NB: the chapter features mature content!

“I like your new haircut,” she’s toying with my locks, twisting one of my waves on her forefinger. “You look even more feminine with shorter hair,” Cygnie whispers. Her quick and curious fingertips are sliding to my cheekbones and then gently touching my neck.

I know, I should react somehow, but I sit still, looking at the bare girl in my bed. The irony is with all this spicy situation is that I need Avis now: a sophisticated and impudent bourgeois would know what to do. For sure and forsooth, the mistress of the castle is the one who can do whatever she wants; she knows, no doubt, how to manipulate her people. But she’s cunningly pretending to be asleep deep inside leaving me alone to deal with her sensual “birds”.

Cygnie’s swan-like appearance matches her name exactly: ivory skin, a long neck, straight chalk-white hair, a tiny bit roundish eyes with some hazel tints, and even her red lips look black in the dusk of the chamber.

The girl interprets my silence as an agreement; she moves closer and steals another kiss. And I want to melt in her embrace and forget about everything. I put my arms around her and kiss her back. It still feels like a dream.

Dream... Zarya... I don’t want to think about her or anybody else, but I do think. And my brooding wakes me more.

Cygnie’s tongue is slowly touching mine.

Zarya means nothing to me: I’m just imagining it; overthinking something that doesn’t exist. Yellow dress? Mint fields? Cursed well? These are some imaginary rubbish! Here is Cygnie; she (not Zarya) came to me in the middle of the night.

The girl is not bothering me with magic exercises, warnings about the intimidation and hostility of these lands and lords or annoying ideas to return my memories, but saying some sweet things while small breaks when she pulls me back slightly so that our foreheads are touching.

But why am I so ashamed? It feels like I’m cheating. But she never told me about her personal life. Marigold said she and Avis were friends. And that is all! No romantic affair...They want me to be Avis. OK, fine! So let’s act like Avis. That’s my room, my castle, and my land, and I’ll do whatever I want to.

I lie down again lugging Cygnie off to join me. Certainly, she doesn’t mind. I feel her lips against my mouth turning into a smile. The girl’s soft hands are wandering under my nightgown making me moan.

But something else starts bothering me like a single mosquito under the baldaquin: being with Cygnie now resembles me the moment Max hugged me on the last day in my world. As if I experience their touches, hugs, and kisses for the first time. I didn’t notice it then when I was with my ex-neighbour, having being stressed and exhausted.

It is weird, and I am trying to think about my dates before moving to Boringville, but the memories are running through my fingers like water. I don’t remember their faces or names. I don’t remember my first kiss or sex or even a tender embrace, though I am sure I had them long before Max or Cygnie. Does it mean I have only two years of real experience?

I can’t concentrate and open my lust-fogged eyes when I see a tiny bird silhouette on the floor by the French window. I’m sure it must be my imagination, but deja vu doesn’t leave me:

I’ve never asked Zarya if she’s a shifter. Are all mages shifters?

I am awkward and stiff; I feel disgusting cold drops on my forehead. Cygnie immediately understands that something is wrong with me:

“I’m doing it wrong, am I?” she sighs. “I’m sorry. Mage Avis might prefer Jike tonight.”

“Who?!” I’m nervously moving to the headboard, freeing from her warm embrace.

“He was sent to the farthest greenhouse to help herbalist mages with their grass something collecting. Or His Highness, Prince Livius is here?” she asks with trembling in her voice.

I’m the same romantic idiot I’ve always been! I know I’m a permanent fool, but I didn’t expect myself to be that naive! I was sure Cygnie was Avis’s lover, girlfriend, or I don’t know how they call it here. Oh, nooo... Avis simply loved to hook up with her hot servants and, probably, with a prince. I am happy that she had active sex life, but what am I going to do with this?

“Do you want to be with me or it’s because Avis, I mean, I made you?” I ask the girl huskily, preparing for the worst.

“Of course, I want to be with you! Who wouldn’t want to be with a lady and a future queen? It’s an honor for every servant to be humbled to be master’s or mistress’s favorite,” she said passionately. “You’ve always been very tender...” she stumbles, wringing her hands. “Please, tell me what you want me to do. I’m very capable; you know it, Mage Avis!”

I think she’s about to cry. And I have no place to move, trapped between the girl and the wall.