The palace's Council Hall was a marvel of opulence and power—a long rectangular room with golden columns, frescoed ceilings, and walls lined with tall arched windows that filtered in the morning light. The polished marble floors echoed with every footstep, a constant reminder of the gravity of every decision made here. This was where the kingdom was run from. Where judgment was passed, laws were forged, and legacies were sealed.
I stood in the center of it all, clad in an embroidered royal navy jacket with gold buttons and a sash that bore the crest of a lion wrapped in flames. The outfit was heavy, both in fabric and in symbolism. I wasn't just wearing clothes—I was wearing history, lineage, and the weight of expectation.
Around the long oval table sat some of the most powerful figures in the country: the Chief of the Royal Guard, the Grand Chancellor, the Head of Judiciary, the Finance Minister, the Commanding General of the army, and several senior advisers. All of them had eyes sharp as daggers, watching me like hawks assessing prey. Or a leader.
I recognized none of them. But they all recognized me.
"Your Highness," the Grand Chancellor said as he stood, bowing deeply. He was an elderly man with white eyebrows that drooped like feathers and a voice that sounded like dry parchment. "We are honored to welcome you to your rightful seat. We've waited long to serve our prince."
There was a chorus of respectful murmurs and bows. I nodded, trying not to let my heart leap out of my chest.
"Thank you," I said simply, my voice firm. I caught sight of her then—standing just behind the golden double doors. My sister. She wasn't part of this meeting, but she stood watching quietly, her expression calm and supportive.
I didn't know why, but the moment I saw her, something inside me steadied.
The Grand Chancellor cleared his throat and continued. "This gathering is to brief you on the state of the kingdom and your expected duties now that you've returned. We have all prepared our reports. If it pleases Your Highness, we will proceed."
I nodded again. "Please. Go on."
One by one, they began. The Finance Minister reported on the kingdom's gold reserves, trade relationships, and current investments. The military leader gave updates on national security and border threats. The judiciary head talked about legal reforms waiting for royal assent. Foreign affairs. Agriculture. Education. Each man and woman spoke with reverence but with an unmistakable hint of caution—as though testing how much I understood, how much of the real prince had survived his time abroad.
And all the while, I listened. Carefully. Calmly.
Something strange happened midway through the meeting. As I sat there, the lines between pretending and becoming started to blur. I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was beginning to lead.
When the last of them finished, there was a silence. Everyone seemed to wait.
I straightened in my chair.
"Thank you, each of you," I began, letting my words settle before continuing. "The details you've provided are extensive, and I appreciate the clarity. I may have just returned, but I assure you I intend to take full command of my responsibilities. From this moment forward, all decisions concerning the realm—small or large—will pass through me."
There was a pause.
Some eyebrows raised. Others leaned forward, surprised. The General smiled faintly.
"I understand there may be doubts," I added. "And I don't blame any of you. But the prince you waited for is here. And I'm ready to rule."
A stunned silence followed.
Then, the Chancellor stood again. "Your words are firm and your stance clearer than expected. We are, of course, loyal to the crown. And to you."
They bowed again—this time, deeper. A few of them even smiled.
I breathed out slowly. The room no longer felt like a prison. It felt like power.
As the ministers filed out, murmuring among themselves, I turned toward the doors. She was still there—my sister. She gave me a small nod of approval and an encouraging smile.
"You did well," she said quietly as I approached.
I glanced around to make sure we were alone. "I almost passed out halfway through."
She laughed softly. "But you didn't. That's what matters."
We walked side by side down the corridor.
"I don't know how you do it," I muttered. "Smile like that. Be so composed."
"You learn," she said. "And you have more in you than you realize. You looked like a true prince in there."
Her words stirred something warm in me. Her presence—so close, so comforting—reminded me how strange all of this was. A week ago, I was a lost boy running from traffickers. Now, I was making national decisions and winning over seasoned politicians.
And the strangest part?
I was starting to like it.