CHAPTER 5

A clap resounded above her head. Now what?

Lyra looked up, and staring down at her was a specimen of a man. His dark hair held a tinge of gold, illuminated by the setting sun. Even from this distance, his facial features were flawless—up close, he must be immaculate.

"Well done to you. It took me a week to kill one of those," he said, amusement lacing his voice. He sounded like sin itself, his tone dangerously alluring.

Wait a second. Was this him?

"Prince Alon?" Lyra asked.

His brows lifted in shock. "Wow...how do you know my— It's been so long since I've been called that." Then, suspicion darkened his gaze. "How do you know me?"

How was she supposed to explain? And she was meant to kill him? She'd never killed a man in her life. How the heck was she supposed to pull this off? She now realized all the faults in the VRB's choosing system. They could've at least sent a trained assassin. This man looked like he could overpower her on any day. Fuuuuuckkkk.

"My name is Lyra," she said carefully. "I came to this world to find you."

"Why?"

A sharp clicking echoed in the distance. Alon's eyes flicked toward the noise before returning to her. "There are two more of those coming our way. You just killed one of their warriors. You think you've got another fight in you?"

"No!" Lyra stared at him in shock. "I was nearly killed by this one. I can't handle two. Please help me out of here," she pleaded, knowing she sounded desperate. But pride wouldn't matter if she was dead.

"Why should I help you?" He glanced over his shoulder, clearly weighing his options.

"Because I'm here to help you," Lyra blurted. She wasn't even sure why she said it.

"Help me do what exactly?"

"About...your kingdom!" She was grasping at straws—anything to get him to pull her out.

Alon studied her. "You seem to know a lot of things. If you try anything funny when I help you up, I'm leaving you to the Accrab. Do you understand?"

Lyra nodded vigorously. So that's what they were called.

Without further delay, Alon scanned the pit, his eyes narrowing on the massive scorpion carcass beneath her. "You're standing on your way out," he muttered.

She blinked. "What?"

"That thing's got more use than just trying to kill you. Get its tail."

Lyra grimaced but reached down, wrapping her hands around the scorpion's thick, segmented tail. Its exoskeleton was still warm, and she suppressed a shudder. Alon lowered himself slightly, bracing one foot against the rocky edge.

"On my count, push off the body and grab my hand. Three…two…"

Before he hit one, Lyra bent her knees and leaped, using the dead accrab as a platform. Her fingers caught his wrist just as her foot slipped. For a moment, she dangled in midair, but Alon's grip was strong. With a sharp tug, he hauled her up and onto solid ground.

She landed with a gasp, heart pounding. The dagger she had used against the accrab had returned to its original form—a sleek black feather. She quickly stuffed it into her pocket before Alon could notice.

Breathless, she turned to face him properly for the first time. And immediately regretted it.

He was perfect.

Not just attractive—inhumanly perfect.

Broad shoulders, lean but powerful, with sharp, elegant features that seemed almost sculpted. His aquamarine-flecked eyes studied her with open curiosity, but there was something ancient about him, something hardened. She couldn't believe this man had once destroyed an entire kingdom. And he'd thrown it all away for selfishness?

But what did she know? She'd just met him. The clicking sounds grew louder.

Alon tensed. "Time to run."

Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed her wrist and took off. Lyra struggled to match his pace as they sprinted across the sandy, rocky terrain. Behind them, two accrab emerged, their monstrous forms blotting out the last rays of the sun.

"Faster!" he barked.

They reached the mouth of a cave nestled between jagged rocks nearby. Alon shoved her inside before turning to grab a rope woven from plant fibers. With a sharp tug, a contraption activated, sending a massive boulder rolling into place, sealing the entrance just as the accrab reached them. The creatures shrieked in frustration, their pincers scraping against the rock.

Panting, Lyra pushed herself up and took in her surroundings. The cave was dim, the air cool and dry. It wasn't fancy, but it was clear he had lived here a while. The walls bore scratch marks—perhaps from past battles or desperate clawing. A bed of woven animal pelts lay near the back, beside a small pit filled with embers, a makeshift fireplace. There were even crude shelves made of stacked stones, holding supplies: dried meats, bones, plant extracts, and vials of something she couldn't identify.

Alon ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Safe. For now."

Lyra exhaled, her body still trembling. "You built all this?"

He shot her a dry look. "Did you think I was living under a rock?"

She snorted despite herself, sinking onto a nearby boulder. "Well…you technically do."

He stared at her for a while, his expression unreadable. "Talk. How do you know about me?" His voice was firm, carrying the weight of someone who had long since learned to trust nothing and no one. His piercing eyes, dark and turbulent, reminded her of an angry ocean before a storm.

Lyra exhaled sharply, trying to steady her breath. The weight of the day's events pressed down on her, exhaustion settling into her bones. She had been running, fighting, falling—her body ached, and now, her mind was overwhelmed too. How was she supposed to explain everything without sounding insane? There was no way he was going to believe her. Worse, there was a chance he might just kill her on the spot.

"Like I said, my name is Lyra." She hesitated, searching his face for any sign of receptiveness, but he simply waited, his gaze sharp and unwavering. "And I know this is going to sound very, very, very unbelievable, but I need you to keep an open mind, okay?"

His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He was clearly unimpressed.

Lyra licked her dry lips and pressed on. "Yesterday, I was in my world, minding my own business, when I saw your book in the library. I read it. It had details about your life, your kingdom—Thalassara. About the ritual you didn't complete. About how the sea swallowed your kingdom whole." His face betrayed nothing, but she swore she saw the flicker of something—pain?—in his eyes. Maybe even anger. "And then, on my way home, I was contacted by an organization. They call themselves The Villain Rehabilitation Bureau, and they told me that your book had chosen me. That I had to come here—to your world—to kill you so your story could finally have an ending."

His entire body tensed, his jaw clenching. His hands flexed at his sides.

Lyra raised her hands quickly. "But I'm not here for that! I swear! I've never killed before. Well… except for that fucking scorpion. That was a first. But before today, I had never taken a life. And even if you are the villain in this story—what the hell am I supposed to do about it? I can't bring your kingdom back from the sea. I can't kill you. So now, I'm stuck here, probably forever, because I won't be granted passage back to my world until I do what they sent me here to do." She exhaled sharply, feeling as though she had just emptied her entire soul in front of him. "That's the whole truth."

Silence stretched between them. The only sounds came from the accra outside, their heavy, clawed legs scraping against the rock as they prowled just beyond the cave's entrance.

Lyra watched him closely, her pulse hammering as he turned his back to her and crouched beside the fire pit. With a few practiced movements, he struck flint against stone, and soon, a small fire roared to life, casting flickering shadows on the rough cavern walls.

She swallowed. "Are you… not going to say anything?"

For a long moment, he was silent, staring into the flames. Then, finally, in a voice so low she had to strain to hear it, he said, "You speak the truth."

Lyra's shoulders sagged in relief.

He stirred the fire absently, the glow illuminating the sharp angles of his face. "I can always tell when someone is lying to me. And you are not."

"Oh, thank God," she muttered under her breath.

But the relief was short-lived. He turned back to her, his face impassive. "So what am I supposed to do with you now? You just traveled from another world… and you admit to being basically useless."

Lyra flinched. That one stung. "Wow. Thanks."

He ignored her sarcasm. "So tell me, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?"

Lyra's throat tightened. She felt tears sting her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Yes, she was new to this world. Yes, she was out of her depth. But that didn't mean she was useless. She had made it this far, hadn't she? She had survived the accrab. And she still had her weapon—the dagger, which had reverted back into a black feather, safely tucked away in her pocket.

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "I ask only for accommodation tonight. And if you could tell me more about this world—what I need to look out for—then I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow."

He then exhaled through his nose, as if trying to decide whether to find her stubbornness amusing or irritating.

When he didn't respond, she spoke up again, "Answer me this please: why the hell are we in a desert? Wouldn't it make more sense if you were near the coast? Near the sea?"

His jaw clenched, and when he finally met her gaze, something raw burned in his expression. "After my kingdom fell, I woke up here. I don't know why I didn't die with it. But I've been trying to get back ever since. The problem is, this desert is endless. There's no way out. And I suspect that's the point. A punishment." His hands curled into fists at his sides. "My power is tied to the sea. And what better way to strip me of it than to cast me into a place where there is none?"

Of course, Lyra thought bitterly. An endless desert. Just perfect.

He let the silence settle between them before finally speaking again. "You look exhausted. Eat this and rest. Tomorrow, we have much to discuss."

He handed her a bowl of steaming stew—meat and plants she didn't recognize. It lacked salt, but hunger overruled her hesitation. She ate, savoring the warmth as it filled her belly. When he passed her a wooden container of water, she accepted it gratefully, downing it in several greedy gulps. The desert air had drained her more than she realized.

"I'll give you the bed," he said gruffly once she had finished.

Lyra shook her head. "I'm the one intruding. I'll be fine on the floor."

He didn't argue, simply tossing her an animal skin to lay on and another to cover herself. "It gets cold at night. You'll need this."

She nodded, wrapping herself in the warmth of the furs. The stone floor was unforgiving, and every ache in her body made itself known, but eventually, exhaustion won. She drifted off into a restless, uncomfortable sleep, her mind filled with the echoes of crashing waves and a prince whose story was still unfinished.