Rolling over in bed, I stretched my arms wide and yawned, keeping my eyes closed against the bright morning light. My entire body felt loose and languid, not at all what I expected after a night of drinking and dancing. Perhaps thirty wouldn't be so bad after all.

Then again, maybe it was the quality of the bed and linens that made last night's sleep so restful. I dragged the comforter to my nose and inhaled the heady tones of lavender and eucalyptus while rubbing my face against the downy material. Did I purchase a different type of detergent and not realize it? And if so, I needed to ensure I bought it again.

Sighing, I finally opened my eyes. "Good grief. Did I not close the curtains?"

I sat up and threw off the covers, holding my hand above my brows to shield my eyes. The better question was when had I opened the curtains? As someone who stayed up late and slept even later, I used blackout curtains and kept them pulled tight to avoid this exact scenario.

The floor was cold against my bare feet as I shuffled toward the window, free hand extended and searching for the edge of the curtain to draw it closed. Only the window wasn't where it was supposed to be, and when my fingers finally brushed against fabric, it wasn't the cheap polyester blend I expected.

Finally, looking at my surroundings, I shrieked. Last night came rushing back to me, and I gripped the wall–the stone wall–for support as I hunted for any explanation that wasn't the one in my hazy, drunken memories.

"Maybe," I said out loud, hands fanning my rapidly heating face, "you went home with the blonde guy from the bar? You never went to the diner, and you made the rookie mistake of spending the night."

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. One I might have accepted if I couldn't see out the massive, arched window taking up three quarters of the bedroom wall. Because instead of a dull blue horizon intersected by high rises and the odd, purposefully placed tree, a sky of white wisped periwinkle stretched over miles and miles of an emerald gowned forest.

Through its center wound a crystal blue river that frothed around steel gray boulders. It disappeared entirely in some places, hidden by the tallest trees with the thickest foliage.

While I could explain away all those things, the great white-winged stags racing across a meadow of gold grass in front of my current residence could not. Nor could the flicks of rainbow fins I spied in the water, or the unicorns grazing in the shade cast by a stone bridge built over the widest part of the river.

Part of me wanted to lean out the window so I could get a better look at the building I was in, but the part that was overwhelmed by what it had already witnessed won out. I spun around and realized at once that the new view was no more calming than the old.

The bed I'd so thoroughly enjoyed was suspended from the vaulted ceiling by vines covered in purple blossoms that cascaded downward like wisteria. A breeze through the window stirred their scent—the one I'd mistaken as laundry detergent—throughout the room, and it eased some of my rising panic.

A fireplace big enough for me to walk into without ducking took up the wall directly opposite the end of the bed, but instead of logs for burning, it was filled with dozens of candles in various stages of melting. The candles also covered the mantle, though there, they wound the same vines holding the bed aloft through the pillars, making it look like the candles grew out of the plant.

There wasn't much else in the room. A gilded vanity with a washbasin. A chaise lounge in deep plum and gold threading. The walls and floors were matching stone. The only difference was that on the walls, plants pushed through cracks, and in some places, tapestries depicting hunts and balls hung from the ceiling to the floor.

The ceiling itself was a marvel. I could spy a great beam running across its center, but only barely. Wrapped all along it and running from wall to wall were more vines, only these were dried and brown with no flowers dripping from them. It reminded me of grapevines, but they were far thicker and sturdier than that. Sturdy enough that in the center they had been bound to form a chandelier, and on each of its dozens of gnarled arms, more candles rested.

Something rustled across the room, and I stumbled back, hand going to my heaving chest as a door I'd missed during my perusal opened. My system must have been numb because it did not surprise me when a tall, beautiful man with gleaming eyes entered. A circlet of silver rested on his brow, and the sharp points of his ears rose just above the band, peeking out through golden hair that hung down his back in waves.

"I hope everything is to your satisfaction," he purred, approaching me slowly. It wasn't the slow walk of caution. No, he moved like an animal stalking its prey.

I swallowed hard as a sliver of disappointment rippled through me, and when I opened my mouth to speak, the most absurd words fell out. Later, I would blame it on shock.

"You're blonde."