Isabella was completely, utterly and wholly bewildered. She could not speak, nor think properly. She found herself in disbelief, here but not really here; her mind floating from one memory in the past to her current present.
A memory of five years ago, an opened book in her lap and a younger, healthier and happier version of herself reading that characteristic book in her old room. When she still had a home and a family. Before the war, before her imprisonment and before her mind was filled with dreadful thoughts. Before every part of her was a reminder of what she had endured, of the things that had been done to her and the things she had had to witness. Who will tell my story? She had often wondered when her mind was too restless. I'm nobody, and yet I am someone. People should know what they did. But she had been alone, undeservingly alone. And only her roaring imagination had kept her sane. She had often visualized a different variant of herself, stronger, smarter; and she had pictured him. Always him.
And her present. It was so opposed to what she had once imagined, so sorrowful. A version of her that was barely more than bones. A version of herself so weak and powerless, regretful, miserable. She had felt alive mere seconds ago, but could a dead girl walking be truly alive? Because that's what she really was. Things had gone so wrong, and who had she tried to fool? She was broken, she was alive but her soul had died three years ago. But he was here. Looking right into her soulless eyes, not the way she had pictured it but it was still him. Always him.
How? Why?
Isabella could not believe her eyes. She must have gone crazy, maybe death had finally claimed her and this was where she was where her soul was supposed to dawdle for the rest of her days –which, honestly, didn't sound so bad if he was there with her-. Or maybe she had gone into a coma and this was all a product of her imagination. Or she could be vividly hallucinating. Whatever the reason behind all this was, she was sure of only one thing: this couldn't be real.
Prince Rowan Whitethorn was a character from Isabella's favorite saga of books, Throne of Glass, written by Sarah. J. Maas. She had read the books before the war had started, three years ago, before she was captured. She had loved those books so much...she had dreamed, wished and prayed to be a part of that world, for magic to exist and for her to be able to experience it. She had even written fan-fiction about it. She had been obsessed with the characters, especially Rowan. She had always liked him, from his first appearance to his last. Love had never been her partner, she had never loved somebody romantically and nobody had loved her either. But books, they were so easy to love, so easy to fall in love with their characters. And Rowan, he had been her perdition. So she knew enough about those books to recognize her favorite character.
And it was him who was standing in front of her. His long silver hair tied at his back, his pointy ears visible through it and his facial tattoo a beautiful art. His muscled arms were crossed in front of his –also muscled- chest. And his gaze was unequivocally on her. She felt pierced to her very dead soul by those eyes. She had goosebumps.
Rowan spoke to her, she had no idea what he had said but it had sounded like a question. Isabella was too struck by the whole situation to say anything more than just a simple "what?"
He must have not liked that answer, because he frowned and said something else to her. Isabella didn't understand anything of what he said but his voice caught her attention. It was even more sonorous than what she had imagined. It was manly and attractive, rich, just like the rest of him. Isabella had never been fond of guys with long hair but Rowan had always been the exception. His long silver hair reminded her of starlight and his face...holy shit, his face was even more gorgeous than any fan-art. His tan shiny skin looked healthy and striking. His wicked-looking tattoo etched down the left side of his harsh face that started at his temple and flew over his jaw and down his throat where it disappeared beneath his clothes. His whole self was so stunning that Isabella wanted to ask him anything if it meant that he would just keep looking at her forever.
But his eyes were his most beautiful characteristic –at least, after his face...and his muscular body-. Those pine green eyes seemed to prick under her skin, deep into her very bones. She almost felt like falling back on her knees just by looking right at those eyes. How many times had she imagined this? How many times had she wished to meet him? If this was all a dream or a consequence of her being ill...then she was going to enjoy it. She sent god a small pray in gratitude for this, because it was the most realistic dream she had ever had.
Isabella had been so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice when Rowan shouted an order to the rest of the soldiers –she had even forgotten they were not alone-. It took her too long to notice the kind of order Rowan had given them. Soon two soldiers came to her sides and grabbed her arms. Their strong hold on her made let out a fast scream she couldn't contain. Was it even possible for someone to be so strong?
He never tore his gaze away from hers.
Rowan said another order to the men at her sides –she could have sworn it sounded as a threat but she couldn't be sure- and turned around to start walking. She didn't want to follow his men but they were dragging her against her will. She wasn't even walking, her feet remained unmoved. They were so tall that they had literally scooped her up and were taking her to somewhere she did not know. She might like Rowan, but that didn't mean she had lost use of her common sense. One must never follow a man into the woods at night. Especially if you didn't know that man. Or if he wasn't real.
Isabella noticed they didn't have any horse, which could only mean that their camp was close enough for them to just walk. She remembered a fact from the books; fae could run faster than horses so they tended not to use them. Shit, did that mean she would have to support the pain from their grip for very long? She had been walking for days but she hadn't been dragged against her will to do so. And she knew she wasn't strong enough to get rid of them, even less all of them.
She knew that Rowan was fae but were the rest of the men too? She hadn't paid them enough attention to notice if they had pointy ears too but their grip on her felt...unnaturally strong. Rowan had been a general before meeting Aelin (his love interest), he had been Maeve's general; just like Lorcan. She didn't know what was happening but if she wanted to come to any conclusion, it would have to be based on what she knew about the books. If Rowan was a general –and he was, confirmed after their encounter- then the rest of the soldiers must all be fae too. Soldiers, and based on their uniforms, they were from Doranelle. Oh, she was doomed. If they were taking her to Doranelle, then it would be over. Fae didn't like mortals in their capital, and many of them thought it was funny to torture humans.
Isabella tried to recall what she knew about Rowan and ToG's world. Rowan had been known as one –if not the- most powerful fae in existence. His animal form was a white-tailed hawk. Before meeting Aelin, he had lost his "mate" and unburned child, an experience that had destroyed him. He had become cold and cruel; he was just surviving, not really living. He had been known as a very harsh and brutal teacher. There were many rumors about him, so most people feared him.
Isabella wasn't sure what was truly going on but if this was really Rowan Whitethorn, then she had to discover what time it was. She needed to know how close to the story taking place she was. If Rowan met Aelin, then she had a better chance at surviving. The only thing she was sure of was that Rowan's "mate" had already died. He had gotten his facial tattoo after her death so that meant Rowan would behave like a cruel drama bitch. Great.
If Rowan was still a general that meant that he hadn't started training Aelin yet, but that didn't mean that she had to be far away from the story developing as it should. Maybe he had already been given the order to train her and he was just in his last mission before going to look for her. That would be the best case scenario.
Thankfully, their camp had been close. Isabella took a look at the tents, some bigger than others, the fire placed in the middle of the camp, the wagons stationed to the right side of the camp, and the people. So many people. They had all stopped what they had been doing to look at her. She knew her clothes were still dirty and she looked miserable, but she also knew that that was not what had caught their attention. They were all wearing old military uniforms. Black leggings, brown knee-high boots and button-down white shirts. They all looked as if they had come out from filming a historical movie. She, on the other hand, looked like a nineteen-year-old girl from the twenty-first century. And her clothes were abnormal to them. They all seemed confused and curious.
She prayed they didn't consider her a bad omen and decided to burn her alive.
The soldiers holding her followed Rowan back to one of the biggest tents. Rowan held the tent's fabric used as a door and kept it open for the soldiers to walk in. Once she stood in the middle of the canvas, Rowan gave them one more order before dismissing them with a short nod of his head. They left and she stayed alone with Rowan. Isabella was glad their grip was not on her anymore. They had even left marks on her wrists. She tried to massage them gently but it would do no good.
Even if she had wished for this a thousand times, she couldn't help but feel afraid...and also self-conscious because her crush was in front of her and she looked terrible. She knew it was not the moment to care about such things...but it was very difficult when a gorgeous guy like Rowan kept looking at her. Isabella was suddenly, painfully aware of her lack of clothes. She wasn't wearing anything out of the ordinary, but she knew that people from ToG did not wear the kind of clothes she was wearing. She wanted to say something, to tell Rowan so many things...but she did not speak his language and she wasn't sure if he spoke hers either. But the silence was too awkward for her to care. Isabella opened her mouth to say something, anything when the sound of footsteps was loud enough for her to hear. The tent's door was opened and three male figures entered the canvas.
The tallest, a man well over six foot, had onyx eyes and matching shoulder-length hair. He also had cruel, granite-hewn facial features. He was looking at her with a bored expression, but his eyebrows shot upwards after taking a better look at her. He was surprised, maybe even curious but he also looked angry. Isabella knew this man. She had also liked him a lot, enough to write fan-fictions about him too. He had been her second favorite book boyfriend after Rowan. This man was Lorcan Salvatarre, and he was staring at her as if she had come out from a hole full of rats. Or maybe that was his normal expression.
The second man, also very tall, was broad shouldered. He was well-muscled yet lithe, with tan skin, and a feline appearance. He had a kind, content looking face of lovely features with tawny-orange eyes and golden hair cropped just below the neck. He was heavily tattooed with a band of tattoos encircling his muscled neck. He was also inspecting Isabella with his cat-like eyes but he seemed rather amazed by her presence. Not annoyed. Gavriel, oh dear Gavriel. Isabella had adored him, and she had cried a lot when he had died. But he was alive here.
The last man was incredibly beautiful. He had curly, golden hair and dark onyx eyes and golden-brown skin. She remembered him too. Fenrys Moonbeam. He was also more beautiful than she had imagined but Isabella couldn't help but notice that his face bore no scar yet. She was glad about that. He looked the most curious; he even went as far as to smile at her when she locked eyes with him. She would have answered him with a smile of her own if she hadn't been so shocked. And maybe a little horny.
Her favorite characters were in front of her. And they were real. And they were looking right at her. Isabella felt like flying. And only the sound of Rowan's voice was powerful enough to get her out of her trance. He didn't speak to her but to his colleagues. If her memory did not fail her, fae spoke the Old Language. A tongue that could not even be pronounced by mortals. And she was a mortal so she stopped trying to understand what was coming out of his mouth. Gavriel asked him a question but Rowan didn't answer. It was obvious he didn't know the answer to what he had been asked. Lorcan must have asked something too, but it had come out so fast that it had sounded more like a growl than a question. However, Rowan was able to give him an answer this time. Fenrys stood silent, his eyes still on her. She wanted to make herself small under his gaze, but a part of her also wanted to jump on him. They were all so painfully beautiful.
They held a short conversation before Gavriel turned to look back at her and directed one of his questions at her. Before she was even able to tell him that she could not understand him, Rowan spoke for her and answered Gavriel's question. She frowned at that, she didn't like it when people didn't give her the chance to explain herself. Even if they could not understand her. She had met plenty of people like that before, and she had always ended up disadvantageous. And she was so tired of ending up losing.
"I can't understand you" she said, anyway. Gavriel looked addled by her answer but she knew that her language was what had startled him. Rowan sighed and said something else. Isabella didn't have to speak their tongue to know he had just said 'I told you so'.
Gavriel tried again and she repeated herself. Lorcan, who had stayed silent during their exchange, opened his mouth and spoke to her, abruptly. It had sounded different, harder and even rude. She didn't know what tongue he had spoken but she was sure that it wasn't the Old Language. They were trying to figure out what tongue she could speak by asking her the same question on different tongues. It was too bad, because it seemed she couldn't speak any language from this place.
"¿Pueden entenderme?" Can you understand me? Isabella asked them. If they couldn't speak English, maybe they could speak Spanish.
They looked at each other, befuddled. So they didn't speak Spanish either...Isabella almost laughed at the look on their faces. They were supposed to be the best fae soldiers, but they looked absolutely startled by her question. Like puppies who didn't understand an order.
"I can't understand anything of what you guys are saying. And you can't understand what I'm saying either" she told them. Their faces stayed perplexed. Isabella realized that she could tell them whatever she wanted because they couldn't understand her anyway. She had to control her expression from showing her discovery and what it meant.
"I love you guys" she said. Their reaction stayed the same.
"I'm a big fan"
Maybe this could be fun...
"Lorcan, you are sooo Elide's bitch. I stan" she spoke and Lorcan must have understood his name on her tongue because he hit Rowan's chest with one of his big hands, astounded. As if to make sure they were paying attention to his realization.
"Rowan, you are such a drama queen. Who gets his sad story tattooed on their face for everyone to see?" Rowan's mouth might have fallen open.
"Fenrys, sweetie, you are hilarious" Fenrys almost fell on his butt due to the sudden spam his body had as a reaction to his name coming out of her lips.
"And Gavriel...I'm so glad you are not dead yet. I love you babe" Gavriel's eyes threatened to jump out of his face.
"Actually, I love you all a lot. But Rowan is my favorite"
She let out a satisfied sigh, she had always wanted to say that to them. And it was great that they couldn't understand her, she didn't think she would have been brave enough to say all that to their faces if she knew they could understand her. And even if their reactions were worth a photo, she didn't really know why they were so surprised by her knowledge on them. They were very famous, mortals knew about them. They shouldn't be that stupefied. What did that mean?
They must have mistaken her sigh, because Gavriel grabbed a chair and brought it for her to sit. He was such a gentleman. She had lived with those monsters for so long that she had forgotten that polite people still existed.
She hadn't even noticed the furniture. The tent only had a wooden table and six matching chairs. There were a lot of papers and maps on the table. She thanked him even though he could not understand her and sat on the chair. She brought her wounded hands to her lap. She wished they also gave hair clean clothes and food but, first, she needed to figure out what they wanted.
Rowan screamed someone's name and a soldier entered the tent a second later. He gave him an order and the male responded with a respectful salute and left the tent once again.
Isabella didn't know what was going to happen with her but the feeling of being in the same tent with her favorite characters was big enough to make her forget the fact that she was probably in danger.