He did not introduce himself.
Which, somehow, told me everything I needed to know.
The kind of man who expects the world to recognize him does not waste breath on names.
It was one of the guards who spoke.
Formal.
Loud.
Rehearsed.
"His Majesty, King Rudrayan Chandravanshi of the Kingdom of Somavarsha."
My breath caught.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just… stalled.
Because that name brushed against something buried deep in my memory.
Old textbooks.
Half-forgotten lectures.
Margins I had never bothered to annotate because I had always been too busy solving equations instead.
I had hated history in school.
Dates.
Dynasties.
Endless wars I couldn't see the point of.
Science had always made more sense.
Science had rules.
Patterns.
Logic.
History, to me, had always felt like noise.
Standing here, soaked and kneeling in front of a king whose name I vaguely remembered from a chapter I had once skimmed…
I deeply regretted every single time I had ignored it.
I tried to recall.
Something about Somavarsha.
Something about expansion.
Something about strict governance.
Nothing useful.
Fantastic.
The king did not wait for any visible reaction from me.
"Why should I not execute a suspicious intruder," he said calmly, "who does not even know where she stands?"
My stomach dropped.
Execution was no longer theoretical.
It was now conversational.
I swallowed.
"I do not intend harm," I said carefully.
Each word felt heavy.
"I will leave quietly if you allow it."
A pause.
"I will not show my face again."
It was not pride.
It was not strategy.
It was desperation wrapped in politeness.
His expression did not change.
"A suspicious person cannot be allowed to roam freely," he replied.
Which was…
Fair.
I opened my mouth to try again.
And then my body betrayed me.
I sneezed.
Loud.
Sharp.
Completely undignified.
The sound echoed.
Several guards flinched like I had launched an attack.
I froze.
Mortified.
Cold finally seeped past adrenaline.
My wet clothes clung to me like a terrible life decision.
The king glanced at me.
Then to the nearest attendant.
"Bring her dry garments."
I blinked.
"No— that's not necessary—"
"I will not have you fall ill or die," he said evenly, "before I receive my answers."
Not kindness.
Not cruelty.
Practicality.
Two attendants approached.
I hesitated.
Then stopped.
Because arguing felt unwise.
They led me through a side passage into a small chamber.
Not a dungeon.
Not luxurious.
Stone walls.
A low bed.
A small oil lamp.
A single door.
Simple.
Functional.
Clearly meant to contain someone without advertising it as punishment.
I did not comment.
They handed me folded clothes.
Soft.
Traditional.
Loose-fitting.
Layers I did not know how to name.
Once they left, I changed quickly.
The fabric was warm.
Dry.
Infinitely better than my previous state of existence.
I sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to think too hard about how easily my life had derailed.
The door opened not long after.
The king entered.
He was no longer soaked.
Dry, dark formal robes.
Structured.
Heavy.
Authority stitched into every seam.
Guards remained outside.
He looked at me.
Noticing.
Assessing.
For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his expression.
Surprise.
He masked it immediately.
"You look less like a nightmare now," he said.
Not a compliment.
Not an insult either.
Just… a statement.
I wasn't sure whether to be offended or relieved.
Probably both.
Either way, I had officially graduated from watery threat to dryproblem.
Which, considering my circumstances…
Felt like progress.