Waylen didn’t move.

  The words hung between them, weighty and unwavering.

  This is your choice.

  Choice. As if this was something he could process like an option, like he had any understanding of what was happening.

  But he didn’t.

  His grip tightened on the doorframe, fingers pressing into the wood as if grounding himself in something familiar could override the impossibility of what stood before him.

  This wasn’t his bedroom.

  It wasn’t even his world.

  Yet it was there, fully formed, extending beyond the threshold where his nightstand and tangled charging cables should have been. Stone walls pulsed faintly with an unnatural glow, archways stretched into depths unknown, and torches flickered with eerie steadiness.

  And standing within that unknown—the woman.

  She remained still, composed, as if none of this should be questioned.

  Waylen swallowed hard, his throat dry.

  The air smelled wrong. Heavy with damp earth, distant fire, something unfamiliar yet ancient. Nothing about this belonged in his apartment.

  This wasn’t a hallucination.

  It felt too structured, too intentional, holding itself together in a way dreams never did.

  Which meant—

  No.

  No, that didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t jumping to conclusions.

  He forced his breath steady, his voice uneven. “What… what the hell is this?”

  The woman remained calm. “It is what you see.”

  Waylen let out a sharp breath, frustration threading through his fear.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  She studied him, not impatient, not dismissive. Just watching.

  “You have stepped through a door that does not belong to your world,” she said. “A threshold meant only for mine.”

  Waylen exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Think. He needed to think—to force logic into a space where it refused to exist.

  He glanced at the frame beside him. The wood was unchanged, as if it had always been part of this new setting. But that was impossible.

  “A door?” he echoed, trying to hold onto something tangible. “Are you saying this is—what, some kind of portal?”

  “It is,” she confirmed.

  Waylen ran a hand through his hair, his pulse uneven. Portals weren’t real. This wasn’t coding, wasn’t probability, wasn’t something he could explain away with logic.

  Yet here he was.

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  And instead of shutting the door, he was still standing here, demanding answers.

  He exhaled sharply, pushing down the urge to panic. “Who are you?”

  She inclined her head slightly. “Selene Eryndell.”

  Waylen forced himself to process the name. It meant nothing to him.

  She studied his reaction for a moment before continuing. “Queen of Everviel.”

  Waylen stared.

  Queen.

  That word should have carried meaning, weight. But here, like this—it felt distant.

  For all the strange regality in her presence—the careful posture, the delicate embroidery of her gown, the steadiness in her gaze—she didn’t look like someone giving a grand introduction. She was simply stating facts, waiting for him to absorb them.

  Waylen let out a breathless, humourless laugh. “Right. Of course. That’s exactly what I needed tonight—royalty appearing in my apartment, talking about choices.”

  Selene remained composed. “I did not appear in your apartment.”

  Waylen huffed, shaking his head. “No kidding. You opened a portal.”

  She didn’t argue. She just watched him.

  Then, finally, she spoke.

  “I summoned you here.”

  Waylen’s breath hitched.

  His grip on the doorframe tightened. “You what?”

  “I summoned you,” she repeated evenly. “Using a spell that is forbidden under our laws.”

  Waylen exhaled sharply, trying to force reason into something that refused to make sense.

  A spell.

  Magic.

  None of this should be real. None of this should be happening.

  But instead of shutting the door, he was still standing there.

  He set his jaw, frustration bleeding through his exhaustion. “And why, exactly, would you do that?”

  Selene turned slightly, as if measuring how much she needed to explain.

  Then—

  “My kingdom’s survival depends on the existence of the royal bloodline,” she said. “It is the only lineage capable of mastering space-time magic, the foundation upon which Everviel was built.”

  Waylen exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead. None of this should be his problem.

  “…And?” He prompted, exhausted.

  Selene met his gaze evenly. “You carry that bloodline.”

  Waylen blinked.

  Once. Twice.

  Then let out a short, breathless laugh—not out of amusement, but sheer disbelief.

  “What?” His voice was raw, edged with exhaustion. “No—no, I don’t. That’s—” He shook his head, gripping the doorframe again, grounding himself. “That’s not possible.”

  Selene remained composed. “It is.”

  Waylen stared at her, forcing himself to process what she was saying.

  “You expect me to just accept that?” His voice was sharp now, frustration cutting through disbelief. “To believe I’m somehow part of your kingdom?”

  “The door opened for you, Waylen,” she answered simply. “It would not have done so otherwise.”

  Waylen’s breath hitched.

  Not an argument. Not a demand.

  Just a fact.

  “The war took everything,” Selene continued, her voice measured. “My father, my brothers, my uncles. Their fate remains unknown. And I alone remain.”

  Waylen forced himself to listen, despite the part of him screaming to shut this down.

  “And that’s why you pulled me into this?”

  Selene nodded. “There are many within this world who still carry the bloodline—distant relatives from previous marriages and generations. But I do not trust them.”

  Waylen frowned. “And you trust me?”

  Selene studied him for a long moment.

  Then, she said, “Not yet.”

  Waylen huffed, crossing his arms. “Then what do you want from me?”

  Selene straightened slightly, the conversation shifting toward the inevitability she had been leading to all along.

  “You are meant to secure the future of this kingdom.”

  Waylen raised a brow, tired but unwilling to let this nonsense keep going unanswered. “And that means…?”

  Her gaze remained sharp. “You are meant to become my husband.”

  Waylen stared.

  Then scoffed—harsh, sharp, utterly disbelieving.

  “You’re joking.”

  “I am not.”

  Waylen let out another breathless, incredulous laugh. “You’re telling me you opened a portal, pulled me out of my apartment, because you need me to marry you to save your kingdom?”

  “Yes.”

  Waylen shook his head. This wasn’t happening.

  But despite everything, despite the sheer absurdity of the situation—

  He hadn’t stepped back.

  And Selene noticed.

  She didn’t speak, didn’t press him, just watched, waiting for him to make sense of his own hesitation.

  Waylen exhaled slowly.

  Finally, he muttered, “You owe me a real explanation.”

  Selene’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then she gestured toward the hallway.

  “Then follow me.”

  Waylen swallowed hard.

  And against every ounce of logic screaming at him—

  He stepped forward.