"The order to join your brother in welcoming the Empress's daughter was real," Zeyra said plainly, her voice calm but edged with subtle warning. "It came directly from your father."
I gave a slow blink.
'That's what was so important and couldn't wait?'
The way she eyed me afterwards made it clear: that little nugget of news should've meant something to me.
But it didn't.
And that only seemed to reaffirm that I truly had no memories of my life here.
"You were planning to ditch the whole thing before," she continued. "Maybe fake an illness or disappear for the day. It would've been easier, especially after the beating you took. But I wouldn't recommend it."
She paused. Her tone turned sharp enough to shave stone.
"If you go against King Drakenthorn's orders, it might be the last straw. You could be cast out of the family for good."
I scratched lazily at the back of my neck. 'We can't have that happening… I haven't even gotten a proper taste of all this luxury yet. And let's be honest - becoming king from the inside is way less of a hassle than starting from dirt.'
"Sure. I'll be there," I said casually.
Zeyra narrowed her eyes at me. No hesitation. No reluctance. Just a calm nod, like I'd agreed to go grocery shopping instead of meeting the Emperor's daughter. That must've killed any last doubt in her mind about my recollection.
"Then I suppose that brings me to the reason you ended up in bed, beaten and unconscious," she said. "You and your brother had a… disagreement."
"A bit of a disagreement?" I raised an eyebrow.
"You didn't stand a chance," she said flatly. "You got your ass handed to you. Ahem… no offence."
"None taken," I replied, entirely unbothered. I mean, technically, it wasn't even me who lost that fight. That was the other Ashen. The pre-death version. A different soul. A different man.
Still… there was a strange tightness in my chest. A dull echo of humiliation. Like my body remembered the pain even if my mind didn't. Emotions without a source.
It was weird.
But it was reassuring to know that there wasn't some great enemy out there responsible for my condition.
I still made a silent promise to repay my dear brother for every ache and bruise - though if he was even half as amazing as Zeyra claimed, I doubted I'd get further than an annoyed glare.
And honestly… from the way she told it, it sounded like I'd earned the beating.
According to Zeyra, the former Ashen had gotten drunk and lashed out. Jealous and bitter, he'd made a public scene - insulting his own brother and the Empress's daughter, who also happened to be his fiancée. Well, I guess mine now, too.
Yeah. Real smart.
The result? A reputation buried even deeper in the dirt and a body that barely survived the night.
"So basically," I summed up, "I was drunk and jealous, insulted my golden-boy brother and my fiancée, embarrassed my entire bloodline, and got beaten badly."
Zeyra gave a tight nod.
"Right. Thanks for the update," I said, stretching. "You go handle your body before you suffer any internal injuries. Come find me later when it's time to meet that woman with my lovely brother."
I turned toward the massive chamber I supposedly grew up in, eyeing the absurd walls and gold-lined fixtures like I was just now realising I lived inside a royal museum.
"In the meantime, I'm gonna explore this oversized manor and see if I can remember which corridor leads to the kitchen."
Zeyra remained still for a moment, eyes watching me in a way that made it clear she didn't trust me - or maybe she just didn't understand me. I couldn't blame her. I didn't really understand myself right now either.
But she bowed slightly all the same.
"I will return swiftly, young master. I'll also make the arrangements for this afternoon's meeting."
I gave a lazy wave.
Then, she was gone. No footsteps. No door creaking. Just… gone. A flicker of shadow, swallowed like a whisper.
'Yeah… I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that,' I thought, blinking at the empty space she left behind.
Alone at last, I headed for what looked like a wardrobe, eager to ditch the loose sleepwear I'd woken up in. Only it wasn't a wardrobe - it was a royal fashion museum.
Rows of outrageously complicated outfits stretched farther than a sane person's patience.
Silks. Embroidery. Golden buttons. Collars that could double as nooses.
"Too much," I muttered, skimming past the peacocking disasters.
At last, I found salvation: a plain dark robe. Minimal frills. No buckles. Loose enough to walk around in comfortably.
"Perfect," I said, slipping it on.
I then headed for the door, taking one last glance around the room that was big enough to house three families and still have room for a dance floor.
'Obnoxiously big. What a waste of space. Not that I'm complaining.'
I had the rest of the morning to myself. Zeyra would handle the important stuff, and when it was time for me to put on my princely smile, she'd come find me.
'Until then… food!'
-
The manor was… absurd. Hallways wide enough to host chariot races. Ceilings so high I forgot they were even there. Everything was gold-trimmed, hand-carved, or both. I wandered aimlessly, half-hoping food would just… find me.
I took it slow, each step a stumble, each stumble rewarded with a fresh jolt of pain from some random part of my body.
'At least with Truck-kun it was over so quickly there was barely any suffering,' I groaned internally.
Thankfully, it wasn't long before salvation found me in the form of a smell.
It hit me like a magic spell - fresh bread, roasted meat, spices I couldn't name but suddenly needed in my life.
I followed my nose like a starving bloodhound and stepped into a kitchen the size of a small arena. Dozens of chefs darted around, stirring, chopping, roasting. This wasn't prep for a polite tea party - this was a full-blown campaign.
'So much for a "simple diplomatic welcome." Zeyra definitely undersold it.'
I didn't care. My stomach was growling.
Without asking, I started picking.
Slice of ham. A roll of bread. A pastry I couldn't name. A swipe of whipped cream with my finger. It was heaven. Glorious, calorie-dense heaven.
The staff froze.
Dozens of cooks just stopped and stared. Some were stunned. Others looked seconds away from attacking me with ladles.
But no one said a word.
I chomped down on something amazing and gave a small shrug. 'A king should be fat if he isn't strong,' I mused, popping another tart into my mouth.
'Though I should be careful referring to myself as a king, I don't want to commit treason too soon,' I laughed to myself.
When I finally left, I did so full and satisfied. No apologies. No thanks. Just like a loser prince would do it.
'Now that I've eaten, time to explore some more.'
I kept strolling, only half-focused. My mind was still digesting more than just food.
I was still chewing on the fact that I had a younger brother and a father. That I even had any relatives, for that matter.
Back in my old life, I bounced around in foster care. I didn't last long in any family. No parents. No siblings. And once I reached legal adulthood, I never bothered looking for them. I had no idea if they were even alive, nor did I care.
I wasn't curious. I wasn't bitter. I just… preferred being alone.
No attachments. No drama. No expectations.
I didn't have a partner either. Never felt the need. Romance, relationships - they all seemed like more effort than they were worth. Messy, loud, expensive. Not my thing.
But I guess everything about me has changed.
Now I'm in a new world, in a royal body with a royal bloodline and, apparently, more drama than a reality TV reunion. So maybe… the single status might change too.
Not that I'm hoping. Just… noting.
And with that, I rounded another corner only to walk directly into the next problem waiting to meet me.
'Of course...'