“Come along, I’ll show you to the breakfast room,” he said, standing now, casting a shadow over the bed. I inched closer, landing each foot on the ground with a thud.

We walked through a maze of hallways, each seemingly more ornate than the last. White columns reached the ceilings, gold accents lined the floor and the walls, and fresh flowers seemed to sprout from the walls themselves.

Finally, we reached the Breakfast room. Across from a massive window leading out to a courtyard, two French doors opened to a quaint, cozy spot, littered with lounge seats and fancy tables and three-tier lazy susans covered in pastries.

Waltzing in, he took a seat at a plush navy blue lovechair, laying back and crossing his legs in that elegant way he likes to do.

“Please, take a seat,” he announced.

 In a moment, I followed suit, sliding into the chair opposite his. I crouched into it, and a feeling that I really wasn’t supposed to be here crept in, inching up my legs and covering my body—a certain restlessness that surged between me and my environment. Not just because I was supposed to be dead, but also because of the look of this place—essentially a castle. I wasn’t made for that. Worse yet, I didn’t even know why I was there.

“Why am I--” I began, but, before I could finish, a maid scurried in with a silver tea kettle and a silver platter. She wore a typical maid’s outfit that reached all the way to her ankles, revealing her Edwardian-style boots, and her straight black hair was pulled tightly into a bun. Her skin was nearly pale as ice.

“Good morning,” she said in monotone. “I’ve brought your favourite, my Lord.”

Lord?

“Thank you, Angeline,” he said as she placed the platter on the table.

She was an elegant sort, just like him. Her posture straight and proper even as she bent to pour the tea.

Finally, once she was done, she turned to me, raising a brow. “And you must be the new lady of the house.”

A crumb of the macarons I was sneaking away lodged itself into my throat, and a wretched cough forced its way out of me. “I-,” another cough, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Give us a moment, Angeline,” the man waved a hand in dismissal. She curtsied and scurried back where she came.

Taking the teacup, I washed down the old pastry crumbs and waited for him to explain what the fuck she was talking about.

“You’re wondering what’s going on, aren’t you?” He drawled, taking his own teacup. Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. “Well, let’s clear up a few things then. My name is Lord Ophiel Rannon the third. You’re not dead. I’m not human. This is not heaven or hell or even purgatory, for that matter. You’re part of a prophecy, and we have to get married in order for me to become the Demon King. Ok, have you got all that?”

I blinked. I blinked again. “…huh?”

“I see. This may have been a bit much for you for your first day. Try to relax. We’ll speak again soon.” And then he sat his cup down and left.

What the actual fuck?

…

Between losing my job, being kicked out of my apartment, dying (?), getting abducted, and being surprised with a marriage proposal, which really could hardly even be called a proposal considering I was never asked, I was starting to think I had lost my mind. Maybe I really was dead, and this was all a hallucination? After all, why didn’t anything hurt? I got hit by a truck for god’s sake.

I plopped down on to the cobblestone path, the scent of chrysanthemums lending me comfort. Angeline watched me from a corner.

In the time that I had been here, I realised that there were at least a hundred maids and servants bustling in and out of the Lord Rannon’s manor at any given time. The manor itself was gorgeous with its well-polished stone walls and gardens as far as the eye could see.  In the stunning golden light of late afternoon, it even seemed to glow.

“Say, Angeline, can I call you that? Angeline? Or should I say Ms. Angeline?” I asked.

“Angeline is fine, my lady.” She responded curtly, her back straightening, her lips turned into a scowl. She probably thinks I’m an idiot, which I’m not denying, but still.

“Ok, so, can you tell me where we are? I’ve never seen a place like this in Roleigh.” Roleigh is where I live—er, used to live.

“We’re not in Roleigh, but I can’t tell you anything more. It has been forbidden by Lord Rannon, my lady.”

“Wait, why?”

“You will have to ask him yourself.”

“Why?”

“It was his order.”

“Why?”

Her eyebrow twitched. “You will have to ask him yourself.”

“W-”

“Would you like to have dinner, my lady?” She asked, though it was less of a question and more of an order.

Okay, so, obviously, she’s not budging. “Sure, let’s do that. Will Lord Rannon be joining us?” Wow, I sound so fancy.

“It is unlikely.”

“You’re not one for talking or explaining much, are you?”

She paused, averting her gaze, although I could clearly see she was rolling her eyes.  “It would be best if you washed up before dinner. I’ll lead you to the bath now.”

“Whoa, you’re going a bit fast. Take me to dinner first, will you?”

“I’m not--!” She almost exclaimed. Composing herself, she sucked in a deep breath and patted down the folds of her apron. “Please follow me, my lady.”

…

Thankfully, despite feeling like I had been transported to some bygone era, this castle had running water and a rather luxurious marble jacuzzi. The maids here added aromatherapy oil and flower petals and left a silky white nightgown at the vanity. It was a bit romantic actually. Being in the bath was calming, to say the least, but, more importantly, it gave me more time to think.

Like, for example, where’s all my stuff? And, does this place have wi-fi?  I knew I had been in a hospital and that I had spoken to someone, and then somehow, someway I was taken to this castle in god-knows-where. If I had a cellphone, I could at least use Maps or something. But, all things considered, they probably wouldn’t let me have a phone anyway.

I sank further into the warm water, a rose petal sticking to my cheek. Then again, this wasn’t so bad. I had lost everything the day before and now I was in a castle getting married to a lord (apparently). And then there was what he said about a prophecy too. If I really was part of a prophecy, which sounded utterly ridiculous the more I said it, then I needed to know what exactly that prophecy was. If it was some crap about saving the world, I could probably weasel my way out of it. But, if it really was just about marriage, well, I guess I could deal.