Part 1
Bisera stood at the threshold of James's sprawling mansion, heart thudding with unfamiliar excitement. Beyond the foyer stretched a glistening kitchen: bright overhead lights, reflective counters, and strange appliances humming quietly. The sheer cleanliness took her breath away. In Vakeria, kitchens tended toward open hearths and sooty walls. By contrast, this place seemed as pristine as a high priest's alabaster chamber.
Yet the true marvel, she realized, was James himself. He stood by a stovetop, calmly flipping some sizzling concoction while wearing a snug white T-shirt and denim trousers he called "jeans." She blinked, attempting to reconcile his aristocratic demeanor with the humble act of cooking. Surely a man of means would have servants…unless he is a miser.
That thought made her cringe inwardly. Stop it, Bisera, she chided herself. He saved your life—more than once! He isn't a miser like certain merchants back home. Then, she remembered an old conversation she once had with James regarding self-sufficiency. She recalled him joking: "Imagine being served your whole life, then in the afterlife, you have to cook your own meals!" It was a perspective she'd never considered. In Vakeria, the faith taught that all believers are equal before the Universal Spirit in the afterlife, but to get there, one must adhere to the demands of their station while they were in this life. And Bisera's station was a noblewoman and a general. Hence, cooking was something she only did very crudely as part of her military experience when necessary.
Her internal musings were cut short when James turned. "Bisera?" His warm smile made her pulse skip. He held a spatula like a tiny scepter. "Lunch will be ready in about twenty minutes. Or is that too long for a mighty warrior?"
She drew herself up with mock offense. "I had gone without food for days; a mere twenty minutes is nothing." Despite her lofty tone, her stomach growled, and her face colored instantly.
James chuckled, turning back to the stove. "I will do my best to speed it up." He gestured at an empty spot on the counter. "In the meantime, want to help chop vegetables?"
A pang throbbed in her side—the lingering reminder of an ambush wound. She winced inwardly, determined not to show weakness. "Of course," she said, lifting her chin, "but… could you show me, just in case I damage the … table in the process."
A few moments later, Bisera found herself at a cutting board, gingerly slicing peppers. Despite the odd setting, she relished the simple, soothing rhythm of preparing food. She noticed how James glided around the kitchen with casual confidence, stirring pots, checking an oven, nudging her aside whenever they nearly collided. Each brush of their elbows sent a tingling through her veins, making her strangely self-conscious.
Everything proceeded smoothly—until Bisera, expecting a simple basin or bucket, tried rinsing the knife at a strange metal spout. Curious yet wary, she tugged on a small lever and turned a second knob for good measure, praying under her breath that the contraption would simply produce water. Instead, a powerful stream shot upward like a freed serpent. She gasped, reflexively jumping back as the torrent drenched the front of her borrowed T-shirt.
James spun around in alarm. "Oh—hang on!" He lunged at the tap, fumbling awkwardly until the water finally stopped gushing. But the damage was already done: Bisera stood utterly drenched, her borrowed T-shirt plastered to her skin and leaving her large bosom unmistakably outlined beneath the thin, soaked fabric. Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized just how revealing the moment had become.
James, equally embarrassed, forced himself to look away. "I—I'll…get you a towel!" he blurted, his voice a strained mix of concern and embarrassed urgency.
In that instant, Seraphina's melodic voice echoed in James's mind: "Would you like to purchase 'Modern Female Inner Wear: Basic Bra Set'? Only $39.99!"
Startled, James slipped on the wet tiles and nearly toppled backward. Bisera's warrior reflexes kicked in—she quickly set the knife on the counter and lunged forward, catching him around the waist. Their abrupt impact pressed her E-cup breasts against his chest, the wet fabric of her T-shirt leaving nothing to the imagination.
For a heartbeat, their faces hovered inches apart, tension crackling like an electric storm.
"You…" Bisera began, eyes wide.
"…I almost fell," James croaked, trying—and failing—not to notice every curve molded against him. Focus, man!
At last, she released him, arms wrapping across her chest in a futile bid for modesty. "It appears your world's contraptions can be as dangerous as battlefield traps," she muttered, cheeks aflame.
He managed a shaky laugh, clearing his throat and forcing himself to look only at her face. "Let me grab you something dry—and, uh, a towel." With that, he dashed off, ignoring the persistent mental advertisement from Seraphina about undergarments.
Left alone, Bisera stood there, drenched and breathless. She tried in vain to calm the wild racing of her heart—nothing on any battlefield had ever sparked such an overwhelming surge of heat.
Soon, James returned, laden with a towel and a sweatshirt. He froze at the sight of Bisera still standing in a puddle, her expression a portrait of both embarrassment and defiance. "Here," he said softly, pressing the towel into her hands. He noted how the dampness had soaked her bandaged shoulder. "Uh—your bandages," he murmured. "They're wet, too. We should re-dress that wound."
Bisera hesitated, but the bandage indeed felt waterlogged against her skin. "Yes, we should," she admitted, allowing him to guide her to a nearby bar stool.
From a cabinet, he retrieved antiseptic, fresh gauze, and tape. After a moment's hesitation, Bisera carefully slipped the wet T-shirt off, revealing the older bandage underneath. She swiftly wrapped a towel around her bare bosom as James, ever discreet, turned his head away. He had seen her like this before, of course; from the previous bandaging, Bisera had deduced he must have cleaned nearly every inch of her upper body to treat and dress her arrow wounds.
"Just hold still," he murmured in a soothing tone.
Bisera let out a small, wry laugh. "You're a man of many talents, I see." Yet beneath her teasing, her heart thudded at the warmth of his fingertips. As he unwound the old wrap, she felt his gentle, deliberate touch. He dabbed antiseptic, murmuring an apology when she hissed at the sting, then carefully layered fresh gauze over her shoulder.
Tentatively, she cleared her throat. "James…this isn't the first time you've, um, seen me like this, is it?"
He froze, tape in hand. "…No," he admitted quietly. "The other day, I had to check for any hidden injuries. I—I tried to be respectful."
Bisera's cheeks burned, but surprisingly, she felt more relief than outrage. "You acted as a healer," she said softly. "I trust your intentions." Pausing, she fiddled with the edge of her shorts. "It appears people here don't wear very much, do they?"
James set the tape aside and managed a sheepish smile. "I guess some cultures here take pride in showing off healthy-looking skin."
Her expression mingled incredulity and acceptance, but she chose not to comment further. Once he finished taping the new bandage, he stepped back to admire his work. "All done. Feel better?"
She rolled her shoulder. "Much. Thank you."
Just then, Seraphina's voice chimed in James's head: "Basic Bra Set—only $39.99—recommended for your fiancée."
He grimaced internally, remembering Bisera's earlier reaction to modern hygiene products. He really didn't want a repeat of that embarrassment, but the drenched T-shirt incident proved she could use something more supportive. All right, he thought.
"Um, Bisera," he began haltingly, "do you recall the last time Seraphina gave you those…uh…women-only items? She's offering another one for you now. It's an undergarment for breast support."
Bisera's gaze darted downward, her cheeks flushing anew. "Support? Like a…band of cloth?"
James scratched the back of his neck, ears reddening. "Basically, yes. It's more structured. It might help with…comfort. And once you get used to it, it could even help you on the battlefield."
For a moment, Bisera stared at him, utterly at a loss. But when his mention of potential battlefield usefulness sank in, her eyes lit with excitement and determination. All her earlier shyness evaporated in a heartbeat. "Show me how to use it!"
James exhaled in relief; this reaction was far better than he'd dared hope. "I'll accept it, then." With a mental confirmation, he finalized the transaction. A faint shimmer lit the kitchen, and a small box appeared on the counter.
Bisera stared, wide-eyed. "Your conjurations never cease to amaze me."
James felt a surge of tenderness at her open-hearted acceptance. "I can show you how the straps adjust," he offered, flushing slightly. "But obviously, you'll handle the rest in private."
She swallowed, then reached out to trace the box's edges. "I appreciate how you look out for me," she said simply, meeting his gaze with warmth. "No one in my world would have thought of something like this."
Something in James's chest softened. I've never really cared this much before, he realized. Yet with her, it feels so natural. Am I transferring my devotion from my career to her?
Bisera shivered under the towel, prompting James to hand her a warm sweatshirt. She paused, looking meaningfully at him until he realized she needed privacy. "Oh! Right," he mumbled, stepping out of the kitchen.
Alone, Bisera freed her arms from the clammy shirt. She studied the bra's construction, faintly intrigued by the delicate lace along the edges. A strange contraption, but if it helps… Despite fumbling with the clasp at first, she finally secured it. The snug support felt surprisingly reassuring—almost like an armor piece tailored just for her.
Pulling on the sweatshirt, she savored its comforting dryness. The lace edging reminded her of the provocative lingerie she'd glimpsed in James's closet earlier, and she flushed. What if he's only temporarily infatuated because I'm exotic to him? The thought made her tense. Don't overthink. He's been nothing but sincere.
Finished dressing, Bisera neatly folded the towel and placed it on the kitchen island. She found James in the hallway, inspecting modern artwork on the walls. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned. "All good?" he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.
Bisera pressed a hand to her bosom. "It feels…unusual, but I believe I like it."
Relief spread across his features. "That's great." A playful spark lit his eyes. "Shall we get back to cooking before we end up flooding the house again?"
A soft laugh escaped her lips. "Yes. Lead on."
Part 2
Before long, the enticing aroma of peppers, onions, and savory spices permeated the kitchen. Bisera inhaled the heady scent, her stomach rousing with hunger. So this is how those magical meals he conjured before were made, she marveled. Meanwhile, James transferred the food onto plates with an almost theatrical flourish.
"Behold," he declared, playfully affecting the grandeur of a royal steward, "the masterpiece of your humble host." He handed her a plate, his eyes gleaming with lighthearted amusement.
They perched side by side at the sleek kitchen island on tall stools. Bisera took a tentative bite, and her eyes went wide in wonder. A fusion of herbs, sauces, and a subtle kick of heat danced on her palate—flavors beyond anything she'd experienced in her homeland. A soft groan of delight escaped her lips. "This is amazing," she managed, savoring each mouthful.
James grinned, clearly satisfied. "It's just some modern seasoning. Glad you approve." He kept an eye on her reaction, occasionally asking if it was too spicy or if she preferred more salt.
Between bites, they exchanged stories and lighthearted jokes about their drastically different worlds. The warm, almost carefree atmosphere enveloped them, temporarily making them forget the war looming in Bisera's realm. At one point, Bisera glanced around and noted the lack of servants. "In my world, anyone with an estate this grand usually employs an entire household staff. Yet you do all this yourself?"
James offered a sheepish shrug. "I do hire a landscaper sometimes, but otherwise…yeah. It's pretty normal here."
Bisera shook her head in mild disbelief. "You are truly a unique man," she said softly. "And that's precisely what I love about you."
The moment her words registered, time seemed to freeze. Their gazes locked as realization swept over them—Bisera had voiced the powerful sentiment that had been hovering just beneath the surface. Her face flamed a vivid scarlet, and she promptly buried it in her hands, mortified by her own daring.
James placed a comforting hand on her back and murmured, "That's also what I love about you. You're the most talented and remarkable lady I've ever met."
A hush fell, charged with tender promise—a moment that might have turned into a passionate kiss if either of them had the nerve to cross that threshold. Instead, they exchanged a knowing look, silently agreeing they weren't quite ready. We have time, Bisera told herself. We'll do this the right way.
Eventually, James cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence. "I'll handle clean-up. You should head upstairs and rest. The last thing we need is for you to reopen that wound. Besides, you still have an army to lead."
Bisera nodded in acquiescence, an almost endearing hint of meekness replacing her usual warrior's bearing. "Thank you."
With a lopsided grin, he offered her a mock salute. She made her way to the grand staircase, but paused halfway up. "Oh… James?" Her cheeks blushed anew. "Thank you for… the undergarment."
He reddened but managed a bright smile. "I'm glad it's helping."
Bisera returned his smile—small, warm, and brimming with newly acknowledged feelings—before disappearing from sight.
Left alone, James leaned against the counter, elbows propped, and released a slow, measured breath. He glanced at the still-damp floor, recalling the chaos of earlier. What a surreal day, he thought, a rueful grin tugging at his lips. But in the best possible way.
He couldn't help but revisit the memory of re-bandaging Bisera, the grace with which she'd accepted his help, and the earnest look in her eyes when she confessed her feelings. The thought filled him with gratitude—and a renewed sense of purpose he hadn't felt in ages.
A few minutes later, after mopping up and dumping the soaked towels in a hamper, James started restoring the kitchen to order. The dishwasher hummed dutifully in the background. He let out a contented sigh and leaned against the counter once more—only to have his phone chime, drawing his attention to where it sat on a charging dock.
Right, my phone… He hadn't checked it since returning to modern life. Between magical transports, medieval battles, and tending to Bisera's injuries, his old routine had fallen by the wayside. He thumbed the screen, bracing for a storm of missed notifications.
A flashing icon from his stock app caught his eye. He opened it, skimming through updates—until an alert made his breath catch. The market soared. Over the tumultuous weeks he'd been caught up in Bisera's conflict, his portfolio had skyrocketed. A key tech stock he held exploded past every analyst forecast. His gaze flicked to his unrealized gains, and he almost dropped the phone.
"Forty grand?" he breathed, heart pounding. Adrenaline raged through his veins. That's more than many people earn in a year. His mind raced with the possibilities. This could do a lot of good—maybe even for Vakeria.
In the stillness, James sensed what he'd come to recognize as Seraphina's presence—a soft rustle like wings against a gentle breeze. Her voice rose in his mind, airy yet insistent: "James, it's time for you to tend to your earthly affairs while you're here. Soon, I'll need to send both of you back, so make the most of this time with Bisera—and tend to your business in this world."
James closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Right. Despite the excitement blossoming between him and Bisera, they existed in two different worlds—separated by centuries. They might have to leave this place soon. He'd need to shore up his strength—in both realities. With one last glance at the phone, he vowed to make this fleeting interlude count, for both himself and Bisera.
Finally, James made up his mind: he would be asking Bisera to train him in the way of the warriors.