Even without a mirror, Emilio knew he looked ridiculous.

After being scrubbed clean from head to toe and having every inch of his skin rubbed down with fragrant oil, the young women had returned carrying a pile of clothes.

The outfit consisted of a knee-length skirt with a slit up the right side, trimmed with small square gold plates along the hem. A thick double-braided cord kept it fastened around his waist. Above that he wore a stiff white shirt decorated with a blue pyramid-like pattern around the bottom and sleeves. Draped over his shoulders and chest was a broad circular collar in the same blue, embroidered with the image of a black serpent coiling all the way around it. Pale blue bracers completed the ridiculous ensemble.

There was also a headdress. A golden animal's head—something that looked most like a bear—sat at the front. Hanging from the back was a strip covered in gold plates that had to be at least a foot and a half long, while three golden ornaments rose from the top, each crowned with long red, purple, and blue feathers.

He hadn't put that thing on yet.

Even without it, he felt like a clown.

Well... at least it's removable. As long as they don't start hammering gold rings through my nose or ears, I won't complain.

With a deep sigh, he walked over to the room's only window. Warm wind drifted inside. Resting both hands on the rough stone, he stared out toward the sea, where birds cried overhead and the waves rolled onto the shore with practiced rhythm.

The world just kept moving.

As if his own wasn't about to fall apart.

His thoughts drifted to Iliyan.

Where was he now? Had he found Mateo? Were they making a plan together to get him out of here?

Even though he knew perfectly well he wouldn't spot anyone sneaking through the gardens if he looked down, he searched anyway. The people below were too far away to recognize, but he still found himself wondering whether he'd know Iliyan just by the way he carried himself. By the way he walked.

The door opened.

This time it wasn't the servant girls.

A warrior stepped inside. "His Holiness wishes to receive you."

"His Holiness can go fuck himself," Emilio muttered in his own language.

Before he did a damn thing for that asshole, he wanted to see Mateo.

He still couldn't wrap his head around how Juan's brother had ended up here. Even if he'd been released early—or escaped prison—how the hell had he gotten here? Through the same portal? Had he figured out how it worked? Could he send them home?

Sure, Mateo could work miracles with anything digital, but Emilio couldn't exactly picture him hooking his laptop up to an ancient portal and hacking the damn thing.

The warrior shot him an impatient look.

Suppressing another sigh, Emilio gathered what little dignity he still had and headed for the door. Just before stepping into the hallway, he remembered the stupid headdress still sitting on the bench.

He picked it up and settled the enormous thing onto his head.

Well. There's my crown.

King Emilio.

Not sure which role suits me worse—king, god... or husband.

With the uncomfortable sensation that someone was slowly crushing his insides, he stepped into the corridor.

The warrior led him to another hall, decorated much like the throne room. The only real difference was that there wasn't a throne. Instead, an enormous rug covered the floor, surrounded by platters piled high with food.

Guess they eat on the floor here.

Around ten women were already seated there. Every one of them was strikingly beautiful, dressed in brilliantly colored garments, their thick black hair adorned with shells.

The ruler himself sat at the head of the gathering on the right. An empty place had been left beside him.

Apparently that was where Emilio belonged.

Well. Let the circus begin.

Still painfully aware of how ridiculous he looked in the effeminate outfit—though somehow the other men managed to look pretty badass wearing the exact same thing—he walked over to the empty place and sat down.

Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at the women.

Every single one of them kept her gaze lowered.

Are these supposed to become my wives too?

For the briefest moment, the thought almost seemed like a silver lining.

He immediately shoved it aside.

It wasn't a silver lining at all.

Those women had almost certainly been forced into this too.

And now he was actually thinking about claiming them?

The thought made him sick.

"I want to see Mateo before we go any further."

The ruler answered him with a challenging smile. "We eat now. You prefer human meat?"

Emilio grimaced.

The bastard probably meant it.

He clenched his jaw and stayed silent.

Throughout the so-called wedding feast, he barely spoke a word.

The food was more varied than anything he'd eaten since arriving in the past, but he'd have traded every dish on the rug for a piece of roasted game or even one of those root vegetables he'd hated when he'd first tasted them.

Every bite seemed to stick in his throat.

More than once he had to wash the food down with a swallow of the sour wine—or whatever the hell they were serving—because he was convinced it wasn't going down.

The ruler kept making comments.

That the clothes suited him.

That he was an unforgettable sight.

That he was pleased with the union they would seal that night.

Emilio ignored every last one of them.

The women never spoke.

Even dinners at Juan's house had been less awkward than this.

When the meal finally ended, he tried again.

"I want to talk to Mateo. Otherwise I'm done with this bullshit. I'm not marrying you until I know for sure he's actually here."

If he wasn't...

Then Emilio was going to do everything he could to escape.

"You not worry," the ruler said with a chuckle. "He honored guest."

Emilio turned his face away.

The only thing worse than knowing his friend was locked in a cell—which, honestly, Mateo was probably used to by now—was the thought that Mateo would have to witness Emilio being forced to marry someone he hated.

"And after the wedding?" Emilio pressed. "He's free to leave?"

The ruler chuckled again.

"He leave when you behave like good husband."

***

It was impressive how quickly the wedding celebration had been put together.

The square bordering the temple where Juan and Emilio had first appeared in the past had been surrounded with torches, and a massive bonfire blazed at its center. A handful of musicians were already playing flutes and drums.

An air of excitement hung over the crowd as Emilio, seated beside his enemy, was carried toward the raised platform in a litter.

To his surprise, two identical thrones stood waiting there, decorated with flowers and gilded fruit.

Has he been planning this from the very beginning?

The thought made his chest tighten.

What else has that bastard been planning? Did he have Juan killed on purpose?

He shoved the thoughts of his friend aside as forcefully as he could.

He refused to believe Juan was dead.

Sawa must've gotten him somewhere safe. She brought him here for a reason, and there's no way that reason was simply to die.

As long as the girl didn't show herself, Emilio clung to the hope that she was with Juan, and that the ruler had simply lied to throw him off balance.

The litter came to a stop.

Emilio climbed out and stepped onto the platform before lowering himself onto one of the two thrones.

The ruler took the seat beside him.

His wives were carried in next, each in her own litter surrounded by warriors. They stepped down and knelt on the thick carpet beside the ruler.

Emilio's palms grew damp.

With every passing second, the chance of getting out of this alive seemed to shrink.

Now would be a really good time for a rescue plan, Iliyan.

Hopefully, he looked toward the road leading to the square, expecting to see guards sprinting toward them, shouting that the prisoner had escaped.

That was how it should happen.

It wasn't what happened.

Two guards emerged onto the square.

Between them walked someone who towered over both of them by at least a head.

Mateo.

The sight of a familiar face hit Emilio far harder than he'd expected.

His throat tightened.

His eyes began to sting.

Mateo walked calmly beside his captors, his hands tied behind his back. His gaze wandered curiously across the square until it landed on Emilio.

A grin spread across his face.

Then he winked.

A fucking wink.

A disbelieving laugh escaped Emilio.

Even tied up and completely unable to help, Mateo's mere presence was an enormous relief. Just knowing he wasn't alone anymore eased something inside him—even if Mateo was about to witness one of the most humiliating moments of Emilio's life.

A flicker of gratitude rose in his chest as Mateo was brought to the side of the platform, close enough for them to talk. The warriors forced him to his knees before taking up positions behind him.

"Well, Emilio," Mateo said with a grin. "Never thought I'd see you again at your wedding." He glanced past Emilio toward the ruler. "So? I'd say I make a pretty damn good wingman."

Every muscle in Emilio's shoulders tightened. He leaned over the armrest toward Mateo. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he hissed. "This was your idea?"

The grin Mateo shot back made Emilio want to punch it right off his face. "The alternatives weren't exactly great either. This was just the least... fatal option."

Emilio shook his head in disbelief.

How long have you been here? How did you even get here?

A dozen questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but he doubted the ruler would give them much time to catch up. He settled on the only one that truly mattered. "Have you heard anything about Juan?" His voice trembled. "Is he really dead?"

The grin faded from Mateo's face.

A surge of panic rushed through Emilio—

Until Mateo looked him straight in the eye and gave the faintest shake of his head.

"Yeah," Mateo said quietly. "An uprising. That's what I heard."

The ruler doesn't know he's alive? Then how does Mateo know?

A hand settling on his knee cut every other question short.

Emilio jerked his head sideways.

"Enough attention prisoner."

He clenched his jaw and shoved the ruler's hand off his leg. "We're not married yet." His glare hardened. "So keep your damn hands to yourself." And afterward too.

The realization that Mateo had apparently pushed this psychopath toward this solution twisted his stomach into knots.

Sure, Emilio didn't want to die.

But he sure as hell didn't want to become that bastard's toy either.

If he tries anything tonight, just punch him in the face. You're bigger than he is.

Then again...

That didn't necessarily mean much.

He'd had almost a full head on Iliyan too, and Iliyan was terrifyingly strong.

"Begin," the ruler ordered. "Claim your place."

"What?" Emilio frowned. "What exactly am I supposed to do?"

The ruler didn't answer.

Instead, he rose from his throne and lifted both hands theatrically.

The entire square fell silent.

Emilio was too tense to pay much attention to the speech.

Still, a few words stood out.

Blood.

Dance.

Exchange.

Blood.

Of course he's talking about blood again.

The guy gets off on bloodshed.

The silent crowd parted, forming a wide semicircle around the bonfire.

At a gesture from the ruler, his wives gracefully descended from the platform. 

They knelt on the square facing the stage.

A priest approached carrying a bowl.

One by one, he held it out to each woman. They drank. A thick white paste clung to their lips afterward. One by one they bent forward, pressing both palms flat against the ground while murmuring words Emilio couldn't understand.

The whole thing looked deeply unsettling.

After several moments the women slowly straightened. Their eyes were glazed. Some of their hands trembled. Then, moving with slow, deliberate motions, they began to dance around the fire.

The drums grew louder.

A mournful chant rose from the crowd.

Goosebumps swept over Emilio's arms in an instant. What the fuck is this? Who puts on a freak show like this at a wedding?