My love, are you recovered?”
I heard the voice in the darkness. A man’s voice. It was close to me. Then I realized my so-heavy eyelids were shut. Little by little, I managed to part them and allow some light to hit my retinas.
The man was lying beside me in this soft bed that smelled of sweet white flowers. Indeed, as I moved I noticed the petals strewn about us. Stephanotis.
“Love?”
I faced him, and my spine stiffened. He was handsome with his dark hair and eyes, but I didn’t recognize him. I chanced to answer. “Yes?”
He smoothed hair from my forehead. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
My eyes widened slightly but I said nothing.
“It’s all right,” he said. “The physician said you might have memory loss for a while.”
“Memory loss?” I made a confused face at him. I was sure that any second now all my thoughts would click into place.
He gave me an unconvinced expression. “Tell me my name.”
So simple a question. And yet I did not know. “I can’t.”
“Your name?”
I don’t know my own name!
I sat up, heart racing—but his hand on my shoulder was reassuring and warm.
“Stay calm,” he said soothingly. “You are safe here. All will be fine.”
“How is it going to be fine when I can’t remember who I am?” My mind raced, searching for details. I could think in sentences, I knew language, I could identify that we were in a bed, but I could not remember myself.
How the hell do I know those are stephanotis flower petals and I don’t know my name?
He leaned in and kissed my forehead. His action was one of familiarity, but it startled me and I flinched. Although he noticed, he didn’t seem bothered by it. “Your memory will return. In the meantime, I will tell you everything you want to know. That is what any good husband would do for his wife, don’t you agree?”
I winced at his words. The confusion and uncertainty in my mind were disturbing, but the sudden suspicion in my heart made me want to flee. “Yes,” I said calmly. “You’re my husband?”
He nodded and offered an easy, charming smile. “I am. For many happy years now.”
His dark hair was thick and hung to his shoulders. His eyes sparkled with kindness. His bare chest and arms were muscular. He seemed a happy, pleasant man; healthy and robust. His demeanor was calm and non-threatening. Still, I felt misgivings I could not justify. “What is your name?”
He hesitated for a heartbeat. “Aidon.”
“And mine?”
He kissed my cheek; this time I didn’t flinch. “When you remember that, we’ll know your memory has returned.” He slid away from me and rose from the bed. He was naked and kept his back turned as he lifted his pants from a seat nearby. “For now, let’s walk around our kingdom and see if anything is familiar.”
Our kingdom?
He turned and flashed me a smile that could melt hearts. He backed away. “I’ll wait for you out here.”
After he’d passed through the doorway, I slid from the bed. Unclothed, I looked myself over. No bruises. I felt my head. There was a bit of a knot near my temple. A glance around the room revealed an armoire with one door open, a lovely dress hanging from a hook on the door. It was made of copper- and bronze-colored fabrics. The off-the-shoulder style had a tight, dropped waist. Thin, gauzy layers created bell sleeves, and the matching skirts mimicked them perfectly. I flipped it around and saw the back dipped low except for a single ribbon that, when tied, kept the shoulders in place.
In moments I donned the dress that had obviously been fitted exactly for me—but tying that ribbon was impossible, unless I knotted it, and then it wouldn’t be the correct tautness. I was sure he—Aidon—would assist me with that detail. I glanced around for a mirror and discovered one on the armoire door.
My face was . . . unfamiliar.
Then I noticed the red marks and the burns on my neck.
What happened to me?
The sounds of movement beyond this room reminded me that Aidon was waiting for me. I found some slippers in the armoire and hurried out of the room.
His expression lit up when he saw me.
“I need some help with this.” I held the dress up in the front with my hands. “There are ribbons in the back that need to be tied.”
“I can manage that.”
I turned around.
“Forgive me. I should have sent a maid to see if you needed assistance.” His fingers were deft with the ribbon and barely touched me, but at the last, as he drew the ribbon into a bow, his fingertips slid across my shoulder blades and made me shiver. “One of them could make a prettier bow, but this will suffice.”
“I’m sure it will.” Finished, I turned so he could see me. The ends of the satin ribbon tickled.
“My beauty . . . I do adore you in that dress.”
I smiled for him, but lost it. “What happened to my neck?”
My question chased the happiness from his expression. Sadness diminished him and he reached out to me, caressing me near the injuries. Seeing the marks must have stirred his anger. His face hardened for an instant, then he covered it.
“It is done, and it will heal. Let us have something to eat, and then we will walk.” He offered me his arm.
After a moment’s hesitation, I slid my hand into the crook of his arm and began walking with him. “I’m not hungry. Can we just walk? Maybe that will stir up my appetite.”
“Whatever you wish, my love.”
As we strolled along, the grandeur of this place couldn’t be missed. It was merely a hallway, but the carpet was an elaborate wool weave. The curtains were more like tapestries. The walls were crimson and gilded frames held lovely paintings and the occasional mirror. There were sculptures in alabaster, in ebony, and in jade.
My grip slipped from his arm and I roamed closer to a window. Beyond the glass stretched a darkened world of rolling hillsides lit by silvered moonlight and twinkling stars. There was a gentle breeze out there, blowing over the fields and making the plants undulate like the sea.
That silvered light drained the colors, though. I found no recollection in the view.
This vulnerability made me sick inside. This was wrong. Knowing things, but knowing nothing of the people around me, not even knowing where the halls of “my” home would lead me . . . this could drive me mad.
My shoulders slumped and a sigh slipped from my lips.
His fingertips strayed across my skin at my spine, below the ribbon, and traveled downward. It was a gentle touch, affectionate and teasing. My shoulders straightened and my sigh turned from dispirited to desirous.
“Aidon . . . ”
“Yes, my love?”
“Show me something I am sure to remember. Something wonderful. Or something terrible. But I must remember!”
He searched my eyes as he considered my request. I waited.
Finally, he said, “This way.”
We walked through this incredible palace—a palace!—and arrived at a set of huge golden doors set with ivory carvings and iron handles shaped like stephanotis flowers. Twined stems created the handles that curved out in an arch and down to rejoin the iron.
Aidon gestured. “Open them.”
I put my hands on the cold iron and pushed the great doors. They swung more easily than I expected, and as they parted a grand hall was revealed. Thick white pillars held up a ceiling so high I grew dizzy looking up. The floor was black marble and, as torches flickered to life, lighting the expanse of the hall, that marble gleamed.
Aidon took my hand and guided me onward. Halfway across the hall, he eased in front of me and took my other hand, dancing me to the right, leading me to the left, then twirling me around. His movements were smooth; mine were awkward. The dancing was strange, and I wondered if this was all a nightmare.
We stopped before an ivory staircase. He coaxed me up the seven steps and knelt between two regal chairs of gold. With his hand palm up, he indicated the seat with more feminine curves and carvings to it.
“This is your throne, my beloved queen.”