I woke to overzealous birds chirping outside my window like they were getting graded on their tweet volume.
For a blissful moment, I just lay there enjoying the peaceful morning.
My brain was still in that foggy halfway home between dreams and reality at that point, but then memories of the previous night came in like a wave.
Portal. Gremlins. Bonus portal. Bratty blonde elven princess in a platemail bikini.
Right. And here we are.
I sat up and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. Just past eight in the morning. Not an ungodly hour, but not exactly sleeping in either, at least not for me.
I stretched, feeling some looseness in my muscles from last night’s monster mash. The troll tussle. The beastie battle, if you will.
Scanning over myself, the System-enhanced healing had already taken care of most of the would-be bruises, but I could still feel the ghost of where the troll had caught me with that glancing blow.
After pulling on a fresh t-shirt and jeans, I padded down the hallway barefoot, pausing briefly outside the guest room where Elsa was sleeping.
I pressed my ear against the door, hearing nothing but silence from within.
Part of me thought it’d be hilarious if she was snoring like crazy, but there was none of that.
I wondered if I should wake her, but there really was no immediate need.
When I gave her the tour, she’d mentioned needing eight hours of rest at minimum and it had only been about seven since we’d turned in.
Best to let Sleeping Beauty claim that beauty sleep quota.
I doubted the fate of multiple dimensions hinged on her getting up before nine.
Then again, the fact that it hinged on her at all was kind of alarming.
Downstairs in the kitchen, I set about making breakfast.
If the princess’s reaction to delivery pizza was any indication, Earth food was going to blow her mind.
I decided on pancakes—simple enough that even my bachelor pad tried and true cooking skills could handle them, but fancy enough to impress someone who’d probably never seen ’I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter Spray’.
I mixed the batter from scratch, using a recipe I’d memorized from countless Sunday mornings as a kid with my stepmom.
On a whim, I folded in some blueberries I had in the freezer.
Soon, the kitchen filled with the comforting smell of cooking pancakes and freshly brewed coffee.
It was actually nice. I didn’t usually pull out all the stops for myself, but I had a guest.
A part of me questioned why I felt so eager to impress the pointy-eared brat, but come on—we all know why.
I’d just finished stacking the last golden-brown pancake on a plate when I heard movement upstairs.
There was a slight creak of a floorboard, then what sounded suspiciously like someone stubbing their toe and cursing in a language that definitely wasn’t English.
"Elsa?" I called up. "Breakfast is ready if you want to come down."
A muffled groan was the only response, followed by what sounded like a pillow hitting a wall with considerable force.
"Not a morning person," I muttered to myself. "At least we have that in common."
After a few minutes with no sign of Her Royal Highness, I decided to check on her.
Maybe she’d gotten lost in the cavernous expanse of my modest three-bedroom farmhouse.
I made up a plate with a stack of pancakes, drizzled with real maple syrup and topped with a pat of melting butter.
I grabbed a fork, a napkin, and headed upstairs.
I hesitated for a moment in front of her door, momentarily questioning all my life decisions.
But then I knocked softly. "Elsa? You awake in there?"
"Enter, my subject," came a groggy yet imperious voice from within.
So help me, I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes.
I pushed the door open and nearly dropped the plate at the sight that greeted me.
In about two seconds I went from eye-rolling to jaw-dropping.
Elsa was sprawled across the bed carelessly.
To be clear, the borrowed t-shirt had ridden up to expose her silk undergarments, her smooth pale legs, and a taut stomach that showed clear signs of defined muscle beneath creamy skin.
Her perfectly golden hair was down now, tousled in a way that was way sexier than it really should be.
It was an effortless look that still probably took stylists hours to achieve before a photoshoot, made all the more intriguing by her sharp ears.
She was propped up on pillows with a remote control clutched in one delicate hand like a scepter.
She was watching the TV that sat on the dresser opposite the bed with the volume low.
I hadn’t even considered that she’d figure out how to use the television. I’d shown her where the bathroom was last night, but nothing else.
On the screen, Bugs Bunny was outsmarting Elmer Fudd, not exactly a novel scene in TV history.
The rabbit’s Brooklyn accent filled the silence between us as he delivered another perfectly timed "What’s up, Doc?"
"Good morning," I managed, trying to keep my eyes on her face and not on the expanse of leg, crotch, and tummy currently on display. It was like actively trying not to think about a busty pink gamer-girl unicorn elf. "I brought breakfast."
Elsa’s eyes flicked from the TV to me, then to the plate in my hands. Her expression shifted from one face to the next as she caught up to just what was going on. "Excellent. You may serve me in bed."
She gestured vaguely at the nightstand like a queen instructing a peasant. "I require sustenance after my journey."
"Right," I said, fighting back another eye roll that would have probably sprained my sockets.
I set the plate down, but instead of leaving, I leaned against the wall to watch her reaction to the cartoon. "I see you figured out the TV."
"Is that what you call this magical viewing window?" Elsa asked, her eyes drawn back to the screen where Bugs was now dressed as a woman, leading a confused Elmer on a wild chase. "It’s quite remarkable. What manner of scrying allows you to see these bizarre little people?"
"They’re not real people," I explained. "They’re animated drawings—cartoons. Made for entertainment."
Elsa’s eyes widened in awe, her lips parting slightly. "You mean someone created these beings wholecloth? For mere amusement?"