In her dream, she saw herself years ago—not as Elowen, but as Maya. She remembered the bustling hall filled with people she barely knew. She was serving drinks, moving carefully between the tables, her hands shaking slightly. Her mother's words echoed in her mind: "Keep your head down, Elowen. We need this money."
And then she saw him—Darcy.Only he wasn't the Monster Prince yet, just a man whose presence made everyone else shrink, quiet, afraid. She remembered the first time she noticed him: tall, sharp, his gaze sweeping the room like he already owned it. Her heart had skipped, and even then, she had known.
Her mother had been sick, struggling to keep the family afloat, and Darcien had needed a wife for appearances, for society, for convenience. They had signed the marriage certificate quietly. Two years of a contract. Two years where he barely came home. Two years of silent dinners, absent conversations, the cold distance she had endured… but she had loved him anyway.
She remembered the funeral—the raw, aching grief when her mother died. Her fingers traced the coffin's edge, the scent of flowers heavy in the air. And then… the wine. Too much wine. Too much courage.
She remembered leaning toward him, lips trembling. "I… I love you," she had whispered, almost shouting into the void that was his stoic, unresponsive face. But he hadn't said anything. Not a word. Only that sharp, unreadable stare that had always made her feel small and exposed… and somehow, entirely seen.
The world had gone blurry after that night. Maya hadn't remembered anything—the alcohol had swallowed it, leaving only a vague ache. But now, in Elowen's body, the memories came back, sharp and clear. Every missed look, every silent supper, every pang of unspoken love—it all washed over her at once.
And then the dream shifted, flowing backward in time. She saw little Elowen, running through a dense forest, tiny feet pounding the soft earth, heart racing. She was clutching at a worn cloak, her hair tangled with leaves, and beside her was a woman she did not recognize—tall, strong, moving with purpose, shielding her.
"Keep moving, Elowen. Don't look back. You must stay safe," the woman had whispered. Her voice was gentle, yet firm, carrying both authority and comfort.
Elowen laughed briefly, breathless and wild, the pure joy of running mixed with fear. The forest beneath her smelled of wet earth, of pine and moss. The shadow of danger pressed close, and the woman pulled her tighter, whispering urgently, "Not yet, Elowen. Not yet."
Maya shivered in the bed, even within the dream. This memory felt as real as the storm outside the inn. She was not just recalling the past; she was reliving it, sensing the fear, the protection, and a strange promise of survival.
Slowly, the dream began to fade, melting into the dark, wet, stormy night of the inn. She stirred beneath the blankets, clutching the soft sheets, feeling the strange warmth of this body, this bed.
Even in sleep, even in dreams, she could feel him… and her heart whispered the same truth she had carried for so long: she still loved him.
⸻
The storm outside had softened into a gentle patter by the time Maya's eyes fluttered open. For a long moment, she just lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, letting her mind sift through the fragments of the dream.
Her chest ached with the weight of memory. She had remembered everything—Elowen's quiet love for Darcien, the lonely years of the contract marriage, the funeral, the drunken confession. And then… little Elowen running through the forest, a mysterious woman who had protected her.
Maya swallowed hard, pressing the blanket closer to herself. I… I really did love him, she thought, the words strange on her lips even in her own mind. Not the crown prince of this strange, medieval world. Not even the man who was sitting inches away from her now. But him—the man she had known in her modern life, her husband, the same face, voice, and structure now in this past world.
Her eyes drifted to the edge of the bed, where Darcien sat—or rather, where he had never really slept. His posture was perfect, his back straight, his hands resting lightly on his knees. His eyes were closed, the slightest rise and fall of his chest the only indication of life. He didn't stir, didn't speak, didn't even acknowledge her awakening.
Maya let out a quiet breath, a mixture of awe and exasperation. Of course, she thought. Of course he wouldn't say anything. He's… him.
The room smelled of damp wood and the faint traces of rain that had seeped through the beams. Outside, the forest stretched dark and silent. Maya sat up slowly, careful not to disturb him, and let herself take it all in. The cold air, the unfamiliar bed, the gentle sound of Darcien's breathing.
Her mind wandered again to the dream—Elowen's memories were still vivid, but the connection to her own modern life was strange, unsettling. She had lived as Maya for so long, but now she could feel Elowen's past, understand her pain and her courage. And she realized something that made her heart twist: this was why she felt so drawn to him, even now.
She leaned back against the headboard, letting herself relax a little. Most people in this world would have cowered, trembled, or whispered in fear, but not her. She was awake now, conscious of the bed, the room, the Monster Prince, and yet she didn't feel terror. She felt something else: curiosity, cautious comfort, and an odd, stubborn determination to understand him… and perhaps, to protect him in her own quiet way.
Darcien remained still, eyes closed, the very image of cold control. Maya let a small, almost imperceptible smile tug at her lips. She had learned early on: sometimes, people like him never said what they felt. You could only observe, wait, and understand in silence.
And she would.
The storm outside had eased into a gentle drizzle, the soft tapping on the roof blending with the rhythm of her own heartbeat. For the first time since the accident, Maya allowed herself to breathe fully, knowing the days ahead would be strange, dangerous, and exhausting—but also… entirely, undeniably hers.
⸻
Maya woke to the gentle patter of rain against the roof. The room was dim, lit only by the gray light seeping through the window. She blinked, stretching lightly, and her eyes fell on him—Darcien. He sat rigid at the edge of the bed, back straight, hands folded neatly on his lap, eyes closed. Even in sleep—or pretending to sleep—he radiated the kind of authority that made everyone else in a room shrink.
She hugged the blanket closer, trying not to stare. It was strange, sharing a bed with him. In her past life, they had never been this close. She had never imagined she'd be here, in this body, in this situation, with him so near, yet so untouchable.
A small part of her wanted to laugh. Well, this is awkward, she thought, biting her lip. She shifted quietly so she could sit up without disturbing him, noting the sound of the rain, the faint scent of wet wood, the warmth of the blankets.
She tried to speak, her voice soft in the still room. "Morning," she said, almost to herself.
Darcien didn't move. Not a twitch. Not a sound. Just the faint rise and fall of his chest. Maya let out a quiet sigh and shook her head. Figures. He's… him.
She leaned back against the headboard, letting the blanket fall loosely around her shoulders. Her gaze drifted to the window. The forest stretched far into the distance, dark and misty, alive with the sound of dripping rain. It's… so different from home, she thought. So quiet. So… clean.
Silence filled the room, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Somehow, in this strange, tense quiet, she felt… safe. Most people would have trembled in the same room with him, but she didn't. She understood a little of his power, a little of his reputation. And somehow, knowing she wasn't afraid gave her a quiet confidence she hadn't expected.
She hugged the blanket tighter, letting herself think about the dreams again—the memories of Elowen, the little girl running through the forest, the mysterious woman who had sheltered her. Her chest tightened, but it wasn't fear—it was anticipation, and a strange pull toward the man who sat just inches away, silent and cold.
Maya closed her eyes briefly, letting the rhythm of the rain and the quiet presence of Darcien fill the room. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but she knew one thing.
She was ready.