Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
ISLA
T he audacity of that man, even if he’s a king, is unreal. He wields his power as though he owns me, acting as if he can command my fate without a second thought for my feelings or desires. Yes, maybe that’s exactly what he’s done, but acknowledging it doesn’t make it any less infuriating or wrong.
Though in this instance, I’m okay with having agreed to stay. It’s only four weeks. I can survive that so long as I can send word back to Elodee that I’m okay. I don’t know what I’ll tell her, exactly, but I’ll think of something.
Explaining that I’m in another world probably won’t go over well and as much as I don’t want to lie to her, I know the truth of all this craziness needs to be shared in person.
This reluctant acceptance gnaws at me, forcing me to confront a harsh reality: have I truly come to terms with this not being just some elaborate dream?
The vividness of this world, the intensity of my emotions—they anchor me to a truth I can scarcely believe, but even more, cannot deny. The moment I looked into the eyes of the man who claimed to be my father, something profound and undeniable shifted within me. Despite the logical impossibilities, my soul recognizes him, resonating with a familiarity that transcends memory.
That’s not something I can abandon, even for my best friend.
Restless, I pace my room but soon decide that if I’m to remain here, I must familiarize myself with my surroundings. Practical needs come to mind—clothes, toiletries. It’s time to take inventory of what’s available to me here.
Dressed in the sleek, blue gown that’s been my sole attire since my arrival, I admire its feel once more—the fabric’s softness provides an unexpected comfort, a stark contrast to my usual jeans and tees.
Still, too many hours have passed and it’s time for fresh clothes.
Curiosity leads me to a door beside the bathroom that I haven’t yet explored. Pushing it open, I’m greeted by a sight that steals my breath.
“Holy shit.” The room beyond is a treasure trove of fashion—shoes, hats, purses, and scarves line one wall, while the opposite is draped in an array of clothing that spans from extravagant gowns to casual wear. It’s an arsenal of attire for every occasion, each piece more dazzling than the last. Even better, most of it looks similar to fashion from home. Well, high-end stuff I’d never normally wear similar, but still.
I don’t understand why all of this is here, but I guess that’s something I can either accept or fight against, but the latter would seem rather stupid on my part. Even if I’m not the woman King Asher believes me to be, I’m here and I might as well be comfortable.
As I step farther into this wardrobe wonderland, my eyes catch a spotlight illuminating the back wall. Crowns, necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, all crafted from white gold or platinum, shimmer under the focused light, each piece a statement of royalty and refinement.
“What the hell have I stumbled upon?” I whisper to myself, my voice a mix of awe and disbelief. My reverie is abruptly shattered by Cain’s voice.
“Your Highness?” His tone is tentative as he speaks from just beyond the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but King Asher requests your presence for dinner tonight if you haven’t finished the meal I brought earlier.”
Of course, he probably saw that I’d only picked at the food when he was in here, but the fact that he thinks I might want to be in his presence so soon after the threats he just made sparks my irritation all over again. “ King Asher can kiss my ass,” I mutter with a snarl.
Cain clears his throat, staying in the bedroom and almost out of sight. “I’m not sure I should relay that message, Princess Isla.”
His use of my name, not Isobella, catches me off guard—a small, unexpected validation of my identity.
I peek out of the closet, offering him a strained smile. “That wasn’t meant for you to hear.” In fact, I’m not even sure how he did , I think, before adding, “Please tell King Asher that I politely decline unless he’s changed his mind about holding me hostage for the next four weeks.”
Cain’s green eyes widen as he looks more at the carpet than at me. “Yes, Your Highness. ”
He sees himself out and I grin, walking back into the closet. “Now, what to wear,” I muse to myself, ignoring the growl of my stomach now that dinner’s been mentioned.
With a sweater, jeans, underwear, and socks in hand—all new with paper tags that are branded with WW and attached with thin silver ribbons—I make my way to the bathroom. The tile floors are heated, which surprised me last night, considering the castle doesn’t even have an elevator. There’s a glass shower with the overhead spout that had my attention the first time I saw it before, even more than the clawfoot porcelain tub next to it.
I set my clothes down on the granite countertop, between the double sinks. Opening the cabinets next to that, I find a fluffy, blue bathrobe and more towels than I’ll ever need along with slippers and eye masks.
Maybe I should have explored last night, but then again, I was still hoping none of this was real before.
Grabbing a towel, I hang it on the hook next to the shower before turning the hot water on. It’s time to feel like me again.
I want to take my time washing, but every minute that passes makes my stomach growl louder, craving something warm and soothing, not the uneaten food from nearly two hours ago.
Before I know it, I’m shutting off the water, disappointed I couldn’t enjoy this luxury properly and drying off.
I expect the clothes to be a little snug or even too big, but each item fits perfectly, including the jean length, which rarely happens for my short frame.
This isn’t strange at all. A lie I keep telling myself .
After brushing my hair and tossing it into a bun with the hair tie I found, I brush my teeth with what I assume is a new wooden toothbrush since the toothpaste still had a seal on it.
Once I’m back in the room, the crown from last night lies abandoned on the side table, glinting softly in the ambient light. Am I expected to wear this while I’m here? It seems redundant; everyone knows who I am already. I dismiss the fleeting urge to place it upon my head and instead, I reach for a pair of heeled, brown boots from the closet. The added inches elevate not just my normally five-foot, one-inch frame, but my spirit, boosting my confidence as I approach the door with a newfound determination.
I have no clue where the kitchen might be in this labyrinth of a palace, but I’m certain I’ll encounter someone along the way who can direct me. Not that Cain hasn’t done his best to make me comfortable, but I just don’t want to rely on him. I need to find my own way around, to claim some autonomy in this foreign world.
Stepping into the corridor, I hesitate, my gaze darting left, then right, and left again. To my surprise, the man Asher claims is my father is sitting just outside my door, his posture one of weary resignation. His shoulders are curved in and hands are folded in his lap while his eyes remain closed. For a moment, I begin to wonder if he’s even still breathing.
“Um, hello?” My voice echoes slightly in the vast hallway.
His response is slow, his head lifting to reveal a gentle smile that doesn’t reach his tired eyes. This time, when our gazes meet, the expected surge of emotion doesn’t materialize. Confusion mingles with relief—had I imagined the intensity of our previous connection, or has the stress of this ordeal begun to warp my perceptions? I don’t know, but there is still a kindness seeping from this man that I can’t ignore.
“Hello, Issie,” he says, a note of hesitation in his voice. “Is it okay that I call you that?”
Isobella? Issie? Isla? They all sound close enough and there’s something about this man that makes me want to wrap my arms around him and never let him go, so of course he can call me whatever he’d like.
“Sure,” I reply, my voice softening. “That or ‘Isla’ is fine.”
“Isla,” he repeats, testing the name as if it offers him some comfort. “I like that for you. My name is Grayson.”
A pang of something akin to loss tightens within my chest, an ache for a connection that should be there but isn’t. I don’t know if it’s just being here in this place or if I’ve officially gone crazy and the lack of pull that I feel toward Grayson now is actually painful.
I glance around again, trying to ignore the growing pressure in my chest. “What are you doing out here? Did Asher not help you somewhere more comfortable?”
Grayson shakes his head, a faint smile playing on his lips as he gestures to a door just down the hall. “He gave me the room next to yours. I was waiting for you—I hoped we might have dinner together.”
Now, this is a man whose company I’d enjoy for a meal.
“I’d love nothing more,” I say, extending my hand to help him up. His fingers are cold in mine, and a fresh wave of resentment toward Asher washes over me. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of his threats.”
Grayson’s chuckle is tinged with sadness. “I’m sorry to laugh and I don’t mean to overwhelm you, but…” He looks up at me with pure joy shining through his familiar, blue eyes. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. Even this temperamental version of you that you’d long since grown out of before…”
He stops talking and my entire body tenses. Not one person has talked about what happened to this Isobella woman, just that they insist I’m her. Maybe it’s time I learn more about the shadow of who I once might have been.
Gently, I press for more information. “If it’s too painful to talk about, you don’t have to, but I would love to know what happened to your daughter.”
I might not be her, but maybe I’m her doppelg?nger or something else that I didn’t think existed in real life. You know, like portals to other worlds.
Hell, what else might not be fiction?
With a slight shake of my head, I put my focus back on Grayson as he starts to answer me and walks toward the stairs, his gait carrying on with more ease than I expected after first meeting him.
“She disappeared,” he says first. “Nobody knows what really happened, but there are theories, none of them all that appealing.”
His answer doesn’t offer me any solace and the way he avoids looking at me, I decide to ask about something else that’s made me slightly curious.
“Why does Asher seem so angry with me?”
This brings a smirk back to his face. “My Issie and Asher were…close, best friends since the day they were born in fact. When she couldn’t be found, it wasn’t just my world that unraveled, but also his.”
“Maybe she left because he’s such an asshole,” I say out loud without meaning to, then I cover my mouth and mutter an apology.
Grayson doesn’t seem offended; instead, he nods sagely. “You both had your tempers, but together, you were something special.”
As we descend the stairs, I’m having trouble breathing from his revelation since I feel like his version of “close” means more than I want to know. Though Grayson saves me from having to ask by changing the subject.
His eyes look down, then up at me again. “I hope you’ve kept your strength up because I’m going to be counting on you to not let me tumble down three flights of stairs.”
My arm wraps around his waist without a second thought. “You won’t fall on my watch.”
We make it downstairs without issue, the silence stretching between us because asking more questions seems too dangerous after the previous one. The pressure in my chest has now moved to my head and breathing feels like a chore. Still, I put one foot in front of the other, turning when Grayson tells me to and only stopping once we arrive at a dining room.
The area seems much too formal for just two people, especially when two waiters greet us and even pull our chairs out.
I giggle with a layer of nervousness, then whisper to Grayson, “I’ve never eaten anywhere this fancy before. ”
My gaze follows his upward, where there are three chandeliers, each dripping with crystals that glimmer between the lights. The ceiling is made from carved woodworkings, creating tiles above us. The table is a sleek, mahogany wood with navy-blue placemats already outfitted with a full set of silverware and glassware.
“At least not that you remember,” Grayson says with a grin as I place the silver cloth napkin over my lap.
I tense up and he quickly apologizes.
“I’m sorry, Isla. I’ll be better at accepting that you need time for…certain things.”
My gaze shifts toward his and I try to smile, but the action turns into a grimace. “I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to be okay with any of this.”
His shaky hand reaches for mine. “Maybe, maybe not. Let’s see where the next four weeks bring us.”
The two waiters fill the glasses before us, one with water and the other with what I assume is some sort of red wine, but I barely pay attention to them as I hesitate to say the words that are dying to come out.
“What is it?” Grayson says once we’re alone again.
I blink, fighting back tears that I don’t understand and letting the words tumble out. “When I go back home, you can come with me if you want.”
Grayson’s eyes mist over, his voice thick with emotion. “I would love nothing more than to be wherever you are, my sweet girl.”
The connection I felt to him earlier might not be smacking me in the face anymore, but the warmth that fills my heart from his words is enough to have me relaxing in my padded linen chair .
Everything is going to be okay. Tomorrow, I’ll find a way to call Elodee and maybe I’ll even tell her the truth. A partial truth, anyway.