My room was just as I remembered. A closet filled with clothes. A large black and white bed.
Shelves of books I never read. Swords hung along the walls. And most of all, my mirror.
It was smudged with blood, resting above my desk. I sat down in my chair and took a good look at myself.
I was currently eighteen. Five years had passed since the death of my parents, the late queen and king of this kingdom.
Anstalionah was destined to be ruled by me and the woman they chose to be my bride.
Mirabel Barbovasasti. A high-ranking noble from a coastal border city. She accepted the arrangement gratefully.
Found medicine to ease my condition and began training me herself.
I slowly raised my hand and applied oil from my drawer onto the bruise forming on my cheek.
My powers allowed me to revert certain things, wounds, mostly, but only on others. I was a healer.
And while I was being hunted, I had tried time and time again to use that gift on myself. But it never worked.
This, however, was unexpected. To be transported back in time? Resurrected? It was absurd.
Truly absurd. I'll admit, hearing voices isn't exactly a good sign either. But I've never been all that stable mentally.
[Nicholas was a foolish man. He fed himself lies to cope.]
Ignoring that rude remark, it seems my resurrection was only the beginning.
I was a terrible prince. But after I started training, Mirabel tamed me. Made me a healer.
I even worked for the Golden Authority. I allowed them into the kingdom.
Built them a church. All of that had already happened once in this life.
And now, it was the perfect time to do it again, differently.
I hadn't yet revealed my abilities publicly, only to Mirabel.
And while the Golden Authority already had a base in the capital, I could now monitor them directly.
[Nicholas was going to change his fate. His destined death would be rewritten.]
I smiled then took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to relieve the pain.
The only truly unpleasant part of this reset... was that at this point in time, I was still somewhat of a prick.
For example, forcing Mirabel to share a room with me.
I glanced over at the bed. A pink pillow sat among the otherwise monochrome bedding.
She loved pink and red, the color of roses. Roses untouched by me, of course.
I had walked this room in another life, the exact grain of wood beneath my feet, the smell of lavender oil in the dresser, even the scratch on the mirror's corner.
But now, each familiar thing felt subtly foreign. Because I wasn't just back.
I was different. Something inside me had broken, healed, and reformed into something... colder. Wiser. More dangerous.
It's not as though Mirabel would ever hate me. She's actually madly in love with me.
But she can be... well, difficult to deal with. While I was a brat, Mirabel, she was something else entirely insane.
I felt a keen force and turned my head to the door. The doorknob turned.
She walked in, tying her long hair into a bun as she looked down at me.
"Nick, I was really worried back there. You seem different." She paused. "Are you under a mind spell?"
I struggled to hold back my laughter. "No, my love. I've simply decided I need to be a good king."
She stared blankly, then walked past me and flopped down onto the bed. "Sorry about the bruises."
I waved her off. "I said not to go easy on me. My body needs to adapt anyway."
Telling her the truth would do no good. If anything, she'd believe me, and that might be worse.
I sighed, glancing out the window. The sun was setting, and as the moonlight filled the room, her eyes shifted.
She winced and cleared her throat then closed her eyes for a couple of seconds.
Mirabel is strange. Sometimes, though not always, at night, she completely changes.
It rarely happens during the day. But once, it did... and people saw it.
Her hair turned a deep crimson. And then she grabbed my shirt. "Don't ever let yourself get pushed around!"
She lifted me into the air. "I'm your lover. I'm not supposed to hit you."
She turned and dropped me. I landed back in my seat, adjusting my shirt.
She began to undo her shirt, buttons popping loose as she tore it off.
"And stop looking at me. I don't like it."
[Nicholas and Mirabel were a strange couple, as they were both completely and utterly insane.]
While I was a controlling, lazy, bratty prince. Mirabel had a split personality disorder. And in this state, she was mean.
She pulled off her bra. I quickly averted my eyes as she tossed it into my lap and wrapped herself in the covers.
"Don't bother me. I'm going to sleep. And make sure you give that to the maids."
I sighed, glancing at the shirt on the floor.
Picking it up, I walked to the closet and added it to a small laundry pile.
The first thing I needed to do... was find a way to halt these mood swings. Sometimes they even happened while she was flirting with me.
While I resisted most of her late-night advances if the situation got bad... She could make me do terrible things.
I'd ordered her to share my bed before I even understood what she was going through.
Thinking it would bring us closer, what a fool fifteen-year-old me was.
I used to justify it. Her dependency. Her breakdowns. I told myself it was love, a love born in chaos, but love nonetheless.
Now I wonder if I just didn't want to be alone.
If I forced her to orbit me because I was too afraid of fading into irrelevance.
I looked back over at Mirabel. She was already snoring softly.
Normally, right about now, she'd be forcing me to rub her feet, maybe even feed her in bed.
Sometimes, she'd demand I cuddle with her, holding on so tightly it felt like my bones would snap.
Once, I didn't wake up afterward. It took her almost an entire month to stop apologizing.
Walking softly, I lifted the covers, revealing her muddy pants, and slid them off.
Then I rushed to the closet, tossed them into the laundry pile, grabbed a hanging towel, and stepped out of the room.
A few lingering guards and maids looked at me with confusion, though they bowed without saying anything.
Likely due to our reputation, they assumed we were actually sleeping together, going against the church's expectations.
Despite how often I denied it, I really was just an innocent fool. Then again, I can't exactly blame them.
She makes the most ridiculous noises when I rub her feet.
Apparently, I'm good at it. Wouldn't know, though, she still insists I do a terrible job.
I walked to the nearest restroom, turned on the sink, and soaked the towel.
Then I made my way back to the room and shut the door quietly behind me.
I pulled the covers back again, exposing her legs, and began wiping the mud away gently.
Careful not to be rough, I cleaned her thoroughly, then tucked her back under the covers.
This time, I stepped into the restroom connected to our room. I hung the towel on the door handle and then looked around in confusion.
My memory must've been hazy. I was sure we kept extra undergarments in here.
Maybe that was after I switched rooms. I died around the age of twenty-eight… so yeah, it's been a while.
This was the year everything changed.
I took one last look around, loosened my shoulders, and walked out.
But there she was, standing by the bed, undoing her bun while groaning.
She locked eyes with me, then slowly smiled as she stood. The blanket fell from her body as my eyes slammed shut.
"Please cover yourself," I said quickly. "Then maybe head back to sleep?"
I didn't hear anything. Against my better judgment, I opened my eyes. She was right in front of me, staring into them.
"You've changed," she said. "But I think it came from some moment of clarity. You're no longer your old self."
I chuckled. "You caught on quick. I have changed, and it's for the better."
Her hair fell across her chest just enough that my eyes could finally behave.
"So, will you stop being mean to me when you're like this now? I'm not some brat, not anymore."
She tilted her head, thinking. "You've done nothing of decent value yet."
She pressed her palm into my chest. "Make sure you take your meds."
Then she turned and jumped back into bed, almost instantly falling asleep again.
Sometimes I'm amazed by how fast she can do that. And also amazed by how caring she can be.
[Nicholas saw the cracks in her mask, the fragility he once mistook for strength. But this time, he wouldn't let that be her cage.]
The first thing I'll change is the assassination attempt. Tonight's the night after all, can't waste it.
Back then, she protected me but ended up gravely injured. The attacker used some kind of poison and cursed her, too.
Magic was never her strong suit.
As a result, she got sick for a long time. A lot of problems came from that.
I sighed as I slipped into bed beside her.
Looking at her peaceful, sleeping face, I gently ran my fingers across her cheek. "My little miracle. Don't you wish to see me sing?" I said softly.
[Nicholas was growing a hatred for his previous actions. He would vow to change it all.]
Last time, I was too passive. I watched as things unfolded, trusting fate, trusting people, trusting that good intentions were enough.
They weren't. Intentions didn't stop knives. And now I know better.