Lara didn't remember how she died. But she knew, without a doubt, that she wasn't where she was supposed to be.
The gentle whisper of the wind, the scent of roses, and the soft caress of satin sheets beneath her—everything felt too beautiful, too foreign. With half-lidded eyes, Lara stared up at a domed ceiling adorned with Middle Eastern-style carvings lined with gold, a glittering crystal chandelier hanging in the center.
"Where… am I?" she whispered, her throat dry.
As her body slowly rose from the bed, the soft creak of a large wooden door sounded from the corner of the room. A young woman stepped in—dressed in traditional attire, lace fabric draped over her hair and waist. She carried a silver tray, her expression shifting instantly to relief upon seeing Lara awake.
"Princess Zara! Thank goodness you're conscious!"
Lara blinked. "Princess… who?"
The woman approached, placing the tray on a small table beside the bed. "You've been unconscious for two days, Your Highness. The royal physician nearly lost hope. We were all—terrified."
Lara's heartbeat quickened. She glanced at her hands—slender fingers, nails painted in gold. Then her eyes shifted toward the large mirror across the room.
What she saw… wasn't her.
The face looked similar, but it wasn't hers. The nose was sharper, the skin paler, the eyes more piercing. Long, wavy black hair cascaded past her shoulders.
"This… isn't me."
"Princess Zara," the maid repeated, concern in her voice. "Have you… lost your memory again?"
Lara tried to rise from the bed, but her body was still weak. She shook her head faintly, attempting to steady her breathing.
"My name… isn't Zara," she murmured.
But the woman only lowered her gaze, almost apologetically. "I'll call the physician and the Queen Mother. Please, Your Highness, rest."
The woman slipped out before Lara could stop her. Alone in that lavish chamber, Lara sat still—trapped in someone else's body.
Was this a dream? Or a hell gilded in gold?
---
Hours passed. Or maybe only minutes. Time stretched strangely in this place. Lara wandered slowly around the room, and the more she looked, the more one truth became clear: this wasn't the modern world.
There was no electricity. No phone. No technology. Only candles, antique wooden furniture, and the faint scent of royal incense.
Suddenly, the door swung wide open. A graceful woman in a golden silk gown entered, accompanied by two maids who bowed deeply.
"Zara, my child!" she cried, her voice thick with emotion.
Lara turned. The woman… looked like her. Her eyes shone with tears, but her gaze was strong. She stepped forward and embraced Lara tightly.
"Thank goodness you're safe, my dear. I feared I'd lose you… again."
Lara froze in the embrace. Again?
"I'm sorry… but I don't remember you," Lara said softly.
The woman stepped back slowly, her eyes narrowing. She turned to the maid behind her. "The physician. Now."
At once, an elderly man in a white robe entered, carrying a leather pouch and small bottles. He approached Lara, bowing slightly, and began checking her pulse and eyes.
"Does Princess Zara recall anything since the accident in the palace gardens?" he asked gently.
Lara hesitated. "I don't know who I am."
The physician nodded slowly. "It may be mild head trauma. But I believe her memory will return… in time."
Lara wanted to laugh. If this was trauma, then the entire world around her was the trauma itself.
Because the last time she was conscious, she had been Lara Meryn, twenty-seven years old, working as an interior designer in London.
And now? She was Princess Zara, of a kingdom she couldn't even find on a map.
---
That night, Lara sat on the balcony, gazing at a sky that felt foreign. The stars were brighter, the air fresher, and… somewhere in the distance, traditional music floated through the night.
The maid from earlier—whose name she had learned was Elif—came in carrying a blanket.
"Your Highness, you must rest. Tomorrow is the Day of Tribute at the Grand Palace. Sultan Alim will come to see your condition."
"Sultan… who?"
"The Crown Prince. Your cousin. You… don't often get along with him. But he cares for you deeply."
Lara swallowed. Cousin? Kingdom? Day of Tribute? This was all too fast.
"Elif," Lara said. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course, Your Highness."
"What year is it?"
Elif smiled politely. "It is the year 1342 of the Hijri calendar, Your Highness."
1342 Hijri. That was… around 1923 AD.
Lara looked down. Okay. Okay. Maybe she really was dead.
Or… she had been thrown through time.
---
Morning came far too quickly.
The maids dressed her in layered royal garments, with a golden sash and blood-red gemstone jewelry. Her face was lightly painted, her hair arranged high, transforming her into a regal figure—Princess Zara of the Altan Dynasty.
The audience hall gleamed with polished white marble floors. Heavy drapes framed tall windows. As Lara entered, all servants and courtiers bowed in silence.
Then she saw him—Sultan Alim.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with piercing eyes and a black robe embroidered in gold. He looked at Lara as though he could read her soul in a single glance.
"Zara." His voice was deep, cold. "You've finally woken up."
Lara held her breath. She could feel the air itself grow heavy.
"I'm sorry… I haven't remembered much," she said cautiously.
Alim's gaze lingered on her. "You haven't changed. Still pretending to forget whenever you wish to avoid responsibility."
There was sarcasm in his tone, but not hatred. More like… frustration bottled up for years.
Before Lara could reply, the sound of footsteps echoed.
"Your Majesty," said a voice from the doorway. A man in midnight-blue robes and eyes sharp as a wolf's entered. "May I greet the Princess who has awakened?"
He bowed low before Lara, then looked up at her intently.
"I am Kadir," he said. "Prince of Saylan. And… your future husband."
What?!
---