Christian blinked and closed his eyes again, he felt tired, not at all in the mood to get out of bed. He opened his eyes. The pillow was rough against his cheek but smelled fresh. Instinctively reached out of the bed towards where his night table always stood and where his phone should be. There was nothing there. Somehow his phone must have disappeared, and this wasn’t his room. His whole life was in that phone, where could it have gone? 

He sat up to look at the room. The room was large, close to his bed there was a fireplace without a fire. Dust particles danced in the beam of light falling from a tall rectangular window, causing the strange glass contraptions standing on the two tables in the corner to glisten. Vials and bottles of different shapes and sizes stood in rows along shelves fastened to the wall above the tables. It felt cozy, especially the large tapestry hanging on the wall above the bed. The motif was of a person picking plants and a person standing by a fire cooking. Most tapestries that he had seen in castles usually told a story, but here he didn’t really know what story that would be. 

All of it must be a very vivid hallucination. Though to his knowledge he had never hallucinated, maybe it was like this. If this was real, he would have to start over. The memory of the red-haired woman swam before his eyes, her long leg in that sheer stocking. A new start might not have to be too bad. It wasn’t as if he had never started over before. 

He got out of his bed, still wearing his white shirt and suit pants. The wood floor was cool against his feet, it creaked as he walked a few steps towards a large wooden door where his black leather shoes stood neatly waiting for him. He tugged them on before walking around the room looking at all the details. It reminded him of some computer game that he had played once at some friend's home, though everything here was much more detailed. Everything looked somehow old but new, as in old-fashioned. Three leather-bound books lay on a shelf above one of the tables. He took one down and brushed away the coating of dust before opening it. He liked the smell of books, even though he wasn’t much of a reader, he wished he was, successful people always seemed to be avid readers. This one smelled of leather and of something more that he couldn’t quite place.

The first page read like a diary entrance.

“After having arrived here in this strange place they have given me this book so that I can keep a journal of my experiments and findings. They have told me I am a witch, I hope they don’t burn witches.” 

He shared that sentiment. 

A knock at the door disturbed his reading, and he looked up towards the door which opened. The teenage boy that had helped him from the stable peered round the side of the door. He stepped inside and stood to attention announcing:

“I am here to take you to our king. Follow me.”

Christian tried to reply, but the boy was already on his way. They marched through echoing corridors built of stone, clad in paintings and tapestries. It was like a maze, and he had no clue how the boy could know the way. They walked through several doors, leading through one grand room after another before the boy stopped.

“He is expecting you,” was all he said, pointing with his whole hand towards the door in front of them.

“I don’t know how to behave in front of a king, just give me some tips.” 

“Bow, and show the utmost respect. He is not well, and I am sure that with your witch powers you will heal him.”

“But are there any things I should avoid saying? And…” he had been about to tell the boy that he didn’t have any powers but that might have been a fatal error. 

He stretched, pulling his shoulders back. Focus, and fake it till you make it. That was his mantra for most things, maybe this would be the time to make it.

The boy opened the door for him, and he stepped into a steamy sweet smelling small room. A large copper bath tub stood in its center, containing an enormous man. He was naked and eating from a tray placed above him. The tray seemed to be fitted on the sides of the bath, cookies and dried fruits filled the small golden rimmed bowls, just waiting to be eaten. 

Christian froze in place for a moment before taking a bow towards the man who must be the king.

The king looked him up and down thoroughly. His dark brows raised questioningly, he looked as if he might have been good looking once, but his swollen, blotchy face looked ill. 

“They told me you were handsome. I hope your healing powers are in the same league.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I see you will need some training in etiquette if you are to stay here at court. Never mind,” he waved a hand in the air before plucking another small cookie from a bowl and popping it into his mouth. “As I am sure you have been informed, I am ill. My blood has been let, I’ve been drinking fluid silver, and had countless other cures. Every one more horrible than the next, my court doctors are a group of imbeciles. Nothing helps. We have been praying for a miracle and here you are.” He pointing at Christian.

Christian was at a loss for words. He was not in any way trained to heal anyone. He’d received training in first aid at some point. But he was sure that would not help in this case. The king looked very unhealthy, there was no doubt about it. Not only was his face puffy but his wrists as well. He had to say something, he could see that the king was expecting an answer.

“I will need to inspect you and ask some questions about your disease.”

“I can only tell you I am feeling very ill. My body is heavy, I am constantly in pain. Then there is the difficulty to breathe as soon as I exert myself.”

“I see,” he didn’t, really. It just sounded like someone getting old. He wondered how old the king was.

“There are also problems when being with my wife. I used to be virile but now there is nothing in her presence, and we have only been married a few months. I need an heir to the throne or else my horrible younger brother will be in line for the throne.”

This was too much information, but Christian kept a straight face. The king expected him to heal him, but how does one cure someone of what looks like old age, or at least premature aging.

“May I ask how old you are?”

“That is common knowledge,” the king muttered before changing his mind. “I am born in the lord's year 1980, which brings me to the age of 45. Not old yet.”

He looked at least to be sixty. Christian hummed and hawed for a bit while thinking. He had an idea, but he was far from certain if it was a good one. He improvised.

“I need time to think and talk to spirits from my world about your condition.”

“Well, don’t be too long about it, I will give you until tomorrow,” he waved towards the door, “now be off with you and leave me in peace.”

Christian was glad to get out.