As soon as the door closed behind the ministers, I exhaled.
That *DING* still echoed in my skull. I hadn't dreamed it: the interface had opened by itself, like a reflex… and this time, without me concentrating.
I thought about opening it.
The screen appeared again before my eyes, translucent, with symbols I was starting to recognize. And there, in the center, a softly blinking notification.
INTELLIGENCE +1
Encyclopedia of the Suspended Realms unlocked
New entries available in the Encyclopedia of Earth
I almost laughed. It felt like I was in an RPG that rewarded me just for surviving a meeting with a bunch of boozy, fake-devoted politicians.
If only my university exams had worked like that…
I swiped through the air. The new encyclopedia opened, similar to Earth's one:
Histories of the Dukes: detailed entries. Already I found Calistram, Veynard, Loras, Ervalion, Malrecourt, and even Bellifort, with fragments of their past, their genealogies—we were all more or less related, alas. A medieval secret wiki.
Draconic Magic: locked titles appeared, like "Elemental Affinity" or "Inner Breath" but they were grayed out, inaccessible. Just below, a message:
"Access condition: Intelligence 100"
Royal Blood: a new section, locked with a bright red seal.
"Access condition: Intelligence 50"
I frowned.
So the more I learned, the more I unlocked… and some things stayed hidden until I was "smart enough."
Basically, a video game glued to my brain.
I exhaled, heart beating fast with excitement.
Okay… so everything I just did made me smarter. That's a good sign. Maybe one day I'll be able to use this encyclopedia to cover for the fact that I don't know people and don't remember them.
I opened the Encyclopedia of Earth again. It was denser than before. New chapters scrolled past me, with topics as interesting as the art of distillation, and grape farming for dummies.
I know one minister who'll be pleased with that!
After lunch, another knock at the door.
Them again?
I thought, ready to play the dying patient just to be left alone.
But this time, only one man entered.
The Duke of Ervalion.
His smile, polite but warm, lit up the chamber.
He bowed with graceful ease, almost like an actor saluting his audience.
"Your Highness… forgive this intrusion. But I thought boredom must be a harsh companion in this silent palace. Permit me to offer you a distraction: a simple game of cards, to make the afternoon more pleasant."
A minister who wants to play cards with me? Surprising… but welcome. And he seems kind enough, even if I should stay cautious.
"Very well," I answered slowly, then added: "But be indulgent… my hands still tremble."
"Of course, Your Majesty," He assured me.
He drew from a lacquered box a deck of thick cards, decorated with dragons, suns, and towers. Each piece looked like a miniature painting on ivory, nothing like the dog-eared cards of my old world.
We began to play.
Ervalion dealt with studied elegance, as if directing a scene. His movements were precise, fluid, almost hypnotic.
Midway through a round, he raised his eyes to me.
"Tell me, Your Highness… if I may… do you remember your past?"
I let silence linger, feigning embarrassment.
"A few fragments… but still blurry. My head feels plunged in fog. I think my last clear memories are of being ill, like my parents…"
(Thank you, cat-girl, for teaching me that much.)
A shadow of gravity crossed his gaze.
"King Dragobert II and Queen Athilde, your parents, were… unforgettable."
He went on:
"Do you recall fond memories of them?"
"Nothing truly returns for now… alas. But tell me, I beg you… what were they like?"
I replied.
Ervalion straightened, his smile regained warmth.
"Ah, your parents… they had the gift of filling every room with light. Your father, the King… had a thunderous laugh. I remember an outdoor banquet where he wagered with Duke Bellifort that he could make him laugh. He left, then returned dressed as a dancer—it was absurd. He performed such ridiculous steps that everyone roared. And you, no taller than three apples, rushed to him and began copying his dance.
The Duke tried to resist, but failed and joined the laughter of nobles, servants, and common folk gathered to watch the scene: a King in a dancer's outfit and his son playing together.
Everyone was crying with laughter, clutching their bellies, everyone except old Duke Calistram of course, he is always so serious. Despite his fury, nothing could stop the laughter or get your father dressed again."
A genuine laugh escaped him, contagious.
Ervalion picked up a card, made it dance between his fingers before laying it down, a tender smile on his lips.
"And your mother… Ah, Queen Athilde…"
He shook his head softly, as if replaying a vivid scene.
His smile turned gentler.
"She wasn't only a queen of wit… She was also a tender mother. I recall one night, you were but a feverish child, bedridden with a stubborn cough. The physicians buzzed uselessly around you.
The Queen dismissed them all, one by one. She sat at your bedside, and without regard for her own fatigue, she held your hand all night, then the next day, then the next night again… until dawn, when finally the fever broke.
All that time she sang old lullabies with her melodious voice, the most beautiful in the realm, beloved by all."
He drew a deep breath, his eyes glistening.
"You finally fell asleep, healed, smiling in her arms. And I remember her face… She no longer looked like a queen that night, but simply like a mother watching over her most precious treasure."
I felt my throat tighten.
My fingers clenched my cards unconsciously.
Nothing, no memory of that scene, no trace in my mind… only a cruel void.
Yet the image he painted was so vivid I could swear I had lived it.
But after all, these weren't my memories, not my life, not my parents…
I lowered my head, murmuring in a trembling voice despite myself, almost to myself:
"I wish I could remember…"
Those royal figures I had only imagined suddenly took life. People of flesh, laughter, and love, not just symbols.
He pointed elegantly toward a painting above a carved chest. I had barely noticed the canvas, my chamber already overflowing with ornaments.
"Behold your parents. They are gone, yet still they remain with you, still they watch over you with the Gods."
Two royal figures stood side by side in the painting, draped in blue and gold.
The King.
A massive man, broad-shouldered, with my same dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and light eyes full of mischief. His hand rested on the hilt of a sword too heavy for a mortal, yet he carried it with ease. His mouth was frozen in a wide, cheerful smile, as if he might burst out laughing any second.
The Queen.
Tall, slender, her hair almost white-blonde visible beneath a sheer blue veil, cascading over a deep-blue gown. Her skin as pale as mine, her delicate features softened by a tender smile. But her clear green eyes shone with piercing intelligence. She was no distant queen—she radiated maternal warmth that still pierced through the canvas.
I stood frozen, eyes locked on the painting.
"So this is them…"
I whispered.
The King, a laughing mountain. The Queen, a gentle moon.
My heart raced. Everything swirled in my head. Shouldn't I recognize these faces? Why do I feel love for them when they weren't my parents? Was it the contrast with my own parents that made it hit so hard?
But instead of memories of loving parents, there was only a chasm. A cruel void.
I raised a trembling hand toward the painting, as if the imagined contact could bring me those happy memories.
"Father… Mother…" I murmured.
It might have been false, but I felt it like it was true.
A tear slid down my cheek.
"Your Highness… I'm sorry to trouble you!"
"No, on the contrary… thank you… Thank you, Duke of Ervalion… I needed that."
"It is natural. You may be a crowned prince, but you are first of all a son."
He rubbed my back with compassion as I wept uncontrollably, curled up.
A joyful song floated from the window, followed by laughter and cries of delight.
The festival had begun.
.
.
.
.
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The Awakening of Prince Drago
Chapter 6: The Painting
Author: Léonardo de Deuille