Chapter Two

Vic gave up trying to gain control of the body he found himself residing in. Initially, he had screamed, fought against the movements and strained to find even an ounce of control. The moment the body looked into the mirror was the moment he stopped fighting. Later, he would realize it was shock that shut him down. When it happened, he had stopped screaming and stared into the large brown eyes of the most beautiful face he had ever seen. When her full mouth opened and she said “weird” he felt shock and awe at the vividness of the moment, the hot moisture in the air, the feeling of it against his skin, the vibration of the vocal cords as he spoke. Everything felt so real and yet, he was only a visitor here. In the first few moments the screams in his head had been panicked and defining. The shower of hot water and overwhelming mint of the ointment pushed into his mouth had calmed and focused him somewhat. He still felt trapped in a human box, but he could now contemplate his bizarre situation with a slight degree of rationale.
What is your last lucid moment? He asked, trying to speak but only managing to think the statement. Before he could reflect on the thought he was moving down a long hallway with many doors on each side. There was a decidedly feminine bounce to his step that he found extremely irritating. How did women manage to walk this way and not have a colossal headache consistently, he wondered in disgust. He turned and was startled by a loud shrill noise, akin to a bell ringing, as a panel opened into a small closet. He stepped into the opening, turned and pressed his index finger onto a glowing orb with a number etched onto its middle. Abrupt movement pulled him from his state of musing into utter fear, as the ground began to move under him. He stood casually tapping his right toe against the ground, as he screamed and tore at the sides of his invisible cage. The tapping stilled, his hand shot out, braced against the panel, just as all movement stopped.

Prologue

Victorie smoothed her hands down the coarse material of her ankle length skirt. The material swayed against her bare legs and brushed the top of her black leather boots. The small chain mail glove on her left hand clinked against the belt buckle as she tucked in her cotton blouse. The material was rather flimsy compared to her usual combat gear, but today was different, more presentation, less acrobatics.
“Vic, hurry up!” a voice called from the hall.
She grinned and yelled back , “ I’m coming, keep your shorts on!” As she raced to finish her pre show preparation her heart beat faster from the adrenaline being released into her bloodstream. This was the part she liked least about performing. The nervous energy frustrated her and made her forgetful. A forgetful moment could be a very dangerous thing in her business. Victorie stopped moving and listened to her heart pounding. She listened, felt, and thought about the day.
“This day will end well, and when it does, I will smile.” Her voice held a slight tremble as it always did when she said these words aloud. She turned toward the door, took a deep breath, wrapped her right hand around the hilt of her broadsword and walked from the room.


Victor Standish, Vic to any who cared to acknowledge his disdain for his namesake, couldn’t believe his bad luck. This castle and its lands had been in his family for ten generations and now it was slipping through his fingers. His idiot grandfather had put a provision in the will stating that the eldest sons only regain the family wealth after securing a strong wife. Upon nullification of those circumstances the family wealth would revert to the cousins on his mothers side of the family, the Madison’s. A family divided was the least of his problems. He had let the time get away from him and now his father was on his death bed, his sister had married and moved away, and he was all that was left of a once thriving dynasty. He knew he should feel some shame for his current situation. He didn’t. Anger was the only emotion that wrapped around him at the moment.
Vic had always hated his grandfather. It was one of the reasons that he had put off his impending nuptials, anything to irritate the old man. A step that seemed ludicrous now with the old man long dead and his father near death. His pride had never served him well, a trait ironically identical to his grandfather’s most notable attribute. A candle flickered on its stone base by his bedside. The shadows danced around the room. A crack of thunder shook the air. It was barely mid-day, yet clouds had caused the light to hide. “This is preposterous!” his deep voice boomed inside the large chamber echoing off the walls. He decided in that moment, he would do it; there really was no other choice. He would ride to Castle Hail and ask for Mary Hail’s hand. “ Argh!” he groaned thinking about what it would mean. He stopped all movement and listened to his heart as it pounded in his chest. “This day all will be well. At its end, I will smile.” His strong voice sounded as it always did when he said these words aloud, unsure but hopeful. He moved with purpose toward the door, at the last moment reached out with his left hand, and wrenched his broadsword from the wall.