He didn't take his eyes off her.

He sat there, propped against the headboard, his blue eyes boring into her, waiting for her to keel over. He was waiting for the convulsions, the foam at the mouth, the proof of betrayal.

Katherine sat in the chair across from him, her arms crossed. She felt fine. A little tired, a lot stressed, but completely fine.

Minutes ticked by. The only sound was the hum of the air purifier.

Katherine remained breathing, outwardly calm. The king watched, his gaze unblinking—but the tension slowly began to drain from his body. It was not the antibiotics. Those would take hours to do their work. It was sheer exhaustion, the catastrophic blood loss, and the last of his adrenaline finally wearing off. Whatever the reason, the fight went out of him.

His eyelids drooped. His head nodded forward.

Just before he lost consciousness, he moved.

It was a sudden, deliberate motion. He reached for his right hand. With a slow, trembling effort, he worked the ring off his thumb, his weakened fingers struggling with the weight of the gold. The motion cost him visibly—his breath caught, and fresh sweat broke out on his brow—but he did not stop until it came free.

It was a massive thing. Gold, with a ruby the size of a grape. It caught the lamplight, throwing blood-red shadows on the wall.

He let it drop. It tumbled onto the rug at her feet with a soft, heavy thud.

"Payment," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. "In advance. We will settle the rest when I wake. Do not touch my sword."

His head lolled to the side, and he was out.

The bedroom fell silent.

Katherine sat frozen for a long moment. Then, she leaned down and picked up the ring.

It was heavy. Heavier than she expected. The gold was cool against her fingers, and the ruby was a deep, vivid red. She had grown up around expensive things. She knew real gems when she saw them.

And this was real.

She turned it over. On the inside of the band, there was an engraving. A crest. Two eagles, facing opposite directions, their talons intertwined. Beneath them, a single word in ornate, flourished lettering: Ethelgard.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She knew that crest. Not the word—the word was new—but the eagles. She had seen that double-eagle motif before, in a catalog from Christie's, years ago. It had been associated with some minor European principality. She had skimmed past it then. Now, it was burning a hole in her palm.

She scrambled for her phone on the nightstand, her fingers shaking as she typed in the passcode. She opened the browser and typed in the words: "Ethelgard ruby ring two eagles."

The search results loaded instantly.

The first hit was from Christie's auction house. The headline read: "The Lost Monarch's Proof: The Coronation Ring of King Cain Finley of Ethelgard."

Katherine clicked the link. A high-resolution image filled her screen. It was the exact same ring. The article detailed the history of the piece, describing how it vanished after the kingdom fell, valued at over thirty million dollars.

Her phone nearly slipped from her sweaty grip.

She looked at the man sleeping in her bed. She looked at the ring in her hand.

This wasn't a cosplayer. This wasn't a lunatic. No one could fake this. No one could steal a thirty-million-dollar artifact and bring it to her bedroom.

A cold wave of realization washed over her. Calling the police was no longer an option. This man was dangerous, yes, a ticking time bomb in her home. But he was also a living, breathing treasure chest. The police would lock him in a psych ward, the ring would disappear into an evidence locker, and she would be left with nothing but bloodstained sheets and a traumatic story. No. She couldn't let that happen. She had to control this situation. She had to control him.

She stood up and walked over to the bed. She looked down at him, really looking for the first time. Without the snarling aggression, his face was striking. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw. He looked like a king.

She grabbed the cashmere throw from the foot of the bed and draped it over his chest, tucking it gently around his shoulders.

She wasn't a victim anymore. She was a gatekeeper.

She sat back down in the chair, placed the ring safely in her pocket, and began to type a new search into her phone.

"Cain Finley. Ethelgard Kingdom."

When Katherine walked back into the bedroom the next morning, carrying a tray with a glass of water and some toast, he was awake.

He was sitting up in bed, looking much better. The fever had broken. His skin still looked pale, but it wasn't the sickly gray of the night before.

He wasn't looking at her. He was scanning the room, his eyes wide, taking in the alien textures of the drywall, the strange, sharp angles of the modern furniture, the unnatural silence. His gaze finally settled on the ceiling.

Specifically, he was staring at the recessed lighting.

Katherine set the tray down on the dresser. "You're up."

He didn't acknowledge her. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling fixture.

She walked over to the wall and flipped the switch.

Click.

The room was flooded with bright, white light.

He flinched violently, his hand flying to the sword that lay beside him on the pillow.

"What sorcery is this?" he barked, his eyes wide as he stared at the light bulb. There was no flame, no smoke, no wax. Just pure, blinding light.

"It's electricity," Katherine said, keeping her distance. "It powers the lights."

"Electricity," he repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. He clearly didn't believe her.

He looked around the room, his paranoia growing. His eyes landed on the air purifier in the corner. It hummed softly, a blue light blinking on its surface.

"What is that box?" he demanded, pointing. "It makes a noise."

"It cleans the air," she said. "It's an air purifier."

He didn't look convinced. He suddenly looked up, his nostrils flaring. "There is a draft. But no window is open."

Katherine pointed to the vent near the ceiling. "That's the HVAC. Central air conditioning. It controls the temperature."

Every word she said seemed to chip away at his sanity. He was a man out of time, literally, and the modern world was a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

He threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, swaying slightly, and stalked over to the window.

He grabbed the curtain and pulled it back.

The view was of the manicured lawn, the long gravel driveway, and beyond the estate gates, the main road.

A black SUV sped past, its tires humming on the asphalt.

He dropped the curtain like it had burned him. He stumbled backward, his face draining of color.

"Where are the horses?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Where are the carriages? What are those iron beasts?"

He spun around, his eyes wild with a fear that was far greater than anything he had shown the night before. The sword was in his hand again, pointed at her chest.

"Who are you?" he shouted. "What have you done to me? Where is this place?"

Katherine raised her hands, trying to calm him down. She had to break through the panic. She had to take control.

"My name is Katherine Davenport," she said, her voice loud and clear. "This is New York."

She paused, letting the words sink in. Then she delivered the blow.

"And you are Cain Finley. The King of Ethelgard."