The words "I do" had barely left my lips when the world exploded into golden light.

One moment I was standing at the altar of St. Mary's Cathedral, my hands trembling as I held Dante's warm fingers, the familiar scent of lilies and candle wax filling my lungs. The next, a brilliant radiance erupted from nowhere, swallowing everything—the stained glass windows, the rows of guests in their Sunday best, even Dante's face inches from mine.

My wedding dress whipped around my legs as if caught in an impossible wind. The golden light wasn't just bright; it was alive, pulsing through my veins like liquid fire. I tried to scream Dante's name, but the sound died in my throat as the light consumed everything I'd ever known.

Then, silence.

Cold stone pressed against my knees. The acrid smell of torch smoke replaced the sweet church incense. My heart hammered against my ribs as I blinked away the lingering afterglow, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

We were no longer in Kansas—or anywhere remotely familiar.

Massive stone pillars stretched toward a vaulted ceiling painted with faded medieval frescoes. Tapestries depicting battles and heraldic beasts hung from walls that looked like they'd been standing for centuries. And surrounding us in a perfect circle were at least thirty people dressed in elaborate period costumes, their faces a mixture of shock, fear, and fascination.

"What in God's name..." Dante's voice came from beside me, rough with confusion.

I turned to find him pushing himself up from the floor, his black tuxedo a stark contrast against the ancient stone. His dark hair was disheveled, his usually confident expression replaced by bewilderment that mirrored my own.

"Clara? Dante?" Mercy's voice wavered from my other side. She sat in a pool of pale blue bridesmaid silk, her carefully styled blonde curls now wild around her shoulders. "Where are we?"

Before any of us could answer, one of the costumed figures stepped forward—a tall man with graying hair and a golden circlet resting on his brow. His rich purple robes rustled as he moved, and when he spoke, his accent was thick and archaic.

"By the saints," he breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. "The prophecy speaks true. They have come, as foretold, clothed in garments of another realm."

Prophecy? I struggled to my feet, my wedding dress's train catching on the rough stone. The weight of dozens of stares pressed down on me as I took in our surroundings more carefully. This wasn't some elaborate wedding prank or themed venue. The wear on these stones was real. The smell of unwashed bodies and burning rushes was authentic. The way these people looked at us—with genuine awe and terror—told me everything I needed to know.

We weren't in the twenty-first century anymore.

"The three who shall herald the new age," another voice intoned from the crowd. A woman in nun's robes clutched a wooden cross to her chest. "Delivered unto us by divine light on the day of sacred union."

Dante found his footing and immediately moved to my side, his arm sliding protectively around my waist. Even in this impossible situation, his presence steadied me. "This has to be some kind of dream," he murmured against my ear, but his voice lacked conviction.

Mercy scrambled to her feet, her face pale but her eyes already calculating. She'd always been quick to adapt, to find angles others missed. "If this is real," she whispered, moving closer to us, "we need to be very careful about what we say."

The man with the circlet—clearly some kind of king or lord—gestured grandly toward us. "Welcome, blessed ones, to the Kingdom of Valdris. I am King Aldric, and you have arrived in our darkest hour, just as the old texts promised."

Darkest hour. Prophecy. Divine light. My mind raced, trying to process the impossibility of our situation while simultaneously cataloging every detail that might help us survive whatever this was.

"Your Majesty," Dante said carefully, his natural leadership instincts kicking in despite the surreal circumstances. He straightened his shoulders, and I could practically see him shifting into the confident businessman who'd built his own empire from nothing. "We're... honored by your welcome, though I confess we're uncertain how we came to be here."

Smart. Don't reveal too much too quickly.

King Aldric's weathered face creased into what might have been relief. "The texts speak of three who would come bearing wisdom from beyond our world, who would help restore balance to our troubled realm. You arrive as our kingdom faces threats from all sides—rebellious lords, plague in the eastern provinces, and rumors of dark magic stirring in the northern forests."

I felt Dante's grip on my waist tighten slightly. Mercy stepped closer, completing our small triangle of modern refugees in this medieval world.

"Perhaps," I said carefully, finding my voice at last, "you could tell us more about these... texts you mentioned?"

The king's eyes lit up with something that looked dangerously like hope. "Indeed, my lady. But first, you must be weary from your... journey. Allow us to provide you with proper chambers and refreshment. Tomorrow, we shall speak of prophecies and the great work that awaits."

As servants scurried forward to escort us from the throne room, I caught Mercy's eye. She gave me the slightest nod—the same look we'd shared countless times before when facing a challenge together. Whatever this was, wherever we were, we'd figure it out.

After all, we had each other.

Three weeks had passed since our impossible arrival in Valdris, and I was beginning to believe we might actually build something beautiful here. Dante had proven himself in battle after battle, his modern military strategies helping King Aldric's forces reclaim lost territories. The court whispered of prophecies fulfilled, of the foreign king who would unite the realm.

I should have been happy. I should have been planning our coronation, dreaming of the crown that would soon rest on my head beside his.

Instead, I found myself wandering the castle gardens at midnight, unable to sleep, my silk nightgown catching on rose thorns as I tried to quiet the strange unease that had been growing in my chest.

That's when I heard their voices.

"You promised me, Dante." Mercy's voice drifted from the shadowed alcove near the fountain, soft but urgent. "You said when you became king—"

"And I meant it." Dante's familiar baritone cut through the night air like a blade through my heart. "Clara doesn't understand what it takes to rule here. She's too soft, too modern. But you... you see what needs to be done."

I pressed myself against the cold stone wall, my breath catching in my throat. This couldn't be happening. Not Dante. Not Mercy.

"She trusts me completely," Mercy continued, and I could hear the satisfaction in her voice. "She has no idea we've been planning this since the second week. When the time comes, she won't even see it coming."

"Good." Dante's voice was colder than I'd ever heard it. "Clara served her purpose helping me claim the throne. But you're right—she's not queen material. Too emotional, too naive. You understand power, Mercy. You understand what I need."

The jade bracelet on my wrist—his engagement gift—suddenly felt like it was burning my skin. I touched it unconsciously, the way I always did when I was nervous, but now the familiar gesture felt like a mockery.

"And you're certain she won't be a problem?" Mercy asked.

"Leave Clara to me. I'll handle her when the time comes. She loves me too much to fight back."

Their footsteps moved away, leaving me alone in the darkness with the sound of my own heart shattering.

I don't remember how I made it back to my chambers. I only remember sitting on the edge of my bed until dawn, staring at the bracelet that now felt like chains around my wrist, replaying every moment of the past three weeks and seeing them all in a horrible new light.

Every time Mercy had offered to help with court matters. Every private conversation she'd had with Dante. Every sympathetic smile when I complained about the challenges of adapting to medieval life.

She'd been playing me from the beginning.

The next evening's feast should have been a celebration. Dante had just secured another victory against the northern rebels, and King Aldric was preparing to formally name him heir to the throne. I sat at the high table, mechanically cutting my meat while watching Mercy charm the court lords with her perfect smile.

She looked radiant in her deep green gown, her blonde hair swept up in an elaborate style that made her look every inch the future queen. Every inch the woman who was about to steal everything from me.

"You're quiet tonight," Dante murmured beside me, his hand covering mine. The same hand that had held Mercy's in secret. "Are you feeling well?"

I managed a smile. "Just tired."

That's when Mercy's scream shattered the evening.

She collapsed at her table, her body convulsing as she clutched her throat. Her face contorted in agony, foam appearing at the corners of her mouth as she writhed on the floor.

"Poison!" someone shouted. "Lady Mercy's been poisoned!"

Chaos erupted in the great hall. Dante leaped from his chair, rushing to Mercy's side as she continued her dramatic performance. Because that's what it was—I could see it now, the calculated timing, the way her eyes found mine even as she supposedly fought for her life.

"Get the court physicians!" Dante commanded, cradling Mercy's trembling form. "Now!"

The physicians arrived within minutes, their faces grave as they examined her. After whispered consultations, the eldest stepped forward.

"Your Majesty," he said to King Aldric, "the poison is unlike anything we've seen. But there may be hope. The prophecies speak of the foreign lady's blood holding special properties. If we can create an antidote using Lady Clara's essence..."

All eyes turned to me. Dante's gaze was desperate, pleading. "Clara, please. She's dying."

Mercy's eyes fluttered open, meeting mine with what looked like desperate hope but felt like cold calculation. "Clara," she whispered weakly. "Please... help me."

I looked down at her pale face, at Dante's anguished expression, at the court watching my every move. They expected me to save her. The woman who was plotting to steal my life expected me to bleed for her.

And the most terrifying part was that I knew I would.

Because despite everything I'd overheard, despite the betrayal burning in my chest like acid, I wasn't them. I couldn't watch someone die, even someone who wanted to destroy me.

"Take me to the dungeons," I said quietly. "Take whatever blood you need."

Dante's relief was palpable, but as they led me away, I caught Mercy's eye one last time. For just a moment, her mask slipped, and I saw the cold satisfaction underneath.

She'd won the first round.

But now I knew the game we were playing.

The first time they took my blood, I told myself it was a one-time sacrifice. The second time, I believed it would be the last. By the fifth time, I knew better.

I lay on the cold stone table in the dungeon's laboratory, my arm extended as the court physician inserted yet another crude needle into my vein. The pain was familiar now—a sharp sting followed by the peculiar sensation of life draining from my body. My vision swam with black spots as I turned my head away from the sight of my blood filling the earthenware bowl.

"Just a bit more, my lady," the physician murmured, not meeting my eyes. Even he seemed uncomfortable with how frequent these sessions had become. "Lady Mercy's condition has worsened again."

Of course it had. How convenient.

"How much this time?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The constant blood loss had left me perpetually weak, my skin taking on a sickly pallor that made me look like one of the castle ghosts.

"King Dante requested a larger sample. The last antidote's effects were... insufficient."

King Dante. Not my fiancé anymore, not the man who had promised to love and protect me. Just the cold, distant ruler who now saw me as nothing more than a resource to be harvested for his precious Mercy.

When they finally released me, I could barely walk. A servant girl—one of the few who still showed me kindness—helped me back to my chambers, which had been relocated from the royal wing to a smaller, draftier room further from the heart of the castle. Further from Dante.

I collapsed onto my bed, too exhausted to even change out of my blood-stained dress. My fingers instinctively went to my wrist, seeking the comfort of my jade bracelet, before remembering it was gone. I'd searched everywhere after noticing its disappearance three days ago, turning my chambers upside down in desperate hope.

That bracelet was more than jewelry. Dante had given it to me on our one-year anniversary, telling me the jade matched the flecks in my eyes. "So you'll always have a piece of me with you," he'd said, fastening it around my wrist. Even after everything, I couldn't bear to lose that last connection to the man I thought he was.

I must have fallen into a fitful sleep, because the next thing I knew, darkness had fallen. Something had woken me—voices drifting through my partially open window. My chambers overlooked the private royal garden, and despite my weakness, I found myself drawn to the sound.

There, illuminated by moonlight, stood Dante and Mercy. She looked radiant in a silver gown, showing no signs of the poison that supposedly ravaged her body hours earlier. Dante held her hands in his, his expression tender in a way he never looked at me anymore.

"I have something for you," he said, reaching into his pocket.

My heart stopped as he pulled out my jade bracelet—the one I'd been frantically searching for. The one that had disappeared while I was unconscious after my last "donation."

"It's beautiful," Mercy breathed, extending her delicate wrist.

"The jade reminded me of your eyes," Dante said, fastening it where it had once rested on my arm. The exact words he'd once said to me.

I stumbled back from the window, a hand pressed to my mouth to stifle my sobs. The betrayal was so complete, so perfect in its cruelty, that I could hardly breathe through the pain of it. She had stolen my bracelet—my most precious possession—and he had given it to her with the same words he'd once given it to me.

That night, as I curled around my pillow and let silent tears soak the fabric, something inside me hardened. The blood they kept taking from me wasn't just weakening my body; it was washing away my naiveté, my blind trust, my foolish hope that there had been some misunderstanding that night in the garden.

They wanted my blood? Fine. But they wouldn't get my spirit. They wouldn't get my dignity. Whatever game Mercy was playing, whatever she had planned next, I would be ready.

I just didn't realize how soon that resolve would be tested.

The next evening, I was summoned to the great hall for a royal banquet celebrating Dante's latest military victory. Though I could barely stand, I forced myself to dress in my finest gown—a deep burgundy that hid how thin I'd become. If nothing else, I would face them with my head held high.

I should have known Mercy had other plans.

I had just taken my seat—no longer at Dante's side, but further down the table—when Lady Catherine, one of Mercy's new court friends, gasped dramatically.

"My lady Mercy! Your wine—I saw something strange in it!"

All eyes turned to Mercy, who made a show of examining her goblet. "It looks... odd. Almost as if..."

"Poison!" another lady shrieked. "Someone tried to poison Lady Mercy again!"

The hall erupted in chaos. Guards rushed forward as Mercy pointed a trembling finger directly at me.

"She was near my cup earlier," she whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Clara... how could you?"

Before I could protest, rough hands seized my arms. I was dragged forward, forced to my knees before King Aldric and Dante.

"I would never," I gasped, looking up at Dante, searching for any sign of the man who had once loved me. "You know I wouldn't."

But his eyes were cold, distant. He turned to Mercy, who had collapsed into theatrical sobs.

"The evidence suggests otherwise," he said. "Perhaps a public reminder of your place is necessary."

At his nod, Lady Catherine stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. The blow snapped my head to the side, bringing tears to my eyes.

"Ungrateful foreign witch," she hissed. "After all they've done for you."

One by one, Mercy's court ladies came forward. Each delivered a slap, an insult, a handful of my hair yanked cruelly. Through it all, Dante watched with cold indifference, while Mercy's sobs gradually transformed into a small, satisfied smile when she thought no one was looking.

By the time they finished with me, my face was swollen, my dignity in tatters. As guards dragged me back to my chambers, I caught one last glimpse of Dante comforting Mercy, his arms around her as she nestled against his chest.

The jade bracelet glinted on her wrist, catching the light of a hundred candles as the court that should have been mine celebrated my humiliation.