Adrian's POV (Victor's Mind)
My hands were wrong.
I stared at them—soft, pale, weak. No scars from knife fights. No calluses from gripping guns. These weren't the hands that built an empire.
These were a kid's hands.
"Your Highness, please!" A servant grabbed my shoulder, shaking me. "You must get ready for breakfast! The King will be furious if you're late again!"
I jerked away from her touch, my mind spinning like a broken carousel.
Prince Adrian. That name echoed in my skull. But I wasn't Adrian. I was Victor Castellano. I died in a parking garage with Tony's bullet in my brain.
Except... I could remember being Adrian too.
The memories slammed into me like a freight train—twenty-two years of another life. Drinking until I passed out. Gambling away gold coins. Failing at sword practice while my brothers laughed. Servants stealing from me because I was too drunk to notice. My father calling me "the family disappointment."
Every memory made me want to punch something.
This Adrian kid was pathetic. A complete waste.
"Move!" The servant yanked on my arm, pulling me toward a door. "The royal family is already seated!"
Wrong move, lady.
My body moved on pure instinct—the kind you learn surviving street fights as a teenager. I grabbed her wrist, twisted it just enough to hurt, and pulled her close.
"Touch me again," I said quietly, staring straight into her shocked eyes, "and you'll regret it."
She went white as a ghost. Her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.
"Y-Your Highness?" she stammered. "I don't... you never..."
"Things change." I released her wrist and she stumbled backward. "Now get out. I'll dress myself."
She ran. Actually ran from the room like I'd threatened to kill her.
Good. Fear meant respect. Respect meant control.
I looked around the massive bedroom for the first time. Gold frames on the walls. Silk curtains. A window overlooking towers and walls that belonged in a fairy tale book.
This wasn't just another world.
This was a whole different universe.
My reflection caught my eye—a full-length mirror by the wardrobe.
I walked toward it slowly, my heart pounding.
The face staring back wasn't mine.
Young. Maybe twenty-two. Dark auburn hair that fell messily over green eyes. High cheekbones. Strong jaw. Handsome, I guess, but soft. No edge. No danger in those eyes.
Until I thought about Tony's betrayal.
Then those green eyes turned cold and hard—exactly like Victor Castellano's eyes used to look before someone died.
There you are, I thought. There's the real me.
I touched my face, watching the reflection copy me. Real skin. Real body. Somehow, impossibly real.
"Okay," I whispered. "I died. I woke up as some useless prince in a fantasy kingdom. Either I'm crazy, or this is actually happening."
I pinched my arm hard. It hurt.
Not crazy then. Just... impossible.
Adrian's memories kept flooding back. His father, King Aldric, ruled the Kingdom of Valtheim. His older brother Daemon was the golden child—handsome, charming, destined to be king. His younger sister Elara was quiet and overlooked.
And Adrian? Adrian was the drunk. The gambler. The joke.
The one nobody expected anything from.
A slow smile spread across my face.
Perfect.
In my old life, everyone knew Victor the Viper. They watched my every move, waited for weakness, plotted my downfall.
But here? Here, nobody expected anything from Prince Adrian.
Which meant I could do whatever I wanted, and they'd never see it coming.
I dressed quickly in the fancy clothes laid out—some kind of noble outfit with too many buttons. My body felt weird. Lighter. Weaker. This kid never fought for anything in his life.
That would change.
I walked through halls filled with paintings and servants who whispered when I passed. Different whispers than usual, Adrian's memories told me. Normally they gossiped about his drinking. Today they looked... scared?
Good.
The dining hall doors stood open ahead. I could hear voices inside—my "family" eating breakfast.
Time to meet them.
I stepped through the doorway and every conversation stopped.
A long table stretched before me. At the head sat an older man with a gray beard and tired eyes—King Aldric, my father. Beside him sat a young man with golden hair and a perfect smile that didn't reach his eyes—Daemon, my brother. And across from him, a teenage girl with wild brown curls quickly looked away—Elara, my sister.
"Well, well," Daemon said, his voice dripping with fake sweetness. "The drunk prince finally joins us. We were placing bets on whether you'd make it before noon."
The table laughed. Even some servants by the wall snickered.
Adrian's memories supplied the usual response: apologize, make excuses, sit down quietly while they mocked him.
But I wasn't Adrian anymore.
I was Victor Castellano. And in my world, you never let anyone disrespect you. Not even once.
I walked slowly to my seat, letting the silence build. Then I looked straight at Daemon with the coldest smile I could manage.
"Tell me, brother," I said clearly, "how's that military contract you negotiated last month? The one where you paid triple the normal price for half the weapons?"
Daemon's smile froze.
"What?"
"You heard me." I sat down calmly. "Adrian might have been too drunk to notice, but I'm sober now. And I remember everything."
King Aldric's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. His eyes locked onto me with sudden, sharp interest.
And that's when I realized something terrifying:
Adrian's memories weren't just about drinking and failing.
Hidden in there were secrets. Things he'd seen while everyone thought he was too drunk to understand.
Including evidence that could destroy my perfect brother.
Daemon's face went red with rage. "You dare—"
The doors burst open.
A guard rushed in, panting. "Your Majesty! Urgent news from the eastern border!"
Everyone turned.
"The Ashenheart Empire," the guard gasped. "They're sending an envoy. With... with a bride for Prince Adrian."
My blood went cold.
A bride?
"Lady Seraphina Ashenheart," the guard continued. "Daughter of General Marcus Ashenheart. She arrives in two weeks for the wedding."
The room exploded with shocked voices.
But all I could think was one thing:
They're sending the enemy general's daughter to marry the kingdom's biggest failure.
This isn't a wedding.
This is an assassination.