Twisted Reality

~ Rhys ~

Sighing, Rhys rolled onto his side. His breathing came easily, devoid of pain in his lungs, and his throat felt a little uncomfortable, but the sharp stinging sensation had vanished.

He felt… refreshed. Was the aconite out of his system so quickly? It had been some time since he was last poisoned, but he never recovered this fast. Unless he slept for longer?

Rhys was about to drift off to sleep once more, satisfied his recovery was quicker than he anticipated, until he noticed the consciousness of another being. It did not feel like his feral, ferocious wolf, Demon. His eyes snapped open, concerned with this strange feeling.

He blinked as the musty, dark room came into focus. A frown formed on his face as a sense of disorientation washed over him. The bed beneath him lacked any trace of luxury or comfort, and the presence of two meagre pillows and a thin blanket startled him, revealing that this was most certainly not his familiar opulent abode.

Rhys remained prone, carefully evaluating the situation. Did that wench and her band of rebels abduct him, leading him to this dreadfully ungodly room? Unknowingly, he wrinkled his brow, examining the weathered, cracked brick walls and the worn, brown-green wooden floor. 

Positioned at the foot of the small double bed stood a weathered leather chest, while across from him, a wooden table held an assortment of scrolls, books, and a weathered map of the kingdoms adorning the wall, marked and tattered.

Only a single candle holder remained on the table, its dwindling wax causing the flame to flicker and cast feeble shadows throughout the dismal room. Rhys wondered if there was even a window in this place, prompting him to turn his head and discover its presence behind him. His breath caught.

At least, the presence of the window offered a glimmer of solace amidst the gloom. The frame was flimsy, barely held together by a few bent nails, yet beyond that was a breathtaking sight. A valley sprawled below, graced by a wide and winding river. The grass was a vivid green, with the sun casting beams of light over the scenery, momentarily blinding Rhys, starkly contrasting the dreary confinement of the room he found himself in.

Rolling onto his back, Rhys wearily rubbed his eyes, his brows furrowing further. He pondered the rebels’ next course of action and how they were so arrogant to leave him in a room unguarded and unrestrained. Did they think his injuries would confine him to the bed?

Rhys knew there was nobody outside the room. At that moment, a whine echoed in his mind, jolting him out of his reverie. When did his wolf ever whine? 

Wait… Something wasn’t right. This wolf’s presence was not overpowering. It was not heavy like the crown on his head and kingdom on his shoulders. Demon had not ripped through his mind, claiming control of his body out of fury from being poisoned.

There was a wolf’s presence. 

But it wasn’t his own.

The wolf growled and then whimpered. 

Nisha.

Rhys was momentarily captivated by the whisper of the wolf's name echoing in his mind. It was as if he both heard and didn't hear it, yet an inexplicable knowing settled within him. The presence of Nisha served as a bizarre distraction from Rhys’ current predicament and the sombre atmosphere enveloping the musty room.

What was... this? He couldn’t comprehend the light weight of this wolf’s presence in his mind. A wolf that was… feminine? 

Feminine?! 

Rhys wiped a hand down his face, pausing when he noticed the size of his hand. A hand that had been aching and throbbing from some recent injury. But he didn’t injure his hand in his fight against Amira?

The more pieces that weren’t clicking together, the more panic pumped and frustration coursed through his body. He abruptly sat up and halted. His eyes rounded at the plump breasts on his chest. 

Plump… breasts…

Breasts…

He had breasts…

Words failed to escape his lips as he looked at the flimsy black slip dress barely covering this figure. This figure was small, arms toned but tiny. 

“Wait…” Panic gripped his throat in a tight hold. 

Rhys ripped the blanket away from his legs and lifted the skirt.

An angry scream caught in his throat from the shock of missing his goddess' gift between his legs.

My dick is gone! 

“What the fuck have they done to me!?” Rhys clasped his throat. His voice was feminine. “This is a glamour or something. The fairies are fucking with me!” 

The more he spoke, the more enraged he felt. 

And his dick was gone! 

What sorcery is this?!

He cupped himself, blinking at the very real and warm feeling of a pussy between his legs. His hands, hands that were fricken small, slid up to the breasts and squeezed hard. 

Ow! 

They were real. 

Very. Fucking. Real!

And his dick was gone! Replaced with a vagina!

No, no, no… This couldn’t be? How… This was a dream…

But it didn’t feel like a dream. Rhys slapped his face as hard as he could and blinked with a tear in the corner of his eye from the sting of his hand. 

Very… unbelievably… real!

Clambering out of bed, almost collapsing with the blanket twisted around his ankles, Rhys rushed to the dusty mirror leaning against the wall beside the desk.

“What in Goddess’ name is this!?” Rhys growled into the mirror; his voice came out feminine and his reflection, not his own. 

This was a nightmare, a cruel trick of his mind. It was playing on him for rejecting this woman as his mate.

The woman he wanted to kill was staring back at him from the mirror, hands clutching her face, eyes wide with shock and fury. The nails grew into claws, ready to scratch at the face of the wench who tried to kill him. But the piercing pain and the pool of blood shocked him into a surreal reality.

This was not a nightmare. This was indeed real!? He was fully convinced now with the trickling of blood down the side of Amira’s-his face.

Rhys was inside Amira’s body! So, where was Amira?

A knock at the door made him jump, and he instinctively sought out a weapon, but before he could react, the door swung open abruptly. Stepping into the room was a man whom Rhys recognised, yet couldn't quite place how he was acquainted with him. The man sported cropped black hair, reminiscent of the military style of the guards, and his dark green eyes stood out against his olive complexion. 

But where did he know him?

Cautiously watching the man, Rhys stepped back, causing the man to frown, but he did not comment on his strange behaviour. “You are up earlier than I anticipated. How are you feeling, Amira?” The man asked, stepping closer to her, observing her face and neck before reaching towards him.

Rhys forced himself not to react to the man’s touch on his wrist and turning it over. Was this man Amira’s physician? He glanced at the room that needed a good makeover. No, she couldn’t afford one. 

Besides, if this was… real- he swallowed the bile rising up his throat from his thoughts- then the injuries she sustained from him the night before were already almost healed.

The man arched his eyebrow at him, expecting his response. “Erm… Better than before?” Drats, he sounded so unsure of himself. 

Well, the situation was fricken odd. How was he meant to wrap his mind around it? What did this mean? 

The man-

Zayyan.

Zayyan… How did he… Did the wolf… 

Rhys was suddenly aware of some images thrust into his mind. Amira and Zayyan played around as children, their laughter filling his mind, revealing a joyous and happy memory.

Cousin. Zayyan was Amira’s cousin. He didn’t know how he knew or if Amira’s wolf- if that was who this presence in this body was- showed him who Zayyan was.

“Look, I wouldn’t beat yourself up about not killing him…” Zayyan said, his tone filled with understanding. “We shouldn’t have sent you alone in the first place. We should have at least sent Caz to accompany you.” 

Zayyan seemed wary with his words whilst observing Rhys’ reaction. No, not his reaction, but Amiras.

Would Amira beat herself up because she failed to kill him?

Instead of answering, he merely nodded. Zayyan frowned at him but looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Look… Erm… You can walk and seem to be fine… And…” 

Why was Zayyan babbling? He seemed nervous. Rhys was good at reading body language, even though he didn’t know Amira’s cousin. But he could tell the man was uneasy by how he avoided his gaze and seemed to fidget, moving some papers around the desk.

“Oh, for the love of the goddess… Spit it out.” He snapped, making Zayyan flinch. 

How could Amira’s voice cause him to flinch? Rhys wanted to scoff, but he refrained from doing so. 

She was a little... His thoughts trailed off. She was a little shit that tried to kill him and escaped effortlessly. He would not underestimate her again.

With a grim expression, Zayyan met Rhys’ now mismatched red and green eyes. 

“Xenos wants a word.”