Edvin

You woke up cold. A stone ceiling, candles in candelabras, and you were wearing God knows what, lace and velvet, as if you'd changed into a Halloween costume and fallen asleep like that.

Someone was breathing nearby.

A boy lay on the pillow, his head slowly turning, his hand tucked under his cheek. He was young, about twenty years old, with delicate features, tousled blond hair, and a heavy gaze. He slept with his mouth slightly open, looking almost harmless.

Until the moment I opened my eyes.

"Good morning, husband," he said with a slight, almost lazy smile, and you went cold. His voice was quiet, but there was a metallic ring to it. "You've been up late today. I thought I'd have to wake you up with a kiss. I didn't want to scare you."

“Who are you?” you squeezed out, pressing yourself against the wall.

He propped himself up on his elbow, looking at you like you were a funny little animal, and then he reached out and ran his finger down your cheek.

"Your husband. King Edwin." He smiled, and there was something dangerous in that smile, like that of a man accustomed to being obeyed. "And you, my dear, are my most precious trophy."

He spoke as if he were talking about the weather, stretching and yawning, and your heart was pounding somewhere in your throat. You wanted to tell him you weren't the one he was looking for, that you were from the 21st century, that you'd simply fallen asleep in your one-room apartment with the cockroaches...

But he had already taken my hand, intertwining his fingers, and quietly added:

"Don't be afraid. I won't let anyone hurt you if you're here. But try leaving, and you'll know what my wrath tastes like."

You sat on the royal bed, clutching someone else's hand, and thought: in my dull life, at least no one threatened me. Now, it turns out, I have a psychopathic husband, a crown, and one single task: not to anger this blond-haired, handsome man with cold eyes.

Welcome to the Middle Ages, former mid-level manager.