Page 7 of Blood of the Fairest

"What the fuck?" I sputter, gawking at the glass as the low bell continues to sound.

My own bloodstained reflection gawks back at me.

As in, I look exactly the same as I do in my world, down to the little beauty spot above the corner of my upper lip. Same dark blue eyes, same face, same height, same age.

The only obvious difference is my missing neck tattoos. My dark red hair is also longer than I usually prefer it, latticed around my head in a braid that's matted with mud and more dried blood.

At this point, I feel like the universe is gaslighting me.

Have I lost my mind? Is this really real, or is it just a nightmare after all? What are the odds that I'd look almost exactly like myself in a completely different identity in another world?

Perplexed, I continue to stare as the bell tolls on. At the thirteenth toll, it cuts off for a while, and it abruptly strikes me how quiet it is on this street of the village. No one else is walking along this cobbled path.

"What in the Twilight Zone is happening?" I grumble, knocking on the door in front of me.

There's no answer.

A moment later, the tolling starts again. I move toward it, determined to find someone who can help me. Maybe I'll stumble across a kindly fairytale witch who can magic me back to my world or wake me up or whatever the fuck needs to happen.

Turning onto the next street, I stop just in time to narrowly avoid crashing into Idris Elba and some other guy.

Sadly, he's not actually Idris Elba. But this dapper man is a damn good lookalike, albeit a little older. He freezes in his tracks, eyes widening on me in what can only be described as pure, horrified recognition. Both men are dressed in pattern-embroidered surcoats over long-sleeved tunics, with trousers tucked into polished boots.

"Crones! No matter how exceptional your face may be under all that blood, you will still earn Ayna's ire by racing about in such a disgusting state," the other man scolds, wrinkling his nose at the filth covering me. "What, have you been drunkenly butchering a herd of cattle? What a wretched sight you are! Have you no fucking pride, woman?"

"Arnold," Idris Elba's lookalike warns quickly, splitting a worried look between the man beside him and me.

He seems mildly worried I'll be offended, but majorly worried that I might rip the other man's bald head off.

I'm guessing that's exactly what the real Queen Rhinestone would do.

He gestures for the man to continue in the direction they were headed. Although Arnold gives me another appalled once-over, he's soon out of earshot as he strolls alone down the cobbled road.

I wonder why that guy didn't recognize me as the evil queen, but Fake Idris is already turning back to me and bowing deeply.

"Your Majesty. May I ask why you are alone in Isenhold in such a state, and without your veil?"

"Veil?" I repeat. I glance down at the hideous, bloodstained purple gown. "Oh, balls. This thing is a wedding dress? Is the queen supposed to be getting married today? I guess that does explain the bells."

The man straightens to examine me with a slowly deepening frown, like he's trying to make any sense out of what I just said.

"No, no, the bells are…forgive me, Your Majesty, but is something amiss? Have you forgotten Isenmere's tradition of veiling our widowed queens to honor our departed kings?"

Now I'm the one trying to make any sense out of that. But since I'm still foggy on most things, and since I know firsthand how frighteningly common it is to not be believed as a woman in general—never mind trying to explain that I just woke up in another world by mistake—I decide to go for the easiest solution here.

"Actually, I've forgotten everything," I claim with a shrug. "I have no memories at all. Have we met before? Do you know who I am?"

He clearly does know who I am, but this is the best way to test whether I can trust Idris Elba's doppelganger.

If he thinks the queen has lost her memories and tries to use that to hurt her, I'll make a break for it. But if he helps me instead, maybe I can get him to point me to the nearest witch's cottage.

Surprise crosses the kindly man's face before he becomes thoughtful.

"Oh, dear. This is most dangerous for you. You see, you are Queen Reinhilde, who has ruled Isenmere for ten years in the wake of the late King Leland."

A tiny bit of the tension I've carried since waking up in this world leaves my shoulders at his honesty and the obvious concern in his expression. Those three murderers made it sound like everyone and their dog wants the evil queen dead—but at least one person isn't actively trying to kill me.

"As for whether we have met, we indeed have," he goes on, growing uncomfortable. "I am Merrick. I was King Leland's dear friend and chamberlain of Isenmere Castle for many years until…well, until you chose Schultz to replace me the morning following the king's death," he admits.