When Katherine walked back into the bedroom the next morning, carrying a tray with a glass of water and some toast, he was awake.
He was sitting up in bed, looking much better. The fever had broken. His skin still looked pale, but it wasn't the sickly gray of the night before.
He wasn't looking at her. He was scanning the room, his eyes wide, taking in the alien textures of the drywall, the strange, sharp angles of the modern furniture, the unnatural silence. His gaze finally settled on the ceiling.
Specifically, he was staring at the recessed lighting.
Katherine set the tray down on the dresser. "You're up."
He didn't acknowledge her. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling fixture.
She walked over to the wall and flipped the switch.
Click.
The room was flooded with bright, white light.
He flinched violently, his hand flying to the sword that lay beside him on the pillow.
"What sorcery is this?" he barked, his eyes wide as he stared at the light bulb. There was no flame, no smoke, no wax. Just pure, blinding light.
"It's electricity," Katherine said, keeping her distance. "It powers the lights."
"Electricity," he repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. He clearly didn't believe her.
He looked around the room, his paranoia growing. His eyes landed on the air purifier in the corner. It hummed softly, a blue light blinking on its surface.
"What is that box?" he demanded, pointing. "It makes a noise."
"It cleans the air," she said. "It's an air purifier."
He didn't look convinced. He suddenly looked up, his nostrils flaring. "There is a draft. But no window is open."
Katherine pointed to the vent near the ceiling. "That's the HVAC. Central air conditioning. It controls the temperature."
Every word she said seemed to chip away at his sanity. He was a man out of time, literally, and the modern world was a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
He threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, swaying slightly, and stalked over to the window.
He grabbed the curtain and pulled it back.
The view was of the manicured lawn, the long gravel driveway, and beyond the estate gates, the main road.
A black SUV sped past, its tires humming on the asphalt.
He dropped the curtain like it had burned him. He stumbled backward, his face draining of color.
"Where are the horses?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Where are the carriages? What are those iron beasts?"
He spun around, his eyes wild with a fear that was far greater than anything he had shown the night before. The sword was in his hand again, pointed at her chest.
"Who are you?" he shouted. "What have you done to me? Where is this place?"
Katherine raised her hands, trying to calm him down. She had to break through the panic. She had to take control.
"My name is Katherine Davenport," she said, her voice loud and clear. "This is New York."
She paused, letting the words sink in. Then she delivered the blow.
"And you are Cain Finley. The King of Ethelgard."
