Chapter 3: Royal Breakfast
The sound of bells drifted through the palace corridors, chiming in a tone both regal and annoyingly persistent.
Lucian groaned, rolling over on his silken mattress. The bed was too soft. Everything was too soft. It wasn't the squeaky cot in his old flat, nor the stiff couch in his campaign office. No this was the chamber of a prince.
His chamber.
He opened one eye, staring at the canopy above. Golden thread embroidered suns and radiant flares across velvet fabric, all gleaming faintly in the morning light that slipped through tall arched windows.
"Lucian Von Solaris," he muttered, tasting the name as though it belonged to a stranger.
"Fifth son of the King. Ha. Yesterday I was sixty, yelling at interns about budget allocations. Today? I'm in a fairy tale."
A knock interrupted his musings. The door creaked open and a young page peeked inside.
"Your Highness, it's morning," the boy said nervously.
Lucian dragged himself upright, running a hand through his tousled dark hair.
His reflection in the mirror across the room startled him again: a face too young, sharp-eyed, and handsome compared to the wrinkled, weary man he had been.
"Morning already?"
Lucian yawned, exaggerating the drawl.
"What a tragedy. Summon the sun back down, would you?"
The page blinked, unsure whether it was a joke. Lucian waved him away.
"I'll be down shortly. Try not to spread the word that the Fifth Prince rose before noon. Might cause a scandal."
The boy scurried off.
Lucian stretched, the muscles of this youthful body alive with energy. Four souls' worth of effort, he thought, recalling the odd cheat of his existence of two souls merged in one vessel.
A politician's cunning, and now a prince's strength waiting to be forged.
But the kingdom remembered only one Lucian: the fool. The idle, playful child who cared nothing for politics or duty.
He chuckled. "Good. Let them keep thinking that. A fool can move freely."
---
The palace was alive when he stepped out. Courtiers swept down marble halls, servants carried trays, the faint fragrance of incense drifted from a nearby chapel. Tapestries depicted Solaris kings crowned beneath radiant suns.
And everywhere, whispers.
"There goes Prince Lucian…"
"…the useless one, yes. Do you recall when he tried to joust backwards?"
"I heard he once declared he would become a minstrel! Imagine—our royal blood plucking lutes for coin."
Lucian walked past, smiling faintly. Once, the sting of mockery might have wounded him.
But now? A seasoned politician knew the value of being underestimated.
He paused at a tall window overlooking the courtyards. Training knights sparred below, steel clashing in sharp echoes.
Beyond the walls, the city of Solinara bustled sunlit roofs, smoke rising from bakeries, the hum of a kingdom alive.
He pressed a palm to the cool glass. "A kingdom this vast, this bright… and I'm the fool left out of its council. Not for long."
A servant girl approached timidly. "Your Highness, breakfast is served in the Solar Hall. The royal family awaits."
Lucian smirked. "Ah, a family reunion. Nothing sharpens the appetite like sibling rivalry."
With a flourish of his cloak, he strode toward the hall, bracing for his first true test in this new life.
-------
The Solar Hall gleamed with morning light. Gold-inlaid columns stretched high above, carved with depictions of the sun god's rays. The long table of polished aurumwood could seat fifty, but only six chairs were occupied today.
At the head, His Radiance, King Alaric Solaris, sat in quiet dignity, his silver beard trimmed and his frame still powerful despite his years.
Beside him, Queen Seraphina, graceful as a sculpture, sipped from a golden chalice.
And along the sides: Lucian's siblings.
Lucian paused a moment in the doorway, studying them as though flipping through dossiers of political opponents.
Prince Dorian – the First Prince, heir apparent. His posture was perfect, his uniform immaculate, every movement deliberate. His gaze was as heavy as a gavel.
Princess Elenya – elegant, poised, her smile soft but her eyes keen. Every word she spoke was measured to soothe or sting.
Prince Kaelith – broad-shouldered, armor at his side even at breakfast. He tore bread like a man breaking bones.
Prince Tharion – slender, scholarly, a book propped open beside his plate. His fingers stained faintly with ink.
The air was thick with unspoken rivalries.
"Ah, the prodigal jester arrives," Dorian said dryly as Lucian strode in, cloak flowing behind him.
Lucian swept into a bow. "Dearest brother, forgive me. I was rehearsing my juggling act to entertain the nobles. Surely that's more useful than all this—" he gestured vaguely at the table, "—dreary ruling business."
A few servants stifled laughter. Dorian's jaw tightened.
Lucian slid into his seat, leaning back with a smirk. In truth, his heart raced. He needed to balance the fool's mask with his new intent. Not too sharp too soon.
"Lucian," Queen Seraphina said, her voice warm yet edged with disappointment. "You should show more respect at table."
"Of course, Mother," Lucian said smoothly. "Respect is the only thing I have in abundance. Well, that and charm. And, apparently, a prodigious appetite." He reached for grapes, popping one into his mouth.
Across from him, Kaelith chuckled. "At least the fool knows he's a fool."
"Better a fool than a corpse," Lucian said lightly, raising a grape as though toasting. "I hear soldiers die so often on the frontlines that the bards can't keep up with the songs."
Kaelith froze mid-bite. His dark eyes narrowed. Elenya's lips twitched as though hiding a smile.
Tharion finally looked up from his book. "Lucian, you speak with unusual bite this morning. Did the muses whisper wit into your ear while you slept?"
Lucian shrugged. "Perhaps I dreamed I was someone clever."
The words were half-truth, half-test. His siblings were sharp; he couldn't reveal his sudden transformation too quickly. Instead, he would let them doubt, let them whisper.
"Dreams or no dreams," Dorian said curtly, "you should remember your place. You're fifth in line. Stay out of matters that don't concern you."
Lucian smiled, but his voice carried steel. "Ah, yes. Fifth in line. So irrelevant, I can say anything I like, can't I? No danger of anyone listening."
Silence stretched a beat too long. King Alaric's eyes flicked toward him, curious.
Elenya broke it with a soft laugh. "You haven't lost your tongue, at least. Perhaps that's a blessing."
Lucian raised his cup toward her. "And you haven't lost your kindness, sister. Truly, the kingdom rests safer knowing you're here to soothe the tempests these lions stir."
The queen's lips curved faintly at that, though she hid it behind her cup.
Dorian stabbed at his meat with unnecessary force. Kaelith muttered something under his breath about cowards. Tharion, eyes narrowing, studied Lucian like one would a puzzle.
For the first time, Lucian felt the weight of the royal game pressing on him. Each sibling a rival, each word a blade.
But he would play the fool a little longer. Let them underestimate him. Let them think him harmless.
After all, the sharpest knife was the one hidden in plain sight.
-----------------
The breakfast ended with the usual rituals of courtesy — Dorian departing first, like a judge closing a trial, followed by Elenya with serene grace, Kaelith with heavy steps that echoed like war drums, and Tharion with a book still open in his hands.
Lucian lingered just long enough to look unbothered before excusing himself. His pulse still raced from the verbal fencing.
As he strolled through the golden-lit corridors of the Solaris Palace, he forced his breathing to slow. The air was perfumed faintly with lavender, the sunlight scattering across murals of past kings and queens — conquerors, builders, visionaries. Their painted gazes seemed to follow him, judging.
He smirked bitterly. What would you think of me, old ghosts? A clown in a crown, or something more?
His footsteps softened as he turned a corner, intent on escaping into the gardens. That was when he heard it:
Two voices. Low, hushed.
"…the crates will move tonight. The regent's seal will see them through the gates."
"Risky. If the king learns—"
"He won't. Malrick Draemir has half the Council eating from his palm. Who would dare speak against him?"
Lucian froze. His modern instincts — the politician in him — sharpened. Corruption. Smuggling. The name Draemir.
He leaned against the cool marble wall, tilting his head just enough to catch fragments of the whispers.
"…rare powders… forbidden glyphs…"
"…north border unrest…"
"…keep it quiet, or you'll end up in the river."
The footsteps faded.
Lucian let out a slow breath, heart pounding. So the Draemirs already weave their webs this deep. And the Council—corrupt to the bone.
This was bigger than a fool's game. It was exactly the sort of rot he'd fought in his old life as a politician. And just like before, knowledge was his first weapon.
"Eavesdropping, Your Highness?"
The voice was smooth, carrying a hint of mockery. Lucian straightened to see Sir Alwen Veythar, a knight clad in silver plate, leaning casually against a pillar as if he'd been watching for some time. His blond hair caught the sunlight, his blue eyes sharp with amusement.
Lucian forced a chuckle. "Oh, Alwen, you wound me. Surely a prince can enjoy the palace's music — even if it's just two rats squeaking in the dark."
Alwen smirked but didn't bow. That small insolence spoke volumes. "Rats, or men? There's a difference. One chews grain. The other chews kingdoms."
Lucian tilted his head. "And which do you think I am?"
"A jester," Alwen said smoothly. "Harmless, entertaining… and entirely unfit for anything heavier than a wine cup."
Lucian's smile didn't falter, though his pride stung. "Then you've already judged me?"
"Not I, Highness. The court. The streets. Your reputation precedes you. Lazy, foolish, forever chasing skirts and tavern wine." Alwen's eyes glinted. "A prince in name, a liability in truth."
Lucian let the words hang. In his old life, he'd faced worse — smear campaigns, hostile debates, venomous rivals. Alwen's disdain was almost refreshing.
"Then perhaps you'll enjoy the show," Lucian said at last, his grin wolfish. "After all, even a fool can surprise his audience."
Alwen raised a brow. "I'll believe it when I see it."
With that, the knight strode past, his armor ringing with soft clinks. He didn't look back.
Lucian stood alone in the corridor, fists tightening at his sides.
Good. Doubt me. Mock me. Underestimate me. That way, when I strike — the fall will be that much sweeter.
From a high window, the sun blazed through stained glass, casting him in fractured rays of red and gold. It was as though the palace itself whispered a challenge.
The Fool Prince had awakened.
And though the world still laughed at him, the game had already begun.
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