Shortly afterward, he appeared in the royal garden. Curled walkways and groomed bushes were bathed in sunlight.
Amid the colorful flowers, monuments of historical monarchs and heroes stood with majesty. On top of rose-flower-woven trellises, birds sang.
It was a power-encased paradise.
Steven continued walking till he came to a peaceful garden pond. The water remained motionless, almost too ideal.
Kneeling, he gazed at his reflection once more. He extended his arm slowly and rubbed his hand across the surface. As ripples swept across the pond, the illusion was broken.
"It feels real," he muttered.
Then—"Your Highness."
Although Steven had no knowledge of the voice, it was firm, low, and distinctly familiar. Glancing around, he saw a tall guy wearing a scarlet and black armor. A sword sparkled at his left side, and a long fur-lined robe hung from one shoulder. Although his face was harsh from years of fighting, there was an odd tenderness in his eyes when he gazed at Steven.
"Sir Clinton..." Steven remembered the name without asking. One of those men who only bowed to the throne.
Clinton said with a nod. "The King has asked you to come into the throne room."
Slowly, Steven rose up, wiping the dirt from his cloak. "Lead the way."
"Yes, Your Highness." Clinton replied with no change in his expression.
Narrowing his eyes, Steven looked around Clinton for further details. "Is he aware of what took place last night?"
The Knight was hesitant. "He is aware that you passed out. The specifics, though, are still unknown."
Steven quirked his mouth. "But he desires to see me early in the morning?"
"Maybe he did not see your endearing humor," Clinton remarked sardonically.
Steven snorted gently. "Alternatively, he might be getting ready to strangle me in front of the stained-glass windows.
The knight curled into a smile.
Steven turned to look at the pond again, the waning ripples reflecting his ambivalence.
Still, he did not feel like he belonged in this body.
He murmured softly, "Sir Clinton. If I told you that I am an entirely different man from who I was the day before, would you trust me?"
Clinton narrowed his eyes. "That depends. Have you become better or worse?"
Steven had a small smile. "To put it simply, I have matured in several ways."
The knight nodded a little. "So maybe it is not a call to chastise you, but to see what you have turned into."
Steven was taken aback. "You do not talk like a guard."
In response, Clinton said, "I am just doing my duties, safeguarding this family. I am aware of the impact of abrupt change."
With that, he gestured while turning on his heel. "Your Highness, please come. We must avoid keeping the lion waiting."
They passed through the twisting corridors, lined with tapestry conflicts, lamps that glowed despite the early morning light, and stone walls carved with old banners.
Guards bowed as they went by, their gazes staying a fraction of a second longer as though they were attempting to read the changes overnight.
Steven sensed it as well.
The manner of walking was modified, but the physique remained the same.
Smaller steps.
More conscious.
At last, they arrived at the imposing doors to the throne chamber.
The handles featured golden lions with eyes that shone as if they were observing trespassers.
Clinton stopped and turned to face him. "The King has not called you in private for nearly a year," he remarked softly. "Not since the last time you had a mishap."
Steven gradually nodded. "Then perhaps he ought to meet the new Steven."
Clinton shoved the doors open.
The enormous doors, their gilded lion handles split, moaned open.
When Steven entered the throne room, his breath seized in his throat.
Under a vaulted ceiling featuring a cosmic painting depicting gods, stars, and past kings, the room was indefinite.
Towering marble pillars flanked each side like silent guardians, and the scarlet banners with House Carnet—a silver wolf and crown emblem—fluttered softly in the wind from lofty arches.
However, it was not the grandeur that made Steven quiet.
King Ascot stood next to the throne in silence.
He had a powerful presence.
His hair was thick and brushed back with royal pride, although it was stained with silver around the temples.
He was the type of man that sculptors could only hope to recreate, handsome in a manner that appeared to have been chiseled out of marble.
Ascot called out, "Come," his voice resonating through the deserted hall. "Allow me to take a look at the son I was afraid to bury."
Before he could consider it, Steven turned and walked slowly and solemnly across the black floor.
He descended his right side as he got closer, instinctively, without knowing why.
Ascot scowled. "When did Steven start bowing down to his father at first sight?"
Steven raised his head. "Because he has forgotten what it means to be your son."
It made the King think.
He took a long time to examine Steven. "Your speech is distinct, and your eyes are more sparkling than I have observed over the years."
"I can see things better now," Steven answered. "I see what I nearly lost as well as what I never really comprehended."
Ascot turned and made his way to the throne gently.
He placed a hand on the sculpted head at its side. "This throne is more than merely oak along with gold."
He inquired. "Are you aware of its requirements for its heir?"
Steven got up. "More than indulgence and charisma."
Ascot clenched his jaw. "Steven, you were raised in luxury, every wish was fulfilled, and everything that goes wrong is covered."
He lamented. "It was my love for your mother that led you astray."
Long stretches of silence. "I know my wrongdoings," acknowledged Steven.
Ascot answered softly, "You overlooked your royal duties, and that is terrible."
Steven tightened his fists. "So let me honor her by imitating the man she would have desired."
The King reexamined him.
Surprisingly, a tiny smile appeared on his lips.
It was short, tattered, but genuine.
Moving to the side, he pointed to the throne. "Take a seat."
Steven took a blinked. "What?"
"Sit down and feel the weight," Ascot said again.