“How does this mi-crow-ave function, my heart?” Teren pressed a random button, watching the lights sparkle. He frowned. “I believe I have broken it.”

The object made a strange noise at him, as if responding. Teren had never felt so bewildered. He slapped the front of it, but it gave no reaction.

“I do not understand how this contraption will warm our supper,” he said. He decided to press his face against it to peer into the small room where the food rested. “Perhaps I should start a fire outside. Have you spare wood? No, I will fetch us some. Do not strain yourself.”

He did not stop to listen. Teren had not taken care of you once since he woke up outside your abode. The—what was it called?—a-part-mant was such a tiny dwelling. He could not understand how you, the former heir to the throne of Asinte, could have your rebirth in a place so undeserving of you. Worst yet, you claimed you had no magic.

The mi-crow-ave claimed to differ. There was a darkness about that object Teren misliked.

Teren had to have some sort of objective. His entire life had been spent at your side, protecting you, caring for you. Your love, your closest companion, your sword shield. Without you, his life was forfeit. He’d known that since childhood. Before he had become a real knight, he was the too-tall boy at your side. Where you went, Teren followed. His parents likened him to a dog in jest. They could not have realized the extent he would go to remain at your heel.

The ambush had changed everything. One moment you were by his side, the next an arrow was stuck through your chest. He had tried to stop the bleeding, had held you tight and pleaded with you to stay with him as the light left your eyes. But Teren had not just lost his lover, Asinte had lost its heir. The Kingdom was distraught. You were the king and queen’s sole child.

It was then, while no one paid mind to his increasing desperation, that he allowed himself to fall.

Magic was outlawed in Asinte eons ago, only to be wielded by a hand of royal blood. You had been the last true user. Deep within remote villages, however, hid witches, those who practiced illegally. Teren hunted one down and demanded to know where you had been reborn, for every being would eventually be reincarnated. It was a belief every citizen of Asinte held.

“It is not a world you will understand,” the witch had rasped. “Your soul cannot stay there, not without someone keeping it tethered.”

“Send me,” he whispered. For his life was meaningless without you.

A moon ago he had found you, felt you in his arms once more, only to be told you had no memory of him. Teren’s expression had crumbled, but he forced himself through it. You were alive, that was more important than anything else.

Illegal magic differed from yours. He could not have been brought here without consequence, one he had yet to inform you of. It would be too much at once. You still could not understand that, in a different world, you were royalty.

Teren promised himself he would tell you before his time was up.

“Four seasons, knight. Twelve turns of the moon. That is all the time you will have before your soul will escape, lost in a time it does not belong to. The one you hold dear must remember. That is the only way you will live.”

The thought of losing you twice kept him up at night. Teren was grateful you had allowed him to stay, sleeping on the small, dense settee outside your chambers. You had gifted him clothes, food. He had yet to bring you any sort of comfort. The thought of not being useful to you made his fingers shake and his stomach roll. What was a dull sword worth?

“Where is your axe?” he asked. The minuscule room holding your shoes and ja-kits contained nothing of relevance. How would you survive if you were attacked again? The tiny knives in the kitchens would surely bounce off an enemy’s skin.