The rejected crown (book 1)

A twist in time

ezra

Ezra was still trembling as they dragged him out of the pit, the mocking laughter of the guards echoing behind him. His body ached, his heart racing from the sheer brutality of the fight. The guards shoved him and the other battered fighters down a narrow corridor until they reached the sleeping quarters—a dimly lit, grimy room with stone walls and straw pallets scattered across the floor. Ezra collapsed onto a pallet, his entire body protesting as he did. He stared up at the cracked ceiling, trying to steady his breathing. He had no idea how he was going to survive here.

"Reckless move back there," a voice muttered nearby. Ezra turned his head to see one of the other gladiators, a scarred man with a shaved head, watching him with a half-smile. "What kind of idiot charges in like that with no plan?"

"I had a plan," Ezra mumbled, feeling defensive. "It just... didn't work out."

The man snorted. "Clearly. So what's your story? You don't look like the usual bloodthirsty type."

Ezra hesitated, searching for a way to explain himself, then he whispered "can you tell me what year is it?"

The wiry man stared at him as if he'd just sprouted a second head. "What kind of question is that?" he hissed.

"Please," Ezra insisted, desperation creeping into his tone. "Just tell me. What year is it?"

The man's brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked as if he might laugh. But then he saw the fear in Ezra's eyes and shook his head slowly, disbelief etched into every line of his face. "You really don't know, do you?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "It's 1565."

Ezra's world tilted. The air seemed to thicken, pressing in around him, making it hard to breathe. "No... that can't be right." His words came out as a strangled whisper. He stumbled back, his shoulders hitting the cold stone wall. "1565? No. That's... that's impossible."

The man gave him a hard look. "Not for you, it seems."

Ezra shook his head, panic clawing at his chest. "This has to be some kind of trick," he said, his voice rising. "A prank. I don't know how you did it, but this isn't real. It can't be!"

A guard's glare silenced him, but his mind kept screaming. 1565. He was more than four centuries in the past. The history books he'd studied, the events he'd read about—it was all happening now, all around him. But this wasn't a textbook; this was raw, brutal reality.

The wiry man spoke again, his tone grim. "Get a hold of yourself, boy. If they think you're mad, they'll put you down."

Ezra pressed his back harder against the wall, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Everything he knew—his home, his family, his time—was gone. How? Why? Questions pounded in his skull, but there were no answers, only the cold, hard fact that he was trapped in a time and place that didn't belong to him.

He felt the stone wall behind him, rough and unyielding. This was real. Painfully, undeniably real. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he forced them back. He couldn't fall apart—not here, not now. He had to survive. He had to find a way back.

Suddenly,the door to the room swung open with a loud, ominous creak, and the guards tensed as a commanding figure stepped into the doorway.

"On your feet!" one of the guards barked, banging the flat of his sword against the stone wall. "The princess is here!"

The room exploded into movement as the gladiators scrambled to line up. Ezra, still aching from his previous fight, scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. Princess Giovanna. He had read about her, of course—but seeing her now, here, in person, was overwhelming.