assistant had entered with one of the leaders.
He wasn’t speaking.
Wasn’t engaging.
His eyes—
Were locked on the open slit of the curtain.
Looking.
Watching.
At her.
Claudius didn’t hesitate.
His hand moved.
A sharp whistle of metal—
And the dagger sank into the man’s chest.
The room went silent.
The body collapsed to the floor, blood splattering in a messy arc.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
Claudius’s voice cut through the silence.
“This is a warning,” he said, tone deadly calm. “To anyone who thinks they can lay eyes on what is mine.”
His men stood frozen.
The body twitched once.
Then stilled.
“She belongs to me now.” His tone darkened, sharp as a blade. “If anyone dares to go near her, if anyone even thinks of touching what is mine—”
His fingers curled around another dagger.
“I will wipe out their entire bloodline.”
No one spoke.
No one even breathed.
Finally, with an exhale, Claudius flicked his hand.
“Take the body out. And clean the tent.”
The leaders moved swiftly, bowing as they dragged the corpse away.
Claudius didn’t spare them another glance.
Didn’t acknowledge their fear.
Didn’t acknowledge the heavy silence they left in their wake.
Instead, he turned back to the map, studying the layout of the next battlefield—
As if nothing had happened at all.
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