Arabella looked down at the thin straps of her dress, her fingers lightly brushing over them. She hesitated, as if caught between fear and longing. Then, slowly, she slid them off her shoulders. The dress dipped lower, revealing her skin, glowing soft and warm in the golden light streaming through the window. Her breath hitched—not from cold, but from the way his eyes followed every movement, quiet and full of wonder.
Jack didn't speak. He couldn't. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. She was beautiful—achingly so—and more than that, she was letting him see her in her most fragile form, offering something deeper than just touch.
Arabella's cheeks flushed, the pink bloom spreading down her neck and across her chest. She looked at him, her eyes wide, searching his face for something—acceptance, maybe, or longing. The silence between them grew heavier, more intimate than any words.
Her dress slid lower, the soft fabric whispering down her body. Jack stood frozen, torn between the need to reach for her and the fear of breaking the moment. She stepped closer, bare shoulders rising and falling with each nervous breath. She didn't speak either, but her eyes asked a question he wasn't sure how to answer.
Her dress finally fell away, revealing her completely. With a gasp, Jack shut his eyes tight, like he'd seen something forbidden, "What in God's name are you doing?"
Arabella smirked, "Isn't it obvious?"
He opened one eye. "Are you... trying to seduce me?"
Naked from the waist up, slowly walked toward him. He backed up instinctively until his back hit the wall. She pressed close, her hands braced on either side of him, her breath brushing his skin. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I am…"
Jack swallowed hard, then reached up and slid off his coat. Arabella blinked, confused, until he gently wrapped it around her. The coat fell over her shoulders like a shield, soft and warm. Their eyes met, and Jack's gaze was filled with something deeper than lust—something raw and real.
You don't have to do this," he whispered. "Not for me. I'm not… I'm not worthy of you. You deserve someone who sees every part of you and still chooses you, not just in this moment, but every moment."
Her hands trembled slightly as he gently pulled away from her arms. He turned, stepping toward the door, his footsteps quiet.
But she caught his wrist, fingers tightening with quiet desperation. Her voice broke. "I don't know what else to do. You're all I have left. Please… don't leave me."
He paused, heart aching, and slowly turned back.
"I know," Jack replied, "but I can't stay. I need to return to my own world."
"Then...can I come with you?" she pleaded, clutching his coat to her chest as if it were a lifeline.
He hesitated, the weight of her question pressing down on him. "What about your duties? your responsibilities? Do you think the Duke will even consider it?"
"I can convince him," she insisted, her voice gaining strength. "Twenty-three years I've spent here. Don't I deserve an adventure of my own? And...you're strong, you can protect me, right?"
He sighed, the battle raging within him. "I suppose...it's possible. But I doubt the Duke and Beatrice will easily persuaded."
Arabella began to dress again, her movements slow and deliberate. Jack turned away, respecting her privacy. When she was finished, she said, "Okay, I'm ready. Let's go."
"Sure," Jack replied. "Oh, can I keep your coat? It's beautiful, I think it suits me," Arabella added, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
"I don't mind at all," Jack said, a warmth spreading through him.
They headed towards her father's room, intending to tell him of her decision. But they found his butler already there. "The Duke is outside, with Lady Beatrice. He's seeing her off."
They went outside. The Duke and Beatrice seemed to have finished their conversation and were waiting. Arabella approached her father, her voice firm. "Papa, I'm going with Jack. I want to have an adventure, and he can protect me from the curse, you felt it also right? he's mana, he is a capable man. He can't stay here to protect so I will come with him."
Her father's brow furrowed. "Arabella, this is madness! I know he's powerful but you can't just abandon your duties and your life here."
"But Papa," she pleaded, "this isn't just some whim. I feel it in my bones – it was going to happen again and I feel this time, the catastrophe was more worst than before. And Jack...he's my only hope." She looked at Jack, her eyes shining with a fierce determination.
The Duke looked at Beatrice, who was staring at Jack with a mixture of suspicion and annoyance. The Duke sighed. "Arabella, this is reckless. Think of your responsibilities, your position..."
"I've thought about it, Papa," she interrupted, her voice rising slightly. "But my responsibilities extend beyond these walls. I have a life to live, a future to shape, and I can't do that here, not anymore."
Beatrice's head whipped around at the mention of Jack's name, her expression a mixture of shock and disapproval. The Duke looked troubled, but Arabella pressed on. "I promise I'll return after my twenty-fourth birthday."
Her father looked from her determined face to Jack's steadfast expression. He saw the strength in both of them, a strength that mirrored the growing unease in his own heart. After a long, silent moment, he said, his voice weary, "Very well, Arabella. But I expect you back after your twenty-fourth birthday. And I expect you to be safe."
After some discussion, her father, though clearly unhappy, seemed to relent. He turned to Jack, his voice heavy with concern, "Take care of my daughter."
"I will, sir," Jack replied, meeting the Duke's gaze with unwavering resolve.
Beatrice, however, stepped forward, her gaze sharp to Jack. "Why does you need to take her? She's perfectly capable of managing herself." Her tone was clipped, the unspoken animosity towards Arabella barely concealed.
Jack met her gaze directly. "Beatrice, Arabella's dealing with a serious curse. It's intense. I'm the only one who can keep her safe until this whole disaster is over. She needs me around."
Beatrice raised an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. "A curse? How convenient."
"It's true," Jack insisted, his voice calm but firm. "Until I can figure out how to break this curse, she needs me to protect her. It's not about taking her—it's about keeping her alive." He paused, sensing her underlying resistance. "I get why you're worried, Beatrice. But I promise—I'll keep her safe."
Beatrice studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. A flicker of something – perhaps jealousy, perhaps resentment – crossed her face before she masked it with a cool composure. "Very well," she finally conceded, her tone still sharp. "But if anything happens to her..." The unspoken threat hung in the air. Deep down, she didn't want Arabella to go, didn't want her with Jack, but for the sake of appearances, and perhaps a sliver of reluctant acceptance of his explanation, she let it pass. "Fine," she said, the word tight with unspoken reservations.
Arabella raced back to her mansion, a whirlwind of silk and excitement. She flew up to her room, grabbing her most beautiful dresses and carefully selecting her jewelry. Jack and Beatrice waited in the luxurious carriage, the rich scent of leather and polished wood filling the air.
The Duke arrived shortly after, his expression a mixture of anticipation and concern. "Arabella," he began, his voice smooth as polished stone, "are you certain you don't wish for Craig to accompany you?"
Arabella, already settling into the carriage's plush seat, gave a confident smile. "Thank you for your concern, Papa, but Jack is more than enough protection for me." She patted Jack's hand, a silent reassurance. "Besides," she added with a playful glint in her eye, "a little danger only adds spice to the adventure, wouldn't you agree?"
Jack grinned, a silent agreement passing between them. The Duke, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, bowed gracefully. "Very well, My daughter. Be careful on your journey."
The carriage rolled smoothly toward Porthaven's gates. Inside, Jack sat between Arabella and Beatrice, and the mood could've been cut with a butter knife—if that butter knife was also judging him.
Arabella stared out one window, arms folded. Beatrice sat stiffly across from them, her expression icy and unbothered, like a queen forced to sit next to peasants. The tension was so thick, Jack was pretty sure he could taste it. It tasted like sass and unresolved drama.
He glanced between the two women, then cleared his throat dramatically. "Sooo… are you two mad at each other, or just pretending I don't exist for fun?"
Beatrice didn't even blink. "Shut up. I'm sleeping."
"You're literally staring out the window," Jack said, raising a brow.
"I sleep with my eyes open when I'm annoyed."
Arabella gave a long, dramatic sigh and rested a hand on Jack's leg. "We're fine, Jack," she said sweetly, though her grip on his thigh said don't start.
Jack looked at Beatrice. "She says you're fine."
Beatrice scoffed. "Fine? Oh, we're just two peas in a lovely little pod, drowning in sunshine and rainbows."
Arabella raised an eyebrow. "At least I don't sulk like a moody cat."
Beatrice shot her a glare. "And at least I don't throw myself at time-traveling strangers like I'm auditioning for a romance novel."
Jack's eyes widened. "Okay, wow, you guys do need a nap."
Beatrice turned to him, eyes narrowed. "You need a muzzle."
Jack held up his hands in surrender. "Noted. Staying quiet. But just so you both know, the air in here feels like it's judging me now."
No one answered. Jack leaned back and whispered to himself, "Next time, I'm walking."
About thirty minutes later, the carriage rolled through the gates of Porthaven. The city was alive with color and motion—tall stone buildings lined the streets, their windows glowing with soft golden light. Flags waved gently in the wind, and people bustled about, laughing, shopping, and calling out to one another. Street performers played music on the corners, and the scent of fresh bread and spices drifted through the air.
Jack leaned out slightly, eyes wide with amazement. He'd never seen a place like this—so full of life, beauty, and history. "It's like something out of a story," he whispered to himself.
But just as he started to relax, a sudden noise shattered the peaceful moment.
It started with a distant scream. Then another. And another.
In seconds, the joyful sounds of the city were drowned out by chaos—shouts, terrified cries, and the clanging of metal. People began to run past the carriage, their faces twisted in fear. Some clutched their children, others dropped their baskets or belongings as they fled.
The carriage lurched to a halt. Jack glanced out the window to see people fleeing in panic, streaming away from the Porthaven gates.
"What's wrong?!" Beatrice demanded, her voice edged with alarm.
"My lady, it's urgent—Porthaven is under attack!" Howard called out, urgency in his tone.
Beside him, Harold wrestled with the panicked horses, fear carved into his features as his white-knuckled hands gripped the reins.
"What do you mean?" Arabella's voice was tight with disbelief. A cold dread began to grip her, a feeling far colder than the usual thrill of adventure.
The three of them peered out simultaneously. A wave of green surged into view – a horrifying tide of goblins pouring through the city gates.
"Goblins!" Arabella breathed, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief. The elegant composure she usually maintained crumbled under the sheer terror of the sight. This wasn't some fanciful tale; this was a real, brutal invasion.
"Goblins?" Jack echoed, astonishment giving way to a dawning horror. "Green… like, actually green goblins? As in, from the stories?" He felt a shiver crawl down his spine. The stories he'd heard as a child, dismissed as mere folklore, were suddenly terrifyingly real.
The goblins were a horrifying sight. Their skin was a sickly, mottled green, like decaying vegetation. Many were scarred and scabbed, their bodies bearing the marks of countless battles. Their eyes, small and beady, gleamed with a feral intelligence, and their teeth were bared in snarls, revealing rows of yellowed, pointed fangs. Some carried crude, rusty weapons – wickedly curved blades, bludgeons fashioned from bone, and rusty spears. Others wielded makeshift shields, patched together from scraps of metal and wood. Their ragged clothing, a patchwork of stolen fabrics and scavenged leathers, hung loosely on their wiry frames, revealing glimpses of sinewy muscle. A stench of damp earth, decay, and something acrid and unpleasant clung to them, a miasma that preceded their advance. They were a chaotic, snarling mass, a tide of green fury sweeping through the streets of Porthaven.
They scrambled out of the carriage, the full scale of the invasion unfolding before them. The sight was terrifying – a relentless horde of green-skinned creatures swarming into Porthaven. The air itself seemed to vibrate with their guttural cries and the clash of steel.
Beatrice, her face pale but resolute, drew a deep breath. "We need a plan," she said, her voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. "And we need it now." Her eyes, though filled with apprehension, held a spark of determination. The goblins were a terrifying enemy, but they wouldn't break her. Not today.
The first goblin warrior, a hulking brute with a crudely fashioned axe, was already within sight, its eyes fixed on them with savage intent.