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“Are you sure she’s human?” the taller redhead asked, studying her with a scowl on his face.
Anthea’s eyes flickered from him to Endreth. Were they really aliens? She swallowed, her head aching in a rhythm of a drum. Rising from her makeshift bed, she forced out a steady, “Yes, I am. Are you not?” The confidence she had painstakingly pulled together began to crumble as the taller man merely arched a brow in response.
“She’s human,” Endreth shared a glance with the other man that was as perplexing as it was worrisome. “But not from our world, brother.” Anthea glanced at the two men again—the resemblance was there in their high cheekbones and sharp jawlines.
“She will learn her place in this world soon enough,” the taller brother asserted, a cold certainty underlying his words. A chill cut through her, the cloak doing little to protect her from the thinly veiled threat his statement held.
“Wait,” Anthea blurted out, taking a couple of steps away from the corner of the cell and closer to the two figures. “You can’t just ignore my question. If you’re not human? Then, what are you? What do you mean by not from your world? And why have you brought me here?”
“Anthea, was it?” The taller one looked her up and down, pausing on her shoulder length brown bob. “It seems you have things a bit backward. It was you who found your way into my brother’s bed in the middle of the night, not the other way around.” A flush crept up her neck. She opened her mouth to object, but he continued talking, his gaze never leaving her face. “Trespassing is a serious crime in Isluma, punishable by death. You are lucky it was Endreth you stumbled upon, not someone less . . . forgiving.” Anthea took a step back as he walked closer to her, clenching the blue cloak tighter around herself.
“I didn’t?—"
“Endreth told me there is something . . . curious about you.” His sudden proximity made her heart flutter with unease, the rising anxiety in her gut making her grip the cloak even tighter. She had to crane her head back to keep her eyes on his face. Up close, his features were even more striking, his eyes a captivating whirl of green and gold that seemed to harbor a universe of their own.
“And what’s that?” she managed to croak out.
Ignoring her question, he extended his hand, his fingers weaving in a mesmerizing dance. He murmured something she couldn’t hear. Suddenly, the room seemed to throb with a tangible energy, a deep crimson glow emitting from his hand. As the light inched toward her, Anthea forgot to breathe, terror binding her to the spot. Just when she thought it would burn her, the light dulled, dissolving into thin air upon contact with her skin.
Green eyes widened, his brow furrowing in a silent question to Endreth before he refocused his attention on her. “Curious indeed,” he murmured, more to himself than her, a fascinated gleam still playing in his eyes.
“Enough of this.” Anthea crossed her arms over her chest, her voice ringing out louder than she anticipated in the chillingly silent cell. “I’ve had enough of your cryptic talks, your magic tricks, and your threats. I want answers. Now!”
“You are in no position to make demands.” The taller male’s gaze hardened.
Anthea swallowed hard, rubbing her temples. If this was real—if the impossible was indeed real and she had somehow stumbled into some other world—she had no way of knowing if they would truly hurt her if angered, and she didn’t want to find out. Taking a step back, she whispered, “Please . . . please just tell me who you are . . . and . . .” she lowered her eyes, “where am I?”
“I am Prince Aegonar Endoralier, the first born son of King Endoral Silvarthiel, I am the heir to the House of the Crimson Gem, and this is my brother, Prince Endreth Endoralier. You are in Isluma—the homeland of the high elves.”
Her eyes shot up from her feet and rested on his smug face. Anthea had always prided herself on being a realist, her belief system grounded firmly in concrete facts and logic. Myths and fantasies belonged in novels and movies, not in her life. Her gaze flicked between the two redheads—who apparently were elven princes. Aegonar’s fiery mane looked like a blazing sunset against the dark gray stone backdrop, his green eyes were fixed on her, studying her reaction. Endreth had stood up straighter when Aegonar had declared their titles with such authority, such conviction, that Anthea had no doubt she was at their complete mercy—they were in charge here. She didn’t know what to think. Whoever they were. Wherever she was. They were in charge. It was true—she would get nowhere with demands. Not with Aegonar at least, she thought as she glanced at the younger male, still standing a couple of steps behind.
“What will you do to me?” Anthea kept her voice small.
A faint hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of Aegonar’s mouth as he closed the gap between them, once again coming to rest in her personal space. “You are an anomaly, Anthea,” he said, the casual manner in which he voiced this sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. “You are in a world where magic is life,” Aegonar carried on, “and yet, you resist it. It is unheard of. It is . . . intriguing.” His fingers traced a cryptic pattern in the thin air, a faint crimson glow rekindled, mirroring the light show from before, but it abruptly fizzled out as it touched her. His eyes met hers once more, the smirk wiped clean by a gravely serious expression. “You say you are lost and want to go home, yet you speak Isluarric as if it were your mother tongue?—”
“What? I’m not—I’m speaking English. You’re speaking English?”
The elven princes exchanged a glance.
“Are we now? Interesting,” Aegonar murmured, keeping his eyes on her.
Anthea wanted to take another step back, but a quick glance behind showed her that a couple of more steps and her back would press against the wall. So, she didn’t.
“Here is our proposal,” the heir continued. “We want to understand why—why our magic does not affect you, why you have appeared here so suddenly. And in return for your . . . compliance—we will ensure your safety. You will be given a place to stay, food, clothing—everything you need really. But you will remain here in the Crimson court under our protection. Do we have a bargain?”
“I want to go home,” Anthea whispered. “Please . . . let me go home.” She didn’t like where he was going with this.
The brothers exchanged another look before Endreth addressed her. “Your desire to return to your home is natural?—”
“But,” she interrupted, “you’re not letting me. You’re asking me to stay in this Crimson court. To be a prisoner. A test subject?—”
Endreth held up a hand to stall her. “Not a prisoner. We are offering a safe place to stay. You are in a land you do not understand, with dangers you cannot comprehend. And for whatever reason, our magic does not work on you. For whatever reason our language is instinctively available to you. That makes you . . . interesting.”
“And dangerous in the hands of the wrong people.” Aegonar dragged his eyes over her form again.
“Exactly,” the younger prince agreed. “We don’t know how you came here. And there might not be a way for you to return to your home at all.”
Anthea’s heart dropped. The possibility of being stranded in this strange place, away from everything and everyone she knew, was terrifying. "Not return?" she whispered, the reality of her situation settling in.
