Broken Dove (Fantasyland 4)

“Pol is also Apollo Ulfr of the, um…House of Ulfr, I guess, but from the rain city of Portland,” I joked, perhaps getting a little hysterical (and who would blame me?).

“Again, this is not amusing.” Her voice held a vein of impatience. “This is real. And you must understand these two men are not the same man,” she stressed.

“I got that,” I mumbled and took another sip of wine.

“Chérie,”—more leaning and her eyes got kind of scary— “they…are not…the same man.”

She was freaking me out and to freak out while freaking out didn’t feel all that great.

So the only thing I could do was whisper, “Okeydokey.”

She studied me a moment before she sat back. “It will be difficult, with what you’ve endured at the hand of the other Apollo, to remember that. But don’t forget it.”

“You’ve made your point,” I assured her.

“I haven’t,” she disagreed. “You see, in each world the same people reside, yet they aren’t the same.”

“You’ve already told me that,” I reminded her, wondering how she could forget considering we were still talking about it.

“No, beautiful Ilsa, you’re too dazed by all that’s occurred to put it together. If there are two Apollos, then there are two Ilsas.”

Uh-oh.

More not good.

She wasn’t done.

“Alas, the Ilsa of this world is no longer of this world. She has passed.”

Oh my God.

The other me was dead?

That sucked!

Valentine still wasn’t done and she had a whopper of a grand finale.

“And she was the wife of the Apollo of this world.”

Oh boy.

“Holy crap,” I whispered.

“Indeed,” she replied.

“I don’t get it,” I told her. “What does that mean?”

It hit me that I knew what it meant; my eyes flew to the shadows where I heard the door open and close when Apollo left then I looked back to her.

“Shit, does he think she’s me? Or I’m her? Or…”—I threw out a hand— “whatever?”

“He does not. He’s aware of the twins. He knows you are not her. But that didn’t stop him from acquiring my services to find you and bring you to him. I am far from inexpensive, chérie, and I warned him of your plight in our world and that you might not receive him very well. But he was very determined. ”

None of this was good. It was weird. Bizarre. Unbelievable. Fantastical.

And it wasn’t getting any better.

“I’m not certain that’s good,” I shared my understatement.

“I agree. I don’t know how the other Ilsa died. I don’t know when she died. I do know it has been some time. And I also know that in that time, his grief has not faded. Not at all.”

That tenderness I saw in his eyes.

And the pain.

Yep. This wasn’t getting any better.

“I’m not her,” I whispered.

“I am aware of that,” she replied, not in a whisper.

We held each other’s eyes. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I sucked back another healthy sip of wine, straightened my shoulders against the headboard and again looked at her.

“So, I’m in a parallel universe, safe from Pol, which is good normally but now it’s better because he’s going to be seriously pissed he no longer has a hand, as anyone would be but Pol will take that to his usual extremes. And extremes of his extremes, my guess, would be catastrophic. And I’m with another Pol, who’s not Pol but Apollo, and he brought me here to replace his dead wife.”

She shook her head again.

“Do not mistake that man for a man who would allow grief to dull his intellect,” she warned. “He was driven to have you here but he is also very aware that you are not the woman he loved and lost. I do not know his intentions in having you here. I know only that he is a man of character. A man of honor. A very brave man. And last, one who feels deeply. Deeper than most. I would even go so far as to say deep to extremes, even if he rarely shows it.”

I was thinking that was good and bad. The other Pol felt deep to extremes and his extremes were no good.

But the Pol I knew had no problems showing it. It was me who had a problem with the way he showed it.

This was a lot to take in but I was beginning to find it hard to concentrate. Either due to the blow to the face or my adrenaline crashing, suddenly I was fading.

Valentine saw it and I felt the wineglass sliding out of my hand.

I blinked up at her, drowsiness coming on so quickly it wasn’t right and I knew it was no adrenaline crash.

My eyes dropped to the wineglass.

“Settle, ma chérie,” she murmured, pressing on my shoulder so I had no choice but to slide back down the bed.

“You drugged me,” I accused.

She didn’t deny it.

Instead, she said, “Sleep is good. Tomorrow, you’ll be rested and you can better understand all that’s happening and acclimatize to your surroundings.”

“You drugged me,” I repeated, my words now slightly slurred, whatever she gave me working fast.

“It’s for the best.”

Someone drugging you without your knowledge was not for the best. Maybe their best, but not yours.

“You—”

“Sleep,” she whispered.

“But…”

I heard her sigh but I said no more because, against my will, I did as I was told and slept.

* * * * *

I regained consciousness in a sluggish way when my body was moved.

I was still mostly out of it but I could tell the person in bed with me wasn’t just joining me there. He was changing positions and taking me with him.

I didn’t know how we were before, but when he settled I was tucked close to his side, my cheek on his shoulder. As I struggled with consciousness, his fingers wrapped around my wrist and tugged my arm across his flat stomach.

I felt warm, soft skin over firm muscle pretty much everywhere.

Crap.

It was too bad I didn’t have it in me to protest. But I was so lethargic, I couldn’t move.

But I could speak.

“Pol?” I murmured and his arm holding me to him tightened as his hand at my wrist slid up my arm to curve around me.

“No,” he grunted forcefully.

“Apollo,” I whispered.

That got me a double arm squeeze.

“Yes,” he replied, gently this time. “Sleep, my dove.”