C2 CHAPTER2

Devon Beaumont's eyes fluttered open, and he squinted against the harsh brightness assaulting his senses. Within moments, his eyes adjusted, and his squints morphed into a frown. Glancing around, he realized he was in a room that screamed Gothic—black walls, dark blue curtains, and an eerie emptiness save for the bed he occupied. Something was decidedly off.

What the hell?

Driven by an intense curiosity, Devon attempted to rise from the bed to investigate his surroundings, but a sharp cry of pain escaped him as he moved.

What the hell, again?

Confusion swirled within him as pain throbbed in his head, chest, abdomen, and legs. What on earth had happened? Was he in some sort of brawl?

The door creaked, drawing his attention to the newcomer—a young, dark-skinned woman of striking beauty, yet something about her sent a shiver down his spine. Clad in a white robe, she kept her eyes demurely on the floor as she approached.

"Master," she bowed, then knelt before him. "How are you feeling today?" Her voice was soft, her gaze still locked on the floor as if it held all the answers.

"What am I doing here, and why am I in so much pain?" Devon's voice was laced with bewilderment. "Can you tell me why my whole body is aching?"

"Master, you've sustained severe injuries, and I've been appointed to care for you until you're fully recovered," the maid explained, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. "Is there anything you require at the moment?"

Right on cue, Devon's stomach growled—a loud, demanding sound that left no doubt she'd heard it. "I... I think I could use some food," he managed to say.

She rose swiftly. "As you wish, Master."

Before she exited, Devon called out, "What's your name?"

"Sia, Master. My name is Sia," she replied, then departed.

Devon let out a soft sigh, his mind racing to piece together the puzzle of his situation. Despite the urge to explore beyond the confines of the room, his injuries grounded him. Looking down, he noticed the swathes of white bandages enveloping his body, and as he touched his face, he felt the bandages there too.

Was he involved in an accident?

The door swung open once more, and Sia entered, balancing a tray with a hefty plate, a clear water jug, and a glass of water.

"Your meal, Master. I'd be happy to feed you, if that's alright with you," Sia offered.

"As if I have any other option," Devon remarked, observing her approach, tray in hand, ready to assist him.

Devon opened his mouth to take a bite, and as the broth hit his tongue, he let out an involuntary moan of pleasure—it was delicious.

"What is this?" he inquired.

"It's elk soup, Master. It's excellent for healing. The King had it prepared especially for you," Sia informed him.

"The... the king?" Devon echoed, taken aback. Who was this king?

"Yes, Master. Six days ago, he told us all that the third Prince had suffered a tragic accident and was being brought home for treatment. You were in terrible shape when you arrived, even comatose," Sia elaborated.

Devon's gaze fixed on her, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. He was the third prince? Of what realm? Was he in a kingdom? Is that why everything seemed so foreign? How could he even begin to answer when his mind was a blank slate? How could he grasp his surroundings when his past was a complete void? Sia had just mentioned a severe accident. What kind of accident? And why couldn't he recall a single thing?

These questions plagued his thoughts as he continued to eat. After finishing his meal, Sia handed him some water and suggested he rest.

Heeding her advice, Devon closed his eyes, hoping sleep would erase his troubles. He was drifting off when voices outside his door jolted him awake. He strained to listen, and the snippets of conversation only deepened his confusion.

"...Is he asleep?"

"Yes, Royal Father," he heard Sia confirm. "I mixed a sedative into his soup."

What? Why?

"Good, now leave us!"

The authoritative tone must belong to the Royal Father. Was there someone else with him?

"Father, with his condition so dire, what will become of his marriage? It's supposed to be in three days, remember?"

"We'll need to wait until he's recovered, Liam. There's simply no other option. I'm not pleased about this delay myself, but that's the situation," the Royal Father stated.

"I want to go see him," Liam insisted.

"No! He needs his rest now," the Royal Father commanded, and then Devon heard their footsteps gradually recede.

Confusion swirled within him. Who was he meant to marry? Who were those voices outside his bedroom? Why was he being drugged, and why wasn't the drug working?

Could someone please rouse him from this nightmare?