Damian woke up in a Magnificent Bed, an even more magnificent dormitory in an insanely magnificent palace. At first he thought about the league, but a look in the mirror told him that this was a dream. How did he recognize that? His body was grown. And he wants the sight too much. He looked good enough to eat. But if he was aware of this fact, it was said to be a lucid dream. Perfect. He was dressed by his servants and he realized that he was the Sultan. The loyal advisor at his side introduced him to his next wife, who was his own daughter.
But he became suspicious. Was that an adult version of Jordis?
It even seemed that way. The Sultan noticed the discomfort the advisor felt. Your own daughter. He was well known for having his wife executed the day after their wedding because his first wife had cheated on him. Jordis, on the other hand, didn't seem to have any fear of death; she flattered him and talked to him, kept him company. After the wedding and after his daily business, she kept him company again and began to tell him fascinating stories. This woman captivated him.
And the days passed without execution. She was his Sherazade. He was addicted to your stories. Every day this feeling grew stronger. Was he just addicted to your stories?
No, it was certainly more than that.
But suddenly he woke up rudely from his dream. At first he was a bit disoriented. He blinked at the now younger Jordis, yawned loudly and wrapped her in a hug. But something was strange right now. This aura...
