Bram

I must have fallen asleep at some point, but at what time it happened, I have no idea. It seems like only minutes ago, but now I have the same bodyguard as yesterday in the room, opening the curtains and turning on the lights. I blink up at him blearily.

“What time is it?” I ask, rubbing my eyes. I must admit, the bed is extremely comfortable, but I couldn’t bear to get under the rich covers. It seems somehow treasonous to the actual royal family to be sleeping in their beds, even if they say that I’m the King now.

“It is 6am, on the 1st November, Your Highness” the bodyguard replies. I should learn his name, but I don’t know how to ask without it seeming awkward. I look him over, hoping to spot a name badge, but all I can see is a sharp black suit with a tie knotted so precisely that it forms a perfect triangle.

“R-right,” I say. Outside, it’s still dark. The sun hasn’t risen yet and won’t for hours.

“You have a busy day ahead of you. A short press conference has been arranged, and your photograph must be taken for the papers. After that, there are quite a few matters of state that will require your attention-”

“I’m not sure I know how to do any of that,” I say, sliding off the bed and standing up. I’m starting to panic now. My palms feel sweaty. “I’m just a librarian!”

“You have a degree in constitutional law, Your Highness, you are a little more than just a librarian. I will be there, and so will the Archbishop. I’m sure there are others who can advise you through everything as well,” the bodyguard says. “If in doubt, remain silent and it will seem mysterious. Allow others to speak when you do not know the answers yourself.”

I’m not overly reassured by any of that. I’m almost certain I’m going to make a fool of not just myself, but the whole of Svaltova by the end of the day. I might know the ins and outs of the constitution, but that doesn’t mean I know how to rule a country. There’s more to leadership than knowing the rules.

“Now, I must hurry you along somewhat, Your Highness. You should bathe. I’ve laid out your clothes in the bathroom for you, but if you need any assistance, I can help you with that,” he says. I shake my head. The thought of someone else dressing me is mortifying.

I shuffle to the bathroom just as a maid enters, carrying a tray containing breakfast. The smell of fried eggs turns my stomach.

The bathroom is just as luxurious as the bedroom. A large, clawed bathtub is in the centre, already filled with water. I test it with my hand. The perfect temperature. For a moment, I wonder how it had been filled without me noticing someone coming into the room, but then I see the other door to the bathroom and realise.

I will probably never have privacy again.

I strip off my clothes and scrub myself in the bath. I’m exceptionally conscious that every inch of me is going to have to be clean. Everything has been taken care of. A razor has been left, even a new electric toothbrush.

I meticulously take care of my appearance, making sure to not miss a spot when shaving, nor to nick myself by rushing with the razor.

Next is tackling the clothes.

I’ve been given a neutral looking suit. True black with a sheen to it that makes it look expensive. A white shirt and a black tie.

Oh right. The country is in mourning for the King. In my own shock at my own predicament, I’d forgotten that everything over the next twelve days would be focused on the King’s funeral.

How have I come from a suburban town like Albadea to the Winter Palace in Svalgund? Imagining myself on my aunt’s persian rug, running cars along the swirling patterns, it seems impossible that this is the position I find myself in.

I push down the surge of homesickness, putting it down to stress, before I head back into the room.

“Your Highness, Mr. Mediean is here to see you. It is unannounced though, so if you would like to continue with your breakfast-”

I take a moment to realise who Mr. Mediean is. I’m so used to him being Prince Leander, that to hear him referred to like a common man is strange and awkward.

“No, send him in,” I say quickly. Even if I’m supposedly the Prince now, I don't feel like it. I don't think I ever will.

Leander enters the room like he owns it, which I suppose he did up until last night. I’ve always admired his confidence from afar. He carries himself upright, yet effortlessly, as though good posture is in his genes.

He doesn't look as well put together as usual though. He's wearing the same black suit as last night, now creased and rolled up to his elbows. His black hair is also sticking out at odd angles, like he's been scrunching it up.

I guess he's had just as rough a night as I have.

“Your Highness," he says, and he bows to me. I bow back on reflex, to which he raises one groomed eyebrow before he turns to the bodyguard. “Clyde.”

For a moment I don't know what that means, but then I realise that must be the bodyguard's name.

“I'm so sorry about yesterday! Was anything found during the night ?” I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat to be addressing a prince.

“It seems our hands are bound by the law,” Leander says. His deep brown eyes are looking somewhere to the left of my shoes, something that might be anger and regret in them.

"I’m sure there's something in the library. I can look and assist-”

“Your Highness, that would greatly interfere with your schedule for today," Clyde says, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“I'm not here to discuss overruling the decision," Leander says, and his eyes finally raise from the floor to my face.

There is such seething, burning hatred there that it takes my breath away.

Oh god, he hates me. I don't think I've ever been hated before.

“I want to apply to the position of your Royal Advisor," Leander declares, jaw clenching.

Oh.

Oh.