Clara leaned over me on the hotel bed with her hair tangled against her bare shoulders.
She raised one slender hand, curling her fingers until a golden ring of light gathered in the center of her palm. Pressing her fingertips gently against my swollen jaw and the bruised skin along my cheekbone, she started the healing.
A soothing, cool sensation seeped straight through the bone, washing away the throbbing ache that old bastard Richard’s fist had left behind.
Within seconds, the loose feeling in my molars tightened up, and the swelling went down until my skin felt completely normal again.
“Don’t blame on Sir Richard.” She said, “He doesn’t have a choice.”
Yeah right… But that’s not something I care about right now.
I reached up and touched my face in disbelief. "You actually used magic in this world. I thought you’d never. Thanks for breaking the rule for me."
Clara dropped her hand. "Things have escalated beyond my control anyway. At this point, following restriction feels quite pointless.”
She had a point.
If Luna can already possess delivery guy and assassins can break through our front door with axes, worrying about minor healing spells is a waste of energy.
"Hey, take it easy," I tried to comfort her, sliding an arm behind my head to lean back against the pillows. "We still have dozens of methods to break this soul bond that we haven't even tested yet."
Clara turned her head, giving me a dry look. "You mean dozens of different sexual positions?"
"Well, who says we can't solve an arcane crisis while having a little fun along the way?" I offered a shameless grin.
She rolled her eyes, pulling the blanket up over her chest.
“Besides, I think there will always be a way.”
“Of?”
“Survival.” I added, “We’ll figure something out.”
Looking at her, an old question crossed my mind.
"Seriously though," I turned onto my side, propping my head up with an elbow. "How did you manage to set up a life here in the first place?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like… Getting a bank account, signing an apartment lease, buying IKEA furniture... none of that is familiar to you, right? How did a medieval Countess pull all of that off without getting thrown in a mental health center on day one?"
Clara tilted her head thoughtfully. "It was surprisingly easy, to be honest. The moment I appeared on the streets of this city, endless people approached me offering assistance."
"Wait... really?"
"Yes," she nodded. "When I first crossed over, I was in an alleyway surrounded by massive glass towers and roaring metal carriages.
I had drawn my dagger, convinced that every stranger walking past could be hostile. But whenever men approached me, they spoke with great gentleness.
They thought I was an actress, bought me warm drinks, offered me coats, and guided me to places where people handle documents."
That’s so fucking unfair. How come my first crossing was being chased by a dog?
She paused, recalling the details with a faint look of amusement.
"One man with slicked-back hair spent three whole days assisting me. He took me to several offices, had my portrait taken against a white screen, and handed me those small cards with my name embossed on them.
He told me that as a non-national artist seeking shelter from foreign conflicts, I was entitled to rapid settlement assistance. He even paid the first three months of rent on that apartment for me."
"And you never suspected anything?" I asked, my jaw practically on the floor.
"At first, I believed he was some demon seeking to enslave me," Clara confessed casually. "In my realm, anyone who offers unearned gifts expects land, blood, or political fealty in return.
So, I stayed on high alert, waiting for him to demand my submission. But he merely asked me to record a lot of videos of my feet and post them to him. “
WTF!?
“Did you agree to that?”
“Yes.” She said, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Nah, it’s okay,” I asked, this tea is crazy. “And what happened then?”
“I recorded the video and posted one of them publicly.” She said, “Somehow it got very popular, and more people contacted me trying to offer a hand.”
“God, you baited those poor dudes.”
“I don’t understand what you’re suggesting, but I feel that people here strike me as generous and gentle compared to the cutthroats back home."
I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
In all my years, this is the first time I’ve heard a girl consider a man buying videos of her feet to be gentlemanly behavior.
Come to think of it, though, 21st-century men are actually pretty decent when compared to their medieval counterparts.
"Clara, let me educate you on how this world actually works," I said, shaking my head. "First of all, people aren't gentle by nature here; they behave because we have police officers with firearms and a legal system that locks people in concrete cages for decades.”
“We have that too.” She countered.
“Second, and most importantly: nobody treated you nicely out of the goodness of their hearts. They helped you because you are breathtakingly gorgeous."
"My appearance made that much of a difference here?" She said, “In my world, it’s more like a curse to me.”
"You have no idea," I scoffed. "If you were very ugly with empty pockets, people would believe you a bagger or homeless.
You, on the other hand, look like a fantasy princess who stepped out of a high-budget movie.
To those guys, buying you lunch and setting up a shady fake identity was just an investment to get your attention. Probably once in their lifetime.
My cheat code in your realm is modern firearms and technologies, but your cheat code in my world is existing with that face."
“I think men in your world are just nicer.”
“Well, no one that irresistible ever gave that credit before.”
Clara looked at me. "So, you are saying you find me irresistible as well?"
"I never claimed otherwise," I muttered defensively, feeling my ears warm up.
A thought suddenly struck me, and I sat up straight. "Wait, what about your medieval attire? They are still inside the crime scene at your apartment. Should I sneak back past the police tape and grab them for you?"
Clara waved her hand. "There is no need to take such a foolish risk for mere garments."
"You don't care about leaving your tailored wardrobe behind?"
"Why would I?" she said, sounding indifferent. "Back in the Imperial court, garments are the least of my concerns. Leaving a few dresses in this realm changes nothing."
Damn it. But I actually wanted my fur gambeson back.
"Right, of course," I chuckled dryly, collapsing back onto the mattress. "I forgot I'm sharing a bed with a literal mediaeval oligarch."
"I am a ruling Countess," she said with a light, teasing kick of her foot beneath the covers. "Did you expect me to do my own laundry back home?"
"Must be nice," I muttered, pulling the blanket over both of us as the hotel room grew quiet. "Must be real nice..."