CHAPTER SIXTEEN
OLIVIA
A gony rippled through my body, each breath a searing reminder that I was still tethered to life. An invisible weight pressed against my chest, heavy and suffocating, as if the air itself sought to crush me. My limbs felt tangled in unfamiliar linens, foreign fabric against my skin.
I gasped, my eyes snapping open—or so I thought. Darkness enveloped me, a disorienting void that left me grasping for certainty. Candlelight flickered faintly at the edges of my vision, its warm glow casting restless shadows on stone walls and towering ceilings. This was not the sanctuary of my bedroom, but an alien place cloaked in an eerie, castle-like grandeur.
My gaze landed on the massive four-poster bed dominating the room, its dark wood frame intricately carved with swirling patterns that seemed to writhe in the shifting light. The canopy above was draped with flowing silk curtains, their translucent elegance a sharp contrast to the harsh reality of my confusion.
Overhead, an ornate crystal chandelier glittered like a constellation, its cascading light illuminating the room in a golden haze. Flanking the bed stood two elegant bedside tables with gilded legs and smooth marble tops, each supporting a flickering candle that painted the mirrored surfaces with trembling reflections. Heavy velvet drapes veiled the windows, allowing only slivers of muted light to seep into the room, adding to its opulent, yet haunting, atmosphere.
“Where am I?” The words escaped my lips in a whisper, a fragile plea swallowed by the oppressive silence.
The dim glow of the candles highlighted lavish tapestries that hung like silent sentinels and velvet drapes that whispered secrets I could not understand. The air felt thick with strangeness, the unfamiliarity pressing against me as if the room rejected my presence. It was like I had been plucked from reality and cast adrift in medieval fantasy.
Instinct screamed at me to rise, to search for my baby, for Roman—but they were absent, swallowed by the opulence that mocked my longing. I ached to rub the confusion from my eyes, to blink away the fog and find clarity. But the chilling truth settled over me like ice—my eyes were already open, yet my family, my world, remained beyond reach, lost in the shadows of this unfamiliar place.
I pushed myself up from the plush bed that had cradled my disoriented slumber. My legs ached with a dull protest as I swung them over the edge, my bare feet meeting the icy chill of the floor. The air was thick, carrying the faint scent of aged wood mingled with the delicate aroma of unseen blooms.
I steadied myself against the intricately carved bedside table, its unfamiliar design a reminder that this was no place I recognized. The open door ahead beckoned, spilling dim light into the room and revealing a corridor shrouded in shadows. Tentatively, I stepped forward, the cool air brushing against my skin like an unwelcome whisper.
The hallway stretched long and foreboding, the walls adorned with grand tapestries and paintings that spoke of wars, victories, and triumphs that felt utterly foreign. Sculpted into serpentine dragons, candle sconces clung to the stone walls, their flickering flames casting eerie shapes that seemed to slither and shift with the shadows. The silence pressed down like a living thing, heavy and watchful as if the air held its breath.
I walked forward, each step hesitant, my bare feet brushing against the polished stone floor. The grandeur of this place was overwhelming, like stepping into a forgotten world of kings and queens, where alliances were forged and broken behind heavy doors. The absence of voices or footsteps amplified the strangeness, a chilling void in an ornate space.
Ahead, movement caught my eye—a woman ascending a staircase with a fluid grace that seemed almost surreal. Her gown shimmered with the glow of candlelight, a fabric too rich and regal for a servant. Threads of moonlight seemed woven into the folds, whispering of secrets and silken decadence.
“Excuse me,” I called out, my voice a fragile thread in the vast stillness. “Where is everyone?”
The woman halted mid-step, her poised form illuminated by the flickering light. She turned with the precision of a dancer; her movements were calculated yet effortless. As her gaze met mine, she dipped into a deep curtsy, her dress pooling around her like liquid silver.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” I stammered, my mind racing with confusion.
“My lady, I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to the stone steps as if they bore the weight of an apology she couldn’t fully express.
“Sorry for... what?” I asked, but the maid remained silent, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Swallowing the knot of apprehension tightening in my throat, I forced myself to speak again. “Where’s my husband?” The words felt foreign on my tongue, like fragments of someone else’s life spilling from my lips.
The maid’s brows furrowed, and she fidgeted with the hem of her gown, her discomfort palpable.
“He’s with the Shadow Lord in a meeting. He’s with Lazarus,” she replied, her voice laced with an odd mix of reverence and dread.
Lazarus ? The name clawed at the edges of my memory, familiar yet shrouded in obscurity. A disquieting ache settled in my chest as I struggled to connect the fragments of recognition.
“Who is that?” I asked, feeling the question’s absurdity even as I spoke it.
The maid’s expression shifted, pity mingling with disbelief. “Oh, dear, that fall you had must have been terrible if you don’t remember who Lazarus is.”
Fall? The word clanged in my ears, foreign and disorienting. My fingers gripped the banister tightly as if holding on could steady the swirling void where my memories should have been. Before I could demand an explanation, the footsteps descending from above echoed through the hallway, their cadence steady and purposeful.
A figure emerged at the top of the staircase—a man whose presence seemed to command the air. My breath caught in my throat. It was Balthazar, yet not as I had known him. His skin was unmarked, its smoothness free of the lines that had once told the story of his years. His hair, now darker and longer, carried no trace of the silver streaks I remembered. He looked... impossibly younger, vibrant, and ageless.
“How is this possible?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the drumbeat of my heart. I stepped back instinctively as if creating distance could protect me from the impossibility. “He looks twenty years younger.”
A flicker of concern—or confusion?—crossed his features. Balthazar moved with the same commanding authority I knew, yet now there was an undeniable vitality about him, as though the years had been peeled away, leaving a man in the prime of his life.
The air trembled with a silent question as Balthazar approached, his eyes swimming with a concern I didn’t trust.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
I recoiled, pressing my back against the cool stone wall. The sight of him, younger and unmarred by time, was a riddle wrapped in an enigma.
“You—you were imprisoned,” I stammered, my voice betraying the terror that clawed at my insides. “How did you escape?”
His brow furrowed deeply. “Imprisoned? My lady, what are you talking about? You must have hit your head harder than we thought. You should still be resting.”
My pulse thrummed in my ears, a frantic beat screaming danger.
“No,” I protested, the taste of fear sharp and bitter on my tongue. “I’m not imagining this. You were in prison after—after you tried to kill me.” My voice broke, and panic spilled out in a torrent. “You’re here to take my baby girl. You’re going to hurt her!”
Balthazar’s expression shifted the confusion on his face, deepening into something more profound, almost troubled. “What are you talking about? There’s no baby, my lady. You managed to escape Mathias, but you were riding so fast your horse lost control and threw you to the ground.”
“Mathias?” I whispered, the name spinning through my mind like a splintered echo. “What are you talking about?” My voice sounded small, fragile, and lost amid the overwhelming grandeur of the unfamiliar castle.
“Mathias attacked you,” Balthazar explained, his tone slow and deliberate as if speaking to a frightened child. “But you don’t need to worry. I’ve imprisoned him. It seems he was betraying us all along. Now Salvatore has emerged from the shadows, hungering for destruction.” His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped. “He wants to destroy you.”
“None of this makes any sense,” I said, shaking my head.
“I can take you to see Mathias if you don’t trust me.” As if to prove his peaceful intent, Balthazar reached for his belt and stripped away his sword and dagger. They clattered to the floor, echoing hollowly through the vast corridor.
“Salvatore,” I murmured, the name stirring a distant echo of dread deep within me. My thoughts swirled with fragments—faces, names, memories—all just out of reach, like trying to grasp smoke with bare hands. It was a futile struggle, and the harder I tried to piece them together, the more fragmented they became. Everything felt wrong, twisted, and unfamiliar.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I repeated, stepping away from the disarmed figure. “Balthazar, stop toying with me. Stop these games. You are a dangerous, psychotic, and insane monster who tried to kill me. You took my unborn baby away from me and brought nothing but pain and misery into my life!”
Balthazar’s expression contorted into genuine bafflement, his brows knitting together as if I had spoken in a language he didn’t understand. “My lady, I would never hurt you. I would die for you. I am your faithful and loyal protector. I would never harm you. I don’t know what baby you’re talking about. You and your husband just wed a few months back.”
His words hit me like a slap, the implication unraveling everything I thought I knew. The reality I clung to seemed to slip further out of reach, leaving only a hollow void. My breathing quickened as fear threatened to consume me.
“Take me to my husband,” I said, my fear sharpening into resolve. I needed answers, and only Roman could provide them—Roman was always the lighthouse in my stormy sea of doubts.
“First, I want to show you where Mathias is,” Balthazar said. “So you believe me.”
His tone held a note of urgency that tugged at my trepidation, igniting the embers of dread that had settled in my chest.
Reluctantly, I followed him, each step heavy with foreboding. We went deeper into the castle’s bowels, the air growing colder with every turn of the spiraling stone staircase. The echoes of our footsteps reverberated around us, mingling with the faint, rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the distance. My grip tightened on the banister, the chill of the iron biting into my skin.
The dungeon loomed before us, its entrance a gaping maw. It reminded me of the Hypogeum, its eerie aura steeped in history and death. Torches lined the walls, their flames flickering weakly against the oppressive darkness. The elongated shadows danced in a macabre waltz, painting the stone walls with the shapes of nightmares.
We came upon a cell, and there he was—Mathias shackled and barely a shadow of the man I once knew. His youthful face, unmarred by time, was a jarring contradiction to the grim surroundings of the dungeon. He looked like a ghost, his spirit fractured as the chains that bound him.
“What’s going on?” I whispered, my voice trembling under the weight of confusion. “Are you both playing some kind of twisted game?” Fear clawed at my chest, and I felt reality slipping through my fingers, unraveling far too quickly for me to catch.
Mathias lifted his head, his desperate eyes meeting mine. In the hollows of his gaze, I saw a man on the edge of madness—a predator caged but still dangerous.
“Well, well, well,” he began, his voice rasping with a dry, mocking chuckle. “Look who’s come to visit me... none other than Balthazar and the woman I was supposed to kill.”
His words struck me like a blow, but his tone unnerved me. Usually composed and commanding, Mathias’ voice cracked with something raw, almost unhinged. He let out another low chuckle, his eyes glinting with malice.
“You’re a fool, Balthazar,” he sneered, the chains rattling as he leaned forward. “Fighting for the wrong side. You and I—together, we could’ve been unstoppable—a formidable team.”
Balthazar clenched his jaw, his fists clenched at his sides. His gaze never wavered from Mathias, his presence as steady and unyielding as a mountain.
“I would rather die with honor than fight alongside a traitor like you,” Balthazar said, his voice steady and resolute. “I will always be loyal to Isabelle.”
Isabelle. The name hit me like a cold gust of wind. I used to be Isabelle.
Mathias shook his head, his frustration rattling the chains that bound him. “One day, you’ll regret this, Balthazar,” he said, his voice tinged with venom. “And when you do, it will be too late.”
Before I could process the gravity of their exchange, heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, cutting through the tension like a blade. Roman emerged from the shadows, his figure materializing as if from the very walls themselves. He stopped short when he saw me, his brows knitting together in concern.
“Why are you out of your room? You should be resting,” he said, reaching out as if to shepherd me back to safety.
“Resting?” I echoed, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Why is Balthazar not in prison? Why is Mathias in prison?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said slowly, as though trying to make sense of a puzzle with missing pieces.
In a rush of desperation, the words burst from me. “I just had a baby in the cave.”
“No, my love, you didn’t. You couldn’t have. We just got married. I hope we’re having a baby soon.” His gaze searched mine as though willing my chaotic thoughts to align with his reality. “You must have hurt your head.”
With a swift turn, Roman addressed Balthazar, his voice carrying the weight of command. “Balthazar, stay here and keep watch over Mathias. I need to tend to my wife.”
The world tilted, my legs unsteady beneath me as my thoughts spiraled further into disarray. Roman’s arm wrapped securely around my waist, grounding me as he guided me out of the suffocating darkness of the dungeon.
“Stay and rest,” he said softly, settling me onto the plush bedding of our chamber. The room’s opulence, with its gilded frames and flowing silk drapes, starkly contrasted with the grim cell I had just left. “I’ll fetch the healer.”
With a final worried glance, he disappeared, leaving me alone with the swirling chaos of my mind.
Soft footfalls preceded the entrance of Amara, the healer whose skills now seemed more crucial than ever.
“Amara!” I gasped, relief washing over me like a tide. “I’m so glad to see you again.”
I watched in mute fascination as Amara’s skilled hands moved over my body, her touch gentle yet precise as she conducted a trauma exam.
“Please tell me I’m not crazy,” I murmured. “I don’t know where I am or why everything is different than when I was last conscious.”
Amara’s gaze flicked toward the room’s corners, her eyes scanning for unseen ears. Satisfied we were alone, she leaned in, her breath warm against the room’s chill. The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic on her hands mixed with the earthy tang of aged stone walls as she whispered, “You have a child in a different life. But here, you don’t.”
“Here?” My voice trembled, echoing slightly off the cold marble floors. Confusion twisted in my gut. “Where is here ?”
She stood upright, her posture rigid. “I can’t tell you. You must remember your past.” Her eyes searched mine with an intensity that bordered on pain. “Remember Rome—when I was dying, I told you that you had a great destiny ahead of you? That time is now.”
Fragments of cobblestone streets and whispered promises stirred at the edge of my memory, but they were fleeting, like smoke slipping through my fingers.
“A lot of people are trying to thwart you. You must find allies you can trust.” Her voice was a low hiss. “Salvatore will do everything he can to keep you from remembering who you are. Right now, your greatest weakness is that you’ve forgotten the past. It gives him the upper hand.”
I gripped the bedding. The weight of forgotten lifetimes bore down on me, threatening to splinter my resolve.
“We’ve come so far on this mission.” Amara’s hand settled on my shoulder with conviction. “It’s time for you to remember and fulfill your destiny.”
A vein throbbed at my temple as I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to coax forth images from the shadows of my mind. “I can’t remember.”
Amara’s hand brushed against mine, her touch warm and grounding, tethering me to the present. “You’re afraid of the truth,” she said softly, her words carrying the weight of unspoken secrets. “You had a relationship with Malik. And Balthazar... he wasn’t just anyone. He was your loyal protector.”
Her words felt like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit, their meaning just out of reach.
“Loyal protector,” I whispered, the term alien and yet oddly familiar, as though it belonged to a story I had long forgotten.
“Indeed,” Amara said, her gaze piercing, locking onto mine with an intensity that made me squirm. “I know it’s hard to believe, especially after the pain he caused you. But you have to understand—you must remember. My main purpose in Rome was to bring you and Roman together. It wasn’t easy. Now, we’re too far in to lose you again.”
Desperation clawed at my chest, my hands trembling as I reached for her. “Why can’t you just tell me who I am?”
She shivered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as though warding off an unseen chill that seeped through the castle stones. “That’s part of the curse. You have to remember on your own.”
“Amara, please,” I pleaded, my voice breaking under the weight of my panic. “Help me. What do I do? How do I break through this fog?”
“I can’t tell you; only you can remember.” She leaned closer, her breath a whisper against my ear. “Trust Roman. Only Roman. You don’t know who’s telling the truth and who’s lying. And Balthazar...” Her voice faltered. “He’s lost too. He needs to find his way back.”
“Roman...” His name was a lifeline, something solid amidst the quagmire of confusion.
“Once Balthazar and you remember who you are,” Amara said, her voice so faint it was almost lost in the vastness of the chamber, “everything will change.”
“Change how?” I questioned, but Amara only shook her head.
“Remember, Olivia,” she said, stepping back into the shadows. “Before it’s too late.”
Amara’s silhouette dissolved into the twilight, her presence lingering like an echo in the vastness of the chamber. Her final words struck like a hammer against the stone.
“You found the sun and moon daggers,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of forgotten ages. “You have to remember the rest.”
Her words hung in the air like a challenge, a key dangled just out of reach, waiting to unlock the prison of my mind. I grappled with fragmented images, shards of a life I couldn’t imagine. The dagger… I could almost feel the cool metal in my grasp, the intricate handle, the perfect balance of the blade. But the rest—meaning and memories—remained obscured, shrouded in a fog I couldn’t penetrate.
“Remember,” Amara said, but her voice was fading, blending into the echoes of the grand hall.
I blinked, and the world shifted beneath me, time folding in on itself like an unseen tide. A gasp escaped my lips as I stumbled forward, the castle’s grandeur dissolving into a room less opulent but rich with its history. Tapestries adorned the walls, their stories woven in vibrant threads, yet they offered no answers, only questions.
“Olivia!”
Roman’s voice tethered me to the present, and I turned to see him by my bedside, his face drawn and tired, eyes rimmed with red but alight with something akin to joy. He was a disheveled shadow of the man I remembered, yet the sight of him was as refreshing as rain after drought.
“Roman?” My voice sounded distant, foreign.
As I struggled to make sense of my surroundings, my eyes slowly adjusting to the candlelit room, Roman threw himself at me, wrapping his arms around me with a fierce urgency. His embrace felt like home, a warm sanctuary after a long journey.
“I thought I’d lost you!” He pressed his lips against mine, pouring all his emotions and fears into the kiss.
His intensity took me aback, but my own emotions flooded to the surface. Tears fell from my eyes as I clung to him, grateful to be in his arms once again. We stayed locked in each other’s embrace, our hearts beating in unison.
Roman pulled back, cupping my face, his eyes searching mine.
“We need to talk,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I need to know what happened to you.”
“I…I don’t know.” Disoriented, I tried to piece together the hows and whys of my state. “How long have I been unconscious?”
“Several days,” he said. “You sipped water and slept. We were worried...”
“Days…” The word lingered on my lips, foreign and heavy. It intertwined with the fragmented images of dreams—or memories—that flickered just beyond my reach, stirred by Amara’s cryptic words.
“Rest now,” Roman said. “We’ll find the answers together.”
His assurance was a balm, and I clung to it, hoping we could piece together the puzzle of my identity and our entwined destinies.
A pang of discomfort clawed at my chest, a sharp reminder that reality was not just about memories and mysteries. The physiological evidence of motherhood made itself known in the bloated tenderness of my breasts, swollen with milk.
As I struggled to form a coherent thought, my eyes locked onto Roman’s.
“I had the most bizarre dream,” I said, my voice trembling with confusion and frustration. “It was about my past life… as Isabelle. She knew Mathias and Balthazar in the dream, but it didn’t make any sense. I’m trying hard to remember, but something is blocking me—like a wall I can’t get through.”
The memories were fragments of glass scattered on the floor of my mind, glittering with importance yet impossible to piece together without bleeding for them. Despite the pain, I knew they held the key to understanding everything.
My breath hitched with the effort of thinking beyond the present moment, my mind straining against the weight of forgotten memories. “I need to speak with Malik and Balthazar.”
Footsteps echoed in the hall. Malik appeared in the doorway. “Olivia, my darling. You have awoken.”
Roman and I exchanged glances, his eyes conveying a silent message—trust in Malik’s loyalty and discretion. I shared a trust, but I needed more than silent assurances. I needed answers.
“Malik, please,” I said, my voice shaking. “I need you to tell me more about Isabelle and her connection to Balthazar and Mathias. She seemed to know them, and I had such a vivid dream, but the pieces refused to fit together. Please help me understand. Who was Isabelle? How did she know Mathias and Balthazar? You’ve spoken of your attraction to her before—surely you know more.”
A flicker of sadness and regret passed over Malik’s face before he quickly masked it with a neutral expression.
“I’m sorry, my love, but I cannot help you,” he said softly. “I’ve told you everything I know about our past—about Roman, about you—but your connection to Balthazar and Mathias is something you must uncover for yourself. It’s not my story to tell. Forgive me, darling.”
His words felt like a weight pressing down on my chest—the frustration of unanswered questions and unspoken truths clawing at me. I wanted to scream, to demand more, but before I could speak, Roman’s hand gently squeezed mine, grounding me.
“Olivia, my love, you’ve been through so much already. Rest now. We will figure this out together—I promise.”
Before I could protest, he stood and crossed the room. When he returned, he cradled a bundle in his arms, wrapped snugly in a blanket the color of dawn. Seeing the bundle stirred something maternal and primal within me—my baby.
“Look at her,” Roman said softly, a note of wonder in his voice as he placed the infant in my arms. “She’s our precious gem.”
Her tiny face peeked out from the soft folds of the blanket, wisps of reddish hair framing her features like the faint glow of firelight. As her delicate eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of clear, piercing blue eyes that mirrored Roman’s gaze, an overwhelming wave of love and wonder swept through me.
Together, we cooed over her, the sound of her soft breaths and the warmth of her tiny body grounding me in the present. A profound and fierce love surged through me, ancient yet immediate, as if I had carried this devotion across lifetimes. Her rosy cheeks and bright eyes radiated an innocence illuminating the room, a beacon of joy amidst the shadows of uncertainty. She was more than just our child—she was a Timeborne, a gift beyond measure. I vowed then and there to protect her with every ounce of strength, to shield her from the darkness that loomed beyond these walls.
A bittersweet ache stirred deep within me as her tiny hand curled around my finger. The fragmented memories of past lives haunted the edges of my mind, whispering truths I couldn’t yet grasp. Who was I, truly? What had I lost—and what was still waiting to be found? The questions pressed down like a heavy shroud, but I pushed them aside for now. Roman’s steady presence by my side and the miracle of our daughter in my arms was enough to anchor me in this fleeting moment of peace.
Yet, even as I allowed myself to bask in their love, the turmoil inside me raged. The vivid and haunting dreams clawed at the corners of my consciousness, demanding answers I didn’t yet have. And though I tried to stay in the present, a quiet voice whispered that this calm would not last—that the truth, once remembered, would change everything.