"…but I know you won't be comfortable with this, so let's just do one thing."
Christopher leaned forward and gently kissed Wellesley's forehead, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes.
"For now, I'll manage with this. But take care of yourself, and remember—I can't wait forever."
For a second, Wellesley just stood there, stunned. It took her a heartbeat longer to realize what just happened. And when she did—when she realized the Prince might be falling for her—a shy, involuntary smile spread across her face.
Overwhelmed and flustered, she didn't say anything. She just vanished, teleporting out of the room.
Christopher blinked at the empty air where she'd been. "She's fast," he muttered to himself.
The voice in his head chuckled. "She's also way out of your league. So don't go getting too cocky, Chris."
"I didn't say anything," he replied mentally, smirking. "But you're not wrong."
Then, the weight of what had just happened hit him—not the kiss, but the magic.
He'd read about spells and sorcery in novels. It was fantasy, something that belonged to games, movies, not reality. But now—he had just watched someone teleport, right in front of his eyes.
He stood there blinking.
"Are you going to stand there drooling every time someone casts a spell?" the voice said. "You're not in Kansas anymore. Magic is real. Get used to it."
"It's hard to get used to something that breaks every rule of physics I know," Christopher muttered.
"You're in a body that isn't yours, in a world where dragons used to fly, and you're still hung up on physics?"
"Good point."
The voice sighed. "Now come on. Nobles are waiting. Time to put on your royal face."
"By the way, why do you always call me 'hey' or 'you'? I have a name. Chris. You can use it."
"And I'm Christopher too. So what now? Do we just call each other by the same name until one of us explodes?"
"Fair. But technically, this is my consciousness in your body."
"Says the squatter."
"Alright, how about this—I'm Chris, you're Prince. Fair deal?"
"I don't like it, but fine. Just don't screw this up, Chris."
---
Christopher got dressed and left his room to meet the nobles. As he walked through the hallways of the palace, his eyes scanned every intricate wall and ornament with quiet alertness. When he entered the reception chamber, it was already full—nobles, ministers, officers… all present, all smiling.
Too widely.
Christopher's expression didn't shift, but inwardly, he scoffed.
"This explains why the Prince turned into a cold-blooded tyrant," Chris thought.
"It wasn't paranoia, it was survival," the Prince's voice added quietly.
Christopher didn't mind but, he pointed, "These smiles? None of them mean well. Only one of them does."
His gaze landed on Wellesley.
Of all the people in the room, hers was the only smile that didn't carry weight or manipulation. She wasn't pretending. That mattered.
Christopher gave a polished speech—just enough to reassure them of his good health and capability. No one raised doubts. In fact, they clapped like trained dogs, some showering him with excessive praise, others whispering about their rivals and subtly planting seeds of suspicion.
Christopher smiled the whole time but didn't believe a word. It amused him how bold they were—how openly they tried to curry favor. Fortunately, no one dared speak against Wellesley.
Because if they had—he might've done something they couldn't take back.
"I'm really starting to understand why you hated these people."
"Took you long enough."
He ended the audience with a smile and quietly signaled Wellesley to meet him in his chambers. By the time he reached, she was already waiting.
He entered and, without a word, wrapped his arms around her.
Wellesley didn't ask questions. She simply returned the embrace. She could tell—his body hadn't recovered yet. His silence spoke volumes, and she didn't want to force him to talk.
But after a while, Christopher broke the quiet.
"I wanted to ask—what about the inspection team? The one heading to the Eastern Province? When are they leaving?"
Wellesley replied instantly, "Probably by next month."
"Next month… huh."
Christopher's mind raced. If he didn't leave now, things would spiral out of control. According to the novel, the protagonist's time-travel coincided with the team's arrival in the east. And that event triggered everything.
He had no time to waste.
"I'm leaving the Palace," he said at last. "I'm going to the Eastern Region, Wellesley."
Wellesley instantly stepped away, her face unreadable at first.
"Your Highness… why? Your health is just starting to recover. There's no need to go now. I'll go myself. Or I'll send someone else—someone competent. And if they mess it up, I'll bury them alive, I swear. But you—what if something happens to you?"
Christopher placed a hand over her mouth, stopping her words gently. He guided her to sit on the table nearby, eyes steady.
"I won't leave it to anyone else, Wellesley. I need to go there myself."
She bit her lip but said nothing, because she saw it—the same fire in his eyes from before.
"You know as well as I do that my condition didn't deteriorate naturally. Someone did this. On purpose. And whoever that person is… they're in the Eastern Province. I can't hand them over to anyone else. Not even you."
He paused.
"I won't be at peace until I deal with them myself. No one else will carry out this task. Only I."
Wellesley looked like she wanted to say something, but the words caught in her throat.
Christopher leaned forward just enough and softly added, "Trust me, Wellesley. I'm not being reckless. I'm doing what has to be done."
---
(Back in his mind…)
"So you're really going?" the Prince's voice asked.
**"I don't have a choice, do I?" Chris muttered mentally. "If I sit around and let things play out the same way, I'm dead. Again."
"It's dangerous."
"Yeah. That's kind of the job description now."
"Alright then. Go. But be warned—if you're going to take my enemies head-on, don't do it with a soft heart."
"Don't worry," Chris said, eyes darkening slightly. "I might've entered your world, but some parts of me... are starting to understand yours."