Martin’s hair is a mess, his five o’clock shadow looks more like it’s hitting 10 p.m., and his breath stinks of smoke when I walk outside, giddy and clueless, and stop in my tracks at the sight of him.

“Oh!” I say.

His eyes narrow. “This is twice now” is all he says back.

“Hey . . . no judgment zone.”

He crosses his arms. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.” Then he crinkles his nose. “You stink of cabbage.”

“Well, you smell like a chimney,” I quip. “Or a burnt down castle.”

“That is a dark joke for a time like this.”

He’s right. People got hurt. My eyes trace his face and the lines that mark it with a mix of age and exhaustion, obvious fatigue darkening into sunken shadows that round his eyes and cheeks. It’s possible he’s actually getting sick of my shit now. “I might be dead, Martin,” I say in way of an explanation.

He lets out a heavy sigh, the icy look on his face folding for a moment, much to my relief. “Your reaction to thinking you might be dead is hardly a healthy or productive one,” he says dryly.

I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty healthy and productive.”

“Eugh.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me so he can inspect my body for marks. He even moves his fingers along the collar of my dress to ensure nothing unsightly peeks out from under my garments, and his touch has me getting a little riled up again. When he notices the excitement on my face, he draws back and gives me a disapproving look. “At least Prince Leon is more subtle than Peter.”

“You don’t call him ‘Prince Peter’?”

“He’s an advisor now. A shit one, at that.”

I giggle. Martin does not.

He leads me back to the house. It’s a short walk, a quiet one, but I refuse to let things get awkward over something as silly as this. In the shadow of the doorway, I reach up and tug on his chin playfully, which earns me an unimpressed stare. “You look tired.”

“I invite you to imagine why.”

I give him a cheeky smile and joke, “Want me to help you out?”

Well, that was the wrong thing to say—though I realize it too late.

His expression somehow darkens even more and simultaneously burns red. He leads me inside the house, closes the door, then spins me toward him and leans in. I shrink automatically at the intensity of his gaze. “Do not say things like that,” he growls. “Especially in public.” His voice is more stern than I have ever heard it, and his green eyes look frigid, with none of the warmth he sometimes seems to reserve just for me. “The only reason I am not more angry with you is because your situation is very strange and because you are at least choosing partners who could benefit us politically. But do not be a fool. If this is your one and only life now, you should be acting more carefully, not less. Do you understand me?”

“You told me to pursue them,” I say in a tiny voice.

He glowers. “Has pregnancy been eliminated in the future, or are you just forgetting the side effect of having sex? You have no idea how an unmarried, pregnant queen will be treated, but I can assure you that it won’t be good for anyone, especially not you.” His eyes bore into mine. “Do you understand why I am concerned?”

I nod woodenly. He studies me for a moment, as if trying to gauge how seriously I’m taking him, then he sighs. Like a veil has fallen, the tension fades from his jaw at last and his eyes soften back to their normal tiredness. He doesn’t even have the energy to be mad at me, I realize. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being reckless,” I whisper.

He sighs again and surprises me by pulling me into a rough hug. His hands press into my back, holding me impossibly closer. “You are so incredibly irritating,” he murmurs. “I despise you.”

His words temper the guilt I’m feeling, but only slightly. Because I know what he means. He’s not mad or disappointed—not really, or not entirely. He’s worried about me. He’s scared for Alvione. And he doesn’t despise me. I hug him back. “I love you too,” I murmur. He tenses for a moment, then hugs me tighter.

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“Don’t say that either.”

“Okay.”

The hug is long, much needed, more for him than me, I think. And though the smell of his cigarettes lingers, he’s more than just one thing. He’s mint and lavender, fiery and quiet, cool and warm, soft and mine. He’s my friend. No, more than that. He might be the best friend I’ve ever had. I hold him as tight as I can, as tight as he needs, and I try to pour every ounce of affection I have into the embrace so he knows just how sorry I am and how much I love him.

Then I remember that I have news. “Leon will come with us to Viridia.”

Martin grumbles by my ear, “Well, he better, considering all the work you put in to convince him.”

That makes me laugh, and he pulls back from the hug to frown at me. “C’mon,” I say, beaming up at him. “You’re funny.”

His lips twitch, and his hands cup my face. He looks me over for a long moment as I smile at him adoringly. “Idiot,” he says finally. But then he smiles back, and I feel like everything is going to be okay.

“What are you two doing?”

Martin’s hands fall away, and we both turn to Peter, who’s lounging in the doorway, watching us. He’s snacking on something that looks like dried meat, and he’s chewing rather loudly, as if to emphasize his presence. When my eyes meet his, he keeps his gaze locked on me, an annoyed grin flashing across his face.

“Leon is down for our trip,” I say before something worse can be said.

“Oh, I heard,” Peter replies. Ah. So . . . “When do we leave?” He pops another piece of jerky in his mouth. Guess he doesn’t care.

“No reason to waste time,” Martin says stiffly. “Tomorrow is fine, though tonight would be best. We should take Miri as well. Keep an eye on her. She can be your personal maid.” He’s talking to me.

“Has Eliana ever had a personal maid?” I ask.

“Yes,” Martin says. “Though when you showed up, I called them off because I was afraid you’d start spilling your secrets to everyone.”

“Hey!” But he has a point. I pause. “Are you going to teleport us to Viridia?”

Peter barks a laugh that makes me jump, and Martin gives him an irritated stare. “I cannot,” he explains slowly. “I can only teleport to places within a certain distance due to issues with time and space. And only to places I have been before.”

“Really?” My heart sinks. “I get carsick.”

“‘Car’?” Martin says.

“It’s like a carriage without a horse,” Peter mumbles, his mouth full of food. “She told me last night.”

I tense, but Martin just says, “Oh.”

I don’t dare a glance at him. “It’s fine. I’m more interested in talking to the king of Viridia about Alistria. Maybe then I can find my way home, if I don’t ever . . . wake up, that is.”

That kills the conversation. Peter even pauses in his eating.

“I mean, I’ll make sure Alvione gets the support it needs first,” I babble. “Like the trees or whatever.”

At that, Peter laughs again and resumes eating. Martin just sighs. “I will collect Miri,” he says. “You both prepare for travel.” He turns to me. “It will take a handful of days to get to the Ward border, then another several days to get to Ward Castle. And even more to get to Viridia Castle from there. We might as well leave immediately while we have you here without interruption. Though it is unfortunate that we do not know what has happened to you in your world, your new situation does at least guarantee you will not be falling unconscious in enemy territory. We should use that for now.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, but I can barely feel it.

So . . . a couple of weeks? If I don’t wake up in my world by then, then Peter is right. I’m definitely dead.

I look up at Peter, but he’s looking at Martin’s hand on my shoulder. Then said hand lifts and finds its way to my cheek, drawing my attention back to Martin. “I will be back shortly,” he says quietly. “You remain here. When I return, be ready to depart.”

I nod. Then he leaves, and it’s just me and Peter. We stare at each other.

“He touches you a lot,” Peter says.

I huff. “Really? We’re having that conversation right now?”

Peter grins and approaches me. When he gets close, he cups my cheek in a cheap imitation of Martin. “‘Oh, my queen,’” he says in a mocking, horny little voice.

I roll my eyes. “You’re crazy.”

“So are you, if I understood what was being said correctly.” He tilts his head at me, his fake smile widening slightly. His thumb brushes against my skin with surprising tenderness. “Leon, huh? You are building quite the collection.”

“And what of it?” I shoot back.

“I don’t like to lose,” he whispers, then he’s pulling me close, his lips, a bit of teeth, finding their way to my neck. My body lets it happen, wants it to happen, even as my brain echoes Martin’s words about “being careful” back at me. “‘Queen Eliana,’” Peter murmurs in my ear, “what is it you really desire?”

The question comes with an immediate answer, one that sears itself into my mind before I have a moment to think it through.

I want to go home.

The thought hits like a truck, as unexpected as it is painful. Sure, my life before this was imperfect, but it wasn’t bad. I was going to make it better. I want that chance back. I want to do something with my life.

My real life.

I want to go home.