Chapter 2

The horn of the unicorn is called an alicorn.

The masked man stepped down from the dais. She strained back in a feeble attempt to get away from him, but the soldiers held her firmly in place and would not give her even a quarter of an inch. The masked man came to stand in front of her. He was not tall. Had to be about five foot seven. Instead of looking up to quiver in fear, she looked into the eye holes where she saw not a hint of humanity reflected back to her. Just black pits.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. His voice was deep and a bit scratchy. She’d almost expected the mask’s jaw to move when he spoke. The voice matched the mask too well.

She shook her head. She could feel tears creeping out of the corners of her eyes. This was just too unreal. What the hell was happening to her? Where was Agatha? How was she going to get out of this?

“I am Lord Tavik. I have taken your husband’s castle, land, and by right of conquest, you are mine as well.”

“Who the hell do you think I am?” she blurted.

“Lady Naomi, I offer you a choice. You can die here today or become my bride. Which do you choose?”

She shook her head. “You've got me confused with someone else. My name's Naomi, but I'm Naomi Tailor from the United States. An old woman named Agatha brought me here. This is all just one huge mistake.” He had to believe her. Why wasn’t anyone stepping forward to tell him that she wasn’t this Lady Naomi? She looked around the hall, but from what she could see, all the men stood still with their attention on him. They were his men. Where were the castle’s inhabitants? Her eyes fell to the dripping sword. It was her silent answer. She felt sick.

“An old woman named Agatha?” the masked man repeated.

She bobbed her head.

“What is your choice?”

She boggled at him. “I’m not your Lady Naomi!”

He stepped closer. He raised his sword. “You will choose.”

“Between marrying you or dieing?”

He nodded.

She couldn’t believe the question.

“I will give you until the preparations are complete to decide. Take her back to her room,” he told the men holding her. They pulled her out of the room. She barely kept her feet under her. Her mind was sputtering over the situation.

The soldiers thrust her back into the room she’d been in when they found her and left her there. Agatha was no longer there. She was alone without any idea where she was, who these people were, or what was going to happen to her. She began to worry that she was in a very bad situation.

There was a piece of folded paper on the bed. She picked it up and read,

Naomi,

I am sorry for abandoning you, but this is the safest place for you. If Tavik takes you as his bride, you shouldn’t come to harm as long as you go along with whatever he wants. I’ll try to contact you once you’re settled in his castle. Don’t fear. I will help you.

Sincerely,
Agatha

P.S. You should tear up this letter and throw it out the window. Tavik does not like me and would take it very ill if he knew you were acquainted with me.

She read the postscript three times. Each time she read it, it got funnier. She tore up the letter still giggling over the fact that she was doomed. She wandered to the narrow window and threw out the bits of paper.

Watching the paper float away, she looked down. She was several stories up. Below was a medieval courtyard. Men ran around shouting at each other and carrying bundles. She guessed that’s what pillaging looked like. A lot of shouting, running, and carrying. And grabbing, couldn’t forget grabbing, she thought as she rubbed her bruised arms and neck.

When she lifted her eyes to the sky, she gasped and stumbled back. She rubbed her eyes to clear her vision and looked back into the bright day sky. Her vision was still mistaken. She must have something in her eyes. She rubbed them more until they watered and became irritated, but something had to be wrong with them. She must have bumped her head and was now seeing things because she could not be seeing two moons. She was seeing double, and her eyes were messed up, that's why one moon was ruddy red and lopsided while the other was a pale yellow oval. There had to be something wrong with her eyes because if this were real, her situation became effectively much worse.

What in the world had she gotten herself into? What world indeed, her mind repeated with an unhinged twitter. She paced away from the window as her brain tried to push away the idea, but when she turned to pace back, she was facing the window with a view of two moons.

The very idea was impossible, improbable, impracticable, impermissible, and any other words that began with ‘im’ that meant that this COULD NOT BE HAPPENING. She could not have somehow gone to another planet. Maybe her apartment had imploded, she was in a coma, and her imagination was creating all of this. She pinched herself to test her theory. She felt the pinch, but she refused to accept the tactile evidence. She looked back up into the sky and placed her fingers around the view of the ruddy moon and closed her fingers, pinching it, but when she moved her hand, the lopsided moon still hung in the sky. This couldn’t be real, she kept repeating to herself. None of this could be real.

There was a soft tap at the door. She wrenched her eyes from the sky and looked over. The door was gently pushed open partway, and a stout middle-aged woman wearing an apron looked around its edge at her. She gave Naomi an unsure smile. She blinked back at her. Seeming to take her blank expression as welcome, the woman opened the door fully and carried in a large platter. She went to a small table, and Naomi crept over to her. She silently implored the unknown woman to turn and fix all her problems. This was just a big joke, right? She was about to be told she was on hidden camera. That had to be it, but no TV show host popped out of the wardrobe. The woman pulled out a chair and held it for her. Naomi took a seat and waited for everything to be explained.

The woman placed a plate before her with fruit and cheese on it. The fruit was normal: Grapes and peach slices. This had to be Earth then. Some alien planet wouldn’t have the same fruit or people. Everyone looked human, except for the guy in the mask. He probably had tentacles or something, but everyone else looked like someone she could meet on the street, except for their clothes. The Amish dressed more modernly than them. The silent woman poured something into a cup and set it down by the plate. The fermented smell of wine wafted out.

She didn’t touch the food or wine. She felt too unsettled to keep anything down. She swallowed and hunched forward. In a near whisper, she asked, “Please, help me."

The woman’s eyes flicked to her for a second. The tension around the eyes showed pity was there. Maybe she could help her. Maybe not solve all her problems, but maybe help her in some small way...

"Look my name's Naomi, but I'm not a Lady with a capital 'L'. My name’s Naomi Taylor, and I shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what happened, but I’m here by accident. Please help me.”

The woman continued to putter with the tray. “You can weave whatever tales you like. You will not be freed.”

Her frustration made her spring up. “But I’m not her! I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here, and I just want to go home!”

The serving woman turned away to leave the table.

Naomi grabbed her arm. “There has to be someone here who knew this Lady Naomi! Find them and bring them. They’ll tell you I’m not her!”

“Any servant still in the castle will, of course, agree with you and claim you aren’t Lady Naomi to assist you in an escape. It’s not going to happen, girl.” She removed Naomi’s hand and walked over to the wardrobe. She opened it and began going through the gowns inside.

Naomi flopped back into the chair. Everyone was insane. There was no help on the horizon, and she was alone. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to hold back her sobs. Her brain was a maelstrom of confusion and anxiety. Questions flashed in her mind like lightning, but there was no answering thunder.

“Milady, you should eat. You’ll need all the strength you can muster for the upcoming events.”

She blinked dumbly at her. The woman indicated the fruit and wine before her. She glanced at the plate. She wanted to hurl it at the wall. She wanted to break stuff and scream. She turned her eyes away and found her head unconsciously turning to the window. The two moons were still there, and it felt like they were mocking her, asking did she really think she could understand any of this, that any sense could be made of anything. She could almost hear laughter coming down from the sky. She dropped her eyes to the floor. She wished the room didn’t have a window.

Taking one last stab at some sort of information, she asked, “What’s your name?”

The woman turned from the wardrobe. “My name is Yula. I am a cook for Lord Tavik.” She gave a slight curtsy.

“Nice to meet you, Yula. Now where am I?”

She looked puzzled and glanced around the room. “Isn’t this your chamber?”

She flicked her eyes around the room and turned them back to her. “No, this isn’t my room.”

“Would you like to be moved to your room?”

She slumped in her chair. “I don’t live in this castle. I’m not who you think I am. I’m a US citizen.”

Yula shook her head. “You can lie all you want. It won’t change anything, but it would make Lord Tavik angry, and he isn’t someone to make angry.”

“You mean the scary guy in the mask?”

Yula nodded. “Yes, the ‘scary guy in the mask’. He holds your fate in his hands. I suggest you be careful around him.”

“Was he serious about the marriage thing? I mean why marry me? How does he know I'm Lady Naomi? What if I'm not her and he marries me and the real Lady Naomi pops up? What then? Will he lose the castle and everything?”

“You better pray another Lady Naomi doesn't 'pop up'.”

“But it's possible, since I'm not her. The real Lady Naomi could be somewhere hiding in the castle right now.”

“If it's proven,” and Yula stressed the 'if', “That you're not Lady Naomi, then you will be executed.”

Well, that answered that question. She stared at the floor as she chewed on her thumbnail trying to think of something to do to help herself. She was stuck on [shudder] another planet, and her only hope, a crazy old woman with a frying pan, had disappeared. She remembered Agatha’s letter with a grimace. She’d already ruined her chances with her big mouth. The wedding was probably off, but hey, the execution was still on. She could feel the maniacal giggles creeping up again.

She slowly raised her eyes when she saw Yula had come to stand in front of her. She didn’t seem mean. She’d been fairly nice to her really as jailers went, but she was still her jailer. “Is there anything else I can get for you, milady?”

“Yes, a way out of here,” she mumbled against her thumb.

Yula absently nodded her head, not as though she would help her escape but only to acknowledge that she had spoken. “I will be happy to fetch anything you need.”

“You can’t keep me here,” she said, but her voice didn’t hold any conviction; it held despair.

All of this was ridiculous, she reasoned. She could not be on another planet. How had she arrived here if she were? Her eyes turned back to the window to look at the two moons. Only one thing came to mind. Though she could not believe she was pursuing this, she asked, “What do you know about unicorn horns?”

The cook looked at her in surprise. “Unicorns are rare and wondrous beasts. Their horns can heal the sick and purify water. They are very brave and wild. The only thing that can tame the beasts is someone of unbroken honor.”

“Do you know anything else about their horns? What can they do?”

“What is your interest in unicorn horns?”

She lowered her eyes. “I think one brought me here.”

“Do you still have it?”

She shook her head. “I dropped it.”

Yula sighed. “That is tragic.”

“Could I get another unicorn horn?”

“I couldn’t say. I've considered it.”

“Where would I find one?” She knew her hope that they were stocked in the corner store was a sick delusion, but she still held out hope.

The cook shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea.”

Well, there went that avenue of hope. Time to change the subject. She cast about for ideas and only one thing outside of escape interested her, after all he may or may not be her future husband. “What does Lord Tavik look like?”

“No one knows. He wears the helm at all times. Anyone who has dared to try to remove it did not live to regret it.”

“Why won’t he let others see his face?”

Yula shrugged again.

“God, I hope I’m dreaming.”

Yula reached out and pinched her hard on the arm. She yelped.

“You’re not dreaming.”

She glared at her and rubbed her bruised arm. “Fine, this is all real, but none of it makes sense! When I say I’m not from here, I mean not from this planet. My planet is Earth. We have only one moon, it is white, and we don’t have unicorns or scary guys in metal masks.”

The cook began to bustle around the room again. “It sounds nice, but you’re here now, and the day is growing old, and I have to get you ready for the ceremony, and you will be ready, no matter where you think you are from. It doesn’t matter. Only now does. Accept it.” Naomi was surprised by Yula’s sudden harshness.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just accept your lot. It’ll be easier if you do. Now slip this on." She held out a long simple gown of white. Naomi took it to feel the fabric. The action of taking another gown in this room made her cautious.

There was a tap at the door. Yula went to answer it. She stepped outside and left Naomi alone. She rose and went back to the window to stare at the two moons. The gown, most likely her wedding gown, hung from her hands. She shifted the fabric until her right hand was free. She brought the tip of her finger to her face. Faintly, she could see a red prick. She rubbed her thumb against the tiny wound. That little pin prick was how she got here.

She could hear Yula on the other side of the door. She was speaking to someone, and the voice sounded familiar. The voice was deep and a bit scratchy, and it didn’t sound happy.

The door flew open, and Tavik strode in. Yula followed at his heels. Naomi jumped back. The white gown slipped from her hands to puddle at her feet. She wondered if she should pick it up, but then reasoned it didn’t matter. She probably wouldn’t need it.

“How do you know Agatha?” he demanded.

She flinched at his accusative tone and edged away. “She tricked me into coming here and putting on this gown.”

“Tricked you how?”

She picked at a seam of a sleeve. “I was being attacked by this soldier, and she knocked him out with a frying pan. She told me to follow her to a safe place and that’s how I ended up here. She gave me the gown to put on saying it would be a disguise, and not really thinking, I did what she said.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

She head jerked up. She stared into the eye holes of his mask. “I don’t know what you’ll believe. All I know is what happened.”

He stood silently staring at her, at least it felt like he was staring at her. She began to fidget in earnest. “If you’re not Lady Naomi, where is she?”

She plucked at her sleeves. She really wished she were in her sweatshirt and jeans. She felt like an idiot arguing in the gown: Her ‘disguise’. She wondered what had happened to her clothes. “I don’t know. I never met her. I’d never heard of her until everyone assumed I was her. I’m not her.”

“You look like her.”

Her eyes shot to him. “What?”

He snorted. “Yes, Lady Naomi,” he drawled.

“I’m not her!” She stamped her foot in frustration. Tavik crossed his arms. This wasn't bothering him at all. He didn't care. He'd kill her or marry her. Whichever. Why didn't this matter to him?

“Have you made your choice?”

Her hands clenched into fists. “Choice?” she echoed.

“Between death or marriage.”

“But I’m not Lady Naomi!” She knew this argument wasn’t getting her anywhere, and the thought made her sick.

“The preparations are almost complete.”

She turned her eyes to Yula, but the serving woman was not going to help her. She was standing by with the damned wedding gown ready for her.

“What can I do to make you believe me?” she pleaded.

“Nothing.”

“You’re going to kill me if I don’t marry you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To cement my victory. You must either die or be taken by me.”

His use of the word ‘taken’ made her stomach churn.

“This doesn’t make any sense. Why does this Lady Naomi matter? You’ve clearly won. Just let me go.”

“Because that's not how it's done. My victory will not be complete unless the lord’s lady is either married to me or killed.”

“If I weren’t here, what would you do? Would you grab some poor girl off the street and call her Lady Naomi?”

He didn’t reply.

“Madam, just do as you’re told. It’ll go better for you,” Yula said.

“But I’m not her.”

“You’re either her or the poor girl off the street I call Lady Naomi and then kill. It’s your choice.”

She froze. She didn’t really like either option, and it was her big mouth that had put that second, even less appealing, option on the table.

“What if we compromise?” she asked.

“What?”

Yula stared at her in disbelief.

“I’ll marry you if we agree on one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“No sex.”

Yula dropped the wedding gown.

She really hoped she hadn’t just pissed him off so bad he beheaded her on the spot. She stared at him and waited. Without comment, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room. Yula scrambled to gather the wedding gown and followed at his heels.

Naomi tried to stop him or at least slow him down, but her slipper-ed feet slid along the stone floor.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

“Lord Tavik, she’s not properly dressed!”

He ignored both of them and continued to drag her down the corridor toward the hall. She struggled as best she could. She kicked out at his feet to trip him up and pried at his fingers. All she seemed to do was annoy him.

He stopped and turned to her.

“So I guess you’re just going to kill me. Is that it? Well, I hope you rot in hell!”

Without a word, he picked her up and put her over his shoulder.

“Now, wait a minute!”

He began down the corridor again. Her weight didn’t seem to faze him at all.

“Put me down!”

He still ignored her. She tried to kick him, but he wrapped his other arm over her legs and pinned them to his chest. It was murder to keep her back arched and not go limp and hang down his back. She dug her elbows into his shoulder blades to help support her. She hoped it was bothering him, but he didn’t shift her or do anything to indicate discomfort. When they entered the hall, all the soldiers fell silent. She frantically looked around the room for someone to help her, but all eyes were on Tavik.

“Someone tell him I’m not Lady Naomi, please!”

No one stepped forward.

He stepped onto the dais and finally put her down. Three men in robes were there already beside a lit brazier. They had the dour expressions of officiating priests. Tavik held her upper arm in a vice like grip. She quickly understood why as she watched one of the priests pull a branding rod out of the brazier. The brand glowed red. It was a picture of Tavik’s mask. The priest stepped toward her. Her eyes widened.

“What the hell? This is how you people get married?”

Tavik jerked her close to him and growled. “You will wear my brand and all will know you belong to me.”

“That's sick. Let me go!”

He shook her by the arm. “You will do this.” His voice was harsh.

Her eyes couldn’t leave the priest who stood waiting with the rod. He let her go, and she stumbled back.

She looked around the room at the crowd of impassive soldiers. “No, this is insanity. You people are barbarians. I will not do this!”

“You will do this, or you will die.”

“And if I let you do this, what happens next? What else are you going to do to me? There are worse things than death.”

He reached out and jerked her to him again. She looked up into his grisly helm. When she was that close, she could just make out his eyes. They were blue.

“I promise you that this will be the worst that you will suffer. After this, you will have my protection. You will be my wife.”

His assurance made her laugh. His wife! Oh yes, everything would be lovely if she’d just married this guy. It was better than death!

“Just do this, Naomi, please,” he whispered.

The plea surprised her. She stopped resisting to think a moment. She averted her eyes from the priest and the glowing branding iron. Could she go along with this? Did she have a choice?

“What about the deal?”

His grasp tightened on her arm, and he pulled her forward. She tried to stop him, but he was like a moving mountain. Her feet dragged across the floor. He handed her over to two of the priests, who each took an arm. They held onto her with stone-faces. This was not happening. She was not here. “No,” she kept saying over and over, but no one was listening to her. The head priest handed Tavik the branding iron. Her eyes widened.

“No, please no, don’t do this!”

He showed no indication that he was listening to her. The priests ripped open the sleeve her left arm. One took position at her back, holding her by the shoulders while another stretched out her arm toward Tavik. She couldn't get away. She didn't have a chance. When the iron touched her arm just above her wrist, she screamed. She had never been hurt like this before in her life. She had never broken a bone or cut herself so badly as to need stitches. This then was the absolute worst physical experience of her life. The pain was so intense she saw large black spots. Only the priests’ wooden arms kept her from collapsing. Everything was leeching gray. She tried not to think about the new smell in the air that made her want to retch. Dimly she was aware of being moved around. An arm went around her waist and another under her knees that lifted her. She looked up into the grisly helm of Lord Tavik.

“You bastard,” she whispered and passed out.

Continue to Chapter 3