A beam of sunlight striking my face is what finally woke me. I hadn't made it back to the bed, I had just slumped into a chair to relax and apparently passed out there. The position did my neck no favors. Thankfully, this younger body didn't seem to know what back pain was. Not that I was some old man at twenty-eight, but I had definitely crossed the threshold where falling asleep anywhere didn't come with consequences.
I stood slowly, rolling my neck with a few soft pops and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Morning light had already crept in, warm and steady. For a moment, I considered lingering in the quiet, enjoying the calm. But the memory of last night's bath reminded me how dangerous that could be. I had ground to cover, and the library wasn't going to come to me.
Deciding the clothes I still wore from last night were sufficient, I stepped out into the hallway with determination. The palace was already stirring to life. Maids bustled down corridors with baskets of linens and polished trays, guards stood at ease but watchful, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the clink of silverware and the soft murmur of early conversation. None of it mattered right now. My mind was already down the hall, around the corner, and buried in the stacks of the royal library.
I had too many questions and not nearly enough time. What kind of magic was practiced here? What were the laws, the customs, the currency? I needed a crash course in history and etiquette if I wanted to avoid another public meltdown. I'd barely survived last night's dinner, and I wasn't confident I could keep up the act as I am.
I turned the next corner and picked up my pace.
The library was my one real advantage. I hadn't been born into this world, but I knew how to learn. Research was second nature, and I was no stranger to cramming under pressure. With a meeting scheduled with the king later today, I figured a few solid hours of study might make all the difference. I probably couldn't pass for the prince perfectly. Still, with a little luck, I could avoid being accused of being a demonic spirit.
As I stepped into the library, I came to an abrupt stop. Standing near the central reading table was a woman I didn't recognize, and judging by the way her eyes widened the moment she saw me, she hadn't been expecting anyone either.
She was tall, graceful in that rigid, upright way that screamed old money and stricter schooling. Her silver-blonde hair was braided close to her scalp and pinned into a coil behind her head. Her high-collared gown was deep green with a charcoal underlayer, entirely unadorned save for a silver brooch fastened at her throat, shaped like an open book. Her bright blue eyes widened slightly in surprise when she saw me, but the moment passed quickly, her composure returning with practiced ease.
"Welcome, Your Royal Highness. A most fortuitous meeting, though I confess I hadn't anticipated our paths crossing this morning," she said coolly. Her voice was composed and measured, with not a hint that anything had caught her off guard.
Something in me reacted before I could stop it. Probably Darian. I let out a short, derisive snort.
"I fail to see what's so surprising about me entering my own private study," I replied, putting just enough weight on private to make the point stick. This was my space, after all.
And honestly? I had to side with the little Darian inside on this one. Difficult or not, tossing out a veiled jab the moment I walked in felt unnecessarily smug. I wasn't certain yet, but I had a strong suspicion she was my tutor. The silver book-shaped brooch likely marked her as part of some scholarly guild, and the neatly stacked papers in front of her, paired with the fact that she wasn't cleaning, organizing, or serving, left few other possibilities.
"Indeed, Your Highness. Do forgive me. I was simply overcome with delight to see you gracing the library at such an early hour, and with such a... relaxed presentation.."
The words were polite enough on the surface, but something about the way she said them curled in my gut. It wasn't the comment itself—on paper, it was harmless—but the way she doubled down on her sarcasm instead of offering a genuine apology made something old and defensive stir in me. The kind of irritation that sank into the bones.
Apparently, not everyone in the palace feared this prince.
I took a slow breath and shook off the emotion. No need to get swept up in a storm that wasn't mine. Looking at it from a step back, she hadn't actually done anything outrageous. An authority figure calling out a student's delinquency and poor dress with a smile wasn't exactly a declaration of war. It just wasn't how I would've done it.
I pulled out a chair with deliberate calm and sat. The tutor watched, posture stiff, expression unreadable.
She cleared her throat lightly. "Then, if we may begin—"
"Who are you?" I cut in.
There was a pause, brief but sharp. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your name. Your duties. Who are you?"
That seemed to rattle her composure ever so slightly. The corner of her mouth twitched before smoothing back into civility.
"It is I, Cerys of House Velladine, Your Royal Highness's appointed tutor," she replied, her tone clipped and a little too perfect.
I nodded slowly, then leaned forward just enough to be pointed without crossing the line. "Indeed, my tutor. And yet, I found myself reprimanded just yesterday for failing in the very studies you were meant to guide."
Her eyes narrowed a fraction.
"If the prince's education is lacking," I continued, voice calm but firm, "then who bears the blame, if not the one tasked with that education?"
A beat of silence followed. Cerys didn't flinch, but something behind her eyes hardened.
"Your failures have been overlooked before. That luxury is ending." I let the words hang, then added more quietly, "I am not yet at liberty to disclose the changes ahead, but they are coming."
A slight scowl crept across her otherwise disciplined expression. "I apologize, Your Highness," she said, the words tight with restraint. "But effective study requires the cooperation of both parties."
There it was. The sting of being reprimanded had pushed her out of her carefully measured facade, and now she was speaking a little more plainly. That was promising. I had chosen confrontation over observation, a risky approach, but if I could rattle her just enough, it might help soften the suspicion that would otherwise come from the questions I needed to ask.
"So you cast the blame on me?" I asked, feigning incredulousness. "Bold, for a tutor."
She didn't rise to the bait, but I pressed on anyway.
"Very well. Let's indulge this fantasy of yours. I'll have my servant brought in, and we'll begin anew, just as you would with a classroom of empty-headed children. If she succeeds where I've failed, then perhaps the fault truly was mine."
Even to me, the logic sounded thin. The excuse was brittle, but I'd hopefully laid the groundwork with enough bluster that, with luck, it would hold. The frustration I'd felt earlier still simmered at the edges, and if I could keep riding that wave, maybe she'd overlook my ignorant questions.
Truthfully, I had no better option. My original plan was to bury myself in the stacks and figure things out on my own, but the more I thought about it, the more flawed it became. I didn't know what I didn't know. And as my tutor, she might be the most efficient guide through this tangled mess of customs, laws, and magical nonsense. That is, if I could convince her not to see through me first.
Before Cerys could respond, the door flew open and Ella stumbled in, breathless and flushed with panic. Her eyes were glassy, and she looked one step from falling apart.
"Y-your Highness! W-why did you l-leave without me? I-I was so worried!"
A small smile tugged at my lips. Good timing, Ella. "I couldn't afford to waste time this morning. I trusted you'd know where to find me. Come, have a seat."
Ella hesitated, clearly thrown off. Her eyes flicked between me and Cerys with visible confusion.
"Your Highness," Cerys said, her voice tight with strained patience. "Let us not draw this poor joke out. I understand the impulse to have such a... rustic servant receive some measure of training, but we must resume your lessons without further delay."
Ella's shoulders sank, her gaze dropping to the floor. That got under my skin.
"Rustic? She showed concern for her charge. If anything, that's exactly what a servant ought to do."
I leaned forward, letting the sharpness in my tone settle in. "And I'm not joking, Tutor. She will remain with us. If you object, I'll raise the matter with my royal father personally."
That landed harder than I expected. Both Cerys and Ella flinched, eyes wide with shock. Okay… was that reaction to the threat itself, or had I just committed social suicide?
"Your Highness!" Cerys barked, the polished edge of her tone slipping into something more raw. "To speak of His Radiant Majesty so casually is a grave discourtesy!"
Ah. So calling him my father was the issue. Good to know. Apparently, family ties don't grant such linguistic freedom.
I met her glare evenly. "Then you will have to instruct us on the proper address. That is your role, isn't it?"
I turned to Ella, gesturing calmly. "Come. Sit beside me. You'll be joining the lesson."
I kept my expression smooth, like this had been the plan all along and not a clumsy improvisation from a guy still figuring out the rules of royal etiquette.
Ella, pale and silent, lowered her head and shuffled to the seat beside me. She obeyed without question, but every step looked like it cost her something. Cerys said nothing, yet the line of her mouth had sharpened. She wasn't pleased, but she understood now that I wasn't making idle threats. That was enough for the moment.
I took a breath, settling myself. The questions I needed to ask couldn't wait. My little outburst had worked this time, but I doubted this would last. With the engagement looming and the king watching my progress more closely, I was sure this stunt would be reported. There would be consequences.
I had to make today count. The more I learned now, the better I could fake competency later. If I could just gather enough information, maybe my self-study would be enough to catch up. From what I'd seen so far, the bar wasn't exactly sky-high.
---------------------------------------------------
"Your Highness, you should prepare yourself for a meeting with the king this evening. He will see you after dinner."
The voice came from a tall, older gentleman standing just inside the doorway. He looked to be well into his sixties, though his posture was straight and his frame still carried the weight of strength beneath his formal uniform. His silver hair was combed neatly back, his face lined with age but dignified, and his voice carried the calm confidence of someone long accustomed to palace halls and royal protocol. He spoke with elegance, every word measured and precise.
Ella let out a very audible sigh of relief. Cerys, by contrast, managed to keep her reaction composed, though I caught the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. Both of them had clearly been waiting for an excuse to end the lesson.
And they weren't wrong. I had dragged it out far longer than expected, brushing past every subtle cue that we'd gone overtime. But honestly? It had been worth it.
I hadn't managed to cram everything in, but by looping back to the basics over and over, I'd managed to build a solid foundation. The best part? Cerys seemed to think it was all just a tantrum. She never once questioned the simplicity of my questions, brushing them off as the prince's usual stubbornness. Being thought useless has turned out to be a great boon.
"I understand. I'll prepare for the meeting. Thank you."
That earned me three stunned stares. Seriously? Was saying thank you really that shocking? The words had slipped out without a second thought... I was still riding the high of actually learning something, but I hadn't expected them to draw the kind of reaction reserved for demonic possession.
Deciding to play it off as completely normal, I rose from my chair with as much composure as I could manage. "Ella, come. We need to eat and get ready for the meeting."
Snapping out of her daze, Ella jumped to her feet. "Y-yes, Your Highness!"
The older servant finally collected himself and gave a shallow bow, his movements slow but precise, like every motion had been refined over decades of routine. Then, without a word, he turned and strode off down the corridor, footsteps quiet despite the polished stone beneath them.
Ella and I continued in the opposite direction, heading back toward my chambers. The halls were quieter now, the bustle of the palace subdued between meal times. I walked in silence, hands clasped behind my back, my thoughts drifting to the lessons I'd just forced my way through.
Noble hierarchies. The basics of magic. Proper religious etiquette. Even the name of the country I now lived in—Velmyra—and the capital city, Myraleth. This royal palace sat at its heart, built atop a newly discovered mana well said to be more powerful than any other in the kingdom. That well was the reason Myraleth had become the new seat of power. It also explained part of the recent treaty. With defenses now bolstered to near impenetrable levels and magical innovation accelerating rapidly, the balance of power had clearly shifted. Auremath, once hostile, likely saw no path forward except diplomacy and the hope that old wounds might be quietly buried.
I also figured out what that pressure was, the one Thalia hit me with during dinner. It was called the Birthright of Dominance, one of the defining traits of the royal family. Apparently, every royal is born with the ability to exert a sort of magical pressure on others, particularly nobles. It wasn't just intimidation; it was something deeper, something that latched onto your nerves and made your spine want to fold. Most people couldn't resist it at all. Those with high enough mana, the energy that powers magic, could push through it to some extent, but they still felt it.
According to Cerys, this birthright varied in strength among royal family members. She only brought it up so she could slide in, with her usual underhanded grace, just how pathetically weak mine was.
Thalia and Alric, on the other hand, were terrifying. Their birthrights ranked among the strongest seen in generations, supposedly rivaling the king's. Once a new monarch is chosen, the birthrights of the other royals weaken. They lose the ability to pass them on, while the reigning king's strength grows. Most believe this exists to prevent civil wars, since only a royal birthright can push back against another.
Which made everything even more confusing. Clashing birthrights are supposed to be dramatic and visible, with literal sparks flying... How had I pushed back against Thalia without any of that? Even if my possession had somehow amplified Darian's power, it didn't explain the lack of signs. If there had been a clash, where was the proof?
I mulled over that information through the entire dinner brought to my chambers, while the maids dressed me, and all the way up until I set out to meet the king.
The hall outside my chamber was already dim, lit only by a few enchanted sconces that flickered gently with cold white light. Ella waited for me by the door, posture tense, eyes scanning every detail of my appearance as if trying to catch something out of place before the king could. I gave her a small nod and she moved behind me without a word.
Waiting just beyond her was the older servant from earlier, the one who had delivered the summons. He stood tall and composed, his expression unreadable.
"His Majesty awaits you in his study, Your Highness," he said, voice low and precise, every word clipped with practiced formality. Then, with a measured bow, he turned and began walking.
With the servant leading and Ella behind me, I followed in silence as we moved deeper into the palace.
The walk to the king's study was long and silent, save for the soft echo of our footsteps on the marble. The palace had quieted for the evening, the earlier bustle of staff and courtiers replaced by stillness that only made the building feel larger, more cavernous. Every corridor we passed seemed to lean in, watching.
I wasn't exactly nervous, but I was… alert. Focused. The kind of focus that comes when you know you're about to be graded on something you don't fully understand. The memory of last night's dinner still lingered. His presence had pressed against my skin, heavy and inescapable. He had seen through me without even trying. There was no room for mistakes tonight.
We reached the final hallway, narrower than the grand ones from earlier, but somehow more imposing.
Two guards stood flanking the arched oak door ahead, dressed in formal dark blue uniforms with halberds held upright. As we approached, one of them stepped forward and rapped once on the door before opening it inward.
"The prince has arrived, Your Majesty."
I took a steadying breath and stepped inside.
The door opened into a wide, high-ceilinged chamber awash in shadow and gold. A pair of chandeliers hung from the arched beams above, their crystal fixtures lit with soft, floating orbs of magic rather than flame. The air smelled faintly of old parchment, polished wood, and something like ash or iron.
Heavy bookshelves lined the walls, rising all the way to the ceiling, each one filled with ancient tomes bound in leather and etched with unfamiliar sigils. A deep green carpet, trimmed in silver thread, stretched across the floor, muffling my steps as I entered. At the far end of the room stood a grand desk carved from black walnut, wide enough to seat a council. Behind it loomed a tall stained glass window that depicted a crowned figure flanked by fire and storm, the colored light casting fractured patterns across the king's chair.
That chair was no simple seat, it was a throne in miniature. High-backed, unyielding, crowned with what I assumed was the Velmyran crest, and situated just beneath the divine figure in the glass above. The symmetry was impossible to ignore.
The king was already seated, writing something with a long, silver quill. He didn't look up.
Standing to his right was a figure clad in what could only be a knight's uniform, though it was unlike any armor I had ever seen. The plating shimmered with a faint, bluish sheen, fashioned from some kind of crystalline material that caught the light like polished ice. Each segment fit together with elegant precision, thin enough to suggest mobility over brute defense, but still formidable. Intricate etchings ran along the pauldrons and breastplate, faintly glowing with mana. It looked ceremonial, but somehow I knew it was anything but.
Even more striking was the helmet. It was unlike any I'd ever seen, an imposing creation of translucent blue crystal, marbled with veins of deeper sapphire that shimmered faintly under the chamber's light. Gold inlays traced along its surface in sweeping, deliberate patterns, accentuating the natural curves of the crystal and lending it an almost regal grandeur.
Where the eyes should have been, two angular shards of lighter blue crystal were embedded into the darker faceplate. They glowed faintly, like frosted lantern glass, offering no view of the wearer's gaze.
Crowning the helmet was a fan of golden spikes, narrow and slightly curved, radiating upward in a pattern reminiscent of a ceremonial diadem. The effect was both beautiful and unnerving, suggesting not just authority, but a presence that bordered on the divine.
Curved golden guards flared from the sides of the helm, sweeping over the cheeks and down toward the jaw, adding a sleek, aggressive contour. The overall shape was elongated and precise, narrowing to a sharp crest at the top. It was less a piece of armor and more like the battle regalia of a knight-priest or royal sentinel.
It was a piece made not merely for protection, but for statement. This was someone who stood beside kings.
"I've heard your studies were... unconventional today. How far must you fall before you finally shatter, Darian?" the king said, his voice like frost spreading across stone. His eyes lifted slowly from the parchment in front of him, locking onto mine with chilling finality.
I instinctively bowed my head.
"I only meant to teach a lesson, Father." The word felt strange in my mouth, but in private it was allowed. Even with the knight present, this counted as a personal audience.
He gave a low, disbelieving scoff. "And what absurd delusion gave you the idea that you had anything worth teaching?"
The silence that followed was deliberate and heavy. He let the weight of his words settle before continuing.
"This affront will be forgiven. Let this be the last of your juvenile theatrics. From this point on, we discuss your future."
His pen stilled. The judgment in his gaze remained.
"Lady Cerys will remain your tutor. She led your siblings without issue. There is no reason for your servant to be included in your childish hypothesis. That matter is closed."
I swallowed hard.
"In addition," he went on, each word deliberate, "you are no longer exempt from martial training. It was once unnecessary. We had no expectations of you. But the circumstances have changed. Should we send you to Auremath as you are now, it would be seen as provocation. A mockery. And so..."
The knight at his side stepped forward.
"Lord Orien Thalvane will oversee your training."
There was a moment's pause. The knight removed his helmet.
And I very nearly choked.
No. Absolutely not.
This was bad. Dangerous, even.
A man I needed to stay away from has arrived.