"Elena," a soft feminine voice murmured gently above me, followed by the brush of warm lips against my forehead. "That shall be her name."
"After you, my love?" a man's voice asked fondly nearby.
A quiet laugh followed.
"If she were named after me, she would be Eleanor," the woman replied softly, and somehow, I could hear the smile in her voice even without seeing her face. "No...this one is Elena."
Gentle hands cradled me closer.
"The bright one," she whispered, though there was a note of sadness in her voice. "The one destined to restore the glory of our family."
My eyes flew open, and the first thing I saw was an unfamiliar canopied ceiling blurred and floating above me.
For a moment, I simply blinked, trying to clear the fog clouding my vision as confusion settled heavily in my chest. My fingers drifted across the rough cotton of my shirt before brushing against the soft linen sheets beneath me.
Where am I?
The room felt strangely familiar somehow.
Not familiar in the sense that I recognized it, but in the way dreams sometimes did. Like I had been here once before, long ago, and simply forgotten.
Slowly, I pushed myself upright, only to immediately groan as pain radiated sharply through my sore body.
From my head, my shoulder, down to my ribs.
God, what happened? It felt like I had just been ran over by a fucking truck.
"Ah...you are awake, miss."
The soft feminine voice startled me.
There was an accent woven through her words, one I did not immediately recognize and yet, somehow sounded hauntingly familiar all the same.
Swallowing hard, I turned my head toward the voice—
And froze.
A young woman stood beside the bed, her dark hair hidden beneath a white cloth wrapped carefully over her head. She wore simple clothing but it wasn't modern, with a plain wool fabric tied at the waist with a white apron, the sort of garments I had only ever seen in historical plays or museum recreations.
She could not have been older than sixteen.
Her hands remained clasped neatly in front of her as she bowed her head respectfully.
"Forgive me," she said quickly, stepping back from the bedside. "I forgot my manners. I have simply been waiting through the night for you to wake."
A strange chill crept slowly down my spine.
The room around me suddenly felt too quiet.
Too still.
The girl glanced nervously toward the doorway before looking back at me again.
"Do you require anything, miss?" she asked softly. "Shall I fetch Lord Cavarinus now that you are awake?"
I could feel my jaw go slack.
And judging by the way the girl immediately lowered her head even further, she must have mistaken my reaction for offense.
"My apologies," she said quickly, bowing deeper now. "How foolish of me. I shall fetch the physician at once."
Panic flickered through me immediately.
"No," I said too quickly, before forcing myself to steady my voice. I swallowed hard, scrambling to compose myself as I tried to shape my words into something more formal, that sounded closer to the historical dramas I had grown up watching.
"No...please do not trouble yourself," I corrected carefully.The words felt strange on my tongue, but I continued anyway. "I would simply prefer to be left alone for a short while. Thank you."
The girl hesitated briefly before bowing once more.
"As you wish, miss."
As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, I pushed myself upright with my elbows, a soft groan escaping me as pain rippled through my body. Every movement hurt. My head throbbed violently, while the ache along my shoulder and ribs made it difficult to breathe properly.
Slowly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
My hands tightened around the edge of the mattress as I paused there for a moment, drawing in a careful breath and bracing myself against the dizziness threatening to pull me back under.
I did not know where I was, how I got here.
And that terrified me.
Because if what the girl had said was true...if there truly was a Lord Cavarinus within this house...then I was not in modern England anymore.
A cold feeling settled heavily in my stomach.
I looked up toward the windows instead, my eyes drifting past the glass to the vast lands stretching behind the estate. Endless greenery. Trees swaying softly beneath the gray skies. It looked almost identical to the grounds surrounding the modern Cavendish manor.
Which was precisely the problem.
I would not know for certain until I stepped outside of this room myself, until I saw whether there were roads beyond those trees. Electrical lines. Cars. Anything.
Any sign of the modern world, any distant hum of life I'd recognize.
Then suddenly, the door clicked open.
I stiffened immediately.
Heavy boots crossed the room with calm, deliberate steps.
I took a deep, courageous breath and turned only for my breath to be caught up in my throat.
For one horrifying second, I thought it was Garrick, because was the resemblance was unmistakable. That same blond hair, the same sharp jaw. The same aristocratic features carved almost too perfectly into his face, except for the beard. No, this version was clean-shaven.
And this man lacked Garrick's modern ease entirely.
There was no charm in him, no lingering playfulness hiding beneath his expressions.
He looked like a man born into power in a far crueler age.
His hands remained clasped behind his back as he approached, dressed in dark noble tunic over a white shirt that looked unmistakably medieval in style. Polished leather boots and a dark cloak draped over his shoulders.
His piercing blue eyes swept over me calmly.
"So," he said evenly, his voice lower than Garrick's yet carrying that same cold authority, "you are awake already."
"And who might you be?" I asked carefully.
The man smiled faintly before bowing with practiced elegance, one hand resting over his chest while the other remained behind his back.
"My apologies, my lady," he said. "I am Lord Gwergenau, son of Cavarinus, lord of this estate. Though most simply call me Gen."
He straightened slowly then studied me with quiet curiosity.
"And you are?" he asked. "You do not appear Roman."
There was something in the way he said Roman, like the word itself tasted bitter in his mouth.
My pulse quickened.
"Ele—"
I stopped myself immediately.
The name nearly slipped out before I could think better of it. Fear curled sharply through my stomach. Elena might sound wrong here. Too unfamiliar. Or worse, recognizable.
I swallowed and forced myself to remain calm.
"Helena," I corrected smoothly after clearing my throat.
For a brief second, something flickered across his expression.
Recognition, perhaps. Or amusement.
"Helena," he repeated slowly, as though testing the name against his tongue. "A Greek name."
His eyes lingered on me for far too long.
"You are far from home, Lady Helena."