1.II :

The doctor stepped back from the bed. He shook his head back and forth as he gripped his nasal bridge. “Are you positive you don’t feel any pain in your chest? Any pain at all?”

“I already told you⸺I feel fine! I have a small headache, but the reasons for that should be obvious.” 

“We should trust the King on this matter. Regardless of his amnesia, the afternoon plans shall proceed. It’s been two months—the people are anxious, waiting for their sovereign, more so with the Wohlhabende Ernte Festival upcoming. They deserve to see their beloved King, to know he is well.” The other man said. The maids had addressed him as Sir Advisor, and the doctor called him Sir Walter. Walter. . . my advisor. . . 

“But⸻“ 

“I swear, I am fine. My eyesight is fine; my hearing is fine; my motor skills are fine; everything except my memories.” 

The doctor had arrived after I woke. His arrival cued the maids' departure, who ushered the boy—my son—out of the room. As the doctor examined me, he asked question after question: do you feel hot, lethargic, soreness, discomfort? No, no, no—no! I refuted each question, but that didn’t deter him. He would stare at me, stroke his chin, and eye me up and down. He wasn’t assessing a prized jewel!—I hope I would know if I was in pain or not. 

“If you’re fine, that’s that.” The doctor said. He went on to explain what I should do and not do. He mentioned not to ride dragons or swing swords around. . . wait! There were dragons in this world!? And this man rode them!? That was beside the doctor’s point—no extreme activities. “Before I leave, once again, do you not remember anything that happened before your coma? Your parents? Wife? Anything?” 

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I-I . . . can’t. . .” 

My advisor sighed and crossed his arms. “So you don’t remember Catherine?”

I ran my hand through my hair. “No—I don’t know who Cathrine is.” 

My advisor gazed at the doctor dead in the eye. His blue eyes were cold, and his face grim, fixed in a scowl. “Is there any way he may be able to get his memories back?” 

“I can’t say. Once he returns to his duties, most of his memories should return—should. But there is no concrete cure for amnesia.” 

“Okay. The loss of his memories may do some good. I shall notify the maids to return, and they will prepare you for the day. Get ready⸺it will be a long one.” Walter said. 

Catherine. . . who was this woman, a sworn enemy of my advisor? What could she have done to trigger such a foreboding face? I sighed, sinking into the mound of pillows behind me. There were more important things to think about. For one, I was a man. A man! I touched and prodded at my firm pecs—definitely not boobs. And down there must’ve been. . . No! I didn’t have the heart to touch it. Between crappy fast food jobs, school, and practicing my instrument, there was no time to pursue romantic relations. 

The reality was, I was⸻

The door opened. A maid walked in, one I had not previously seen. I jerked the cover over my bare body—oh, right! I didn’t have boobs. The maid stopped at the foot of my bed; in one swift, fluid motion, she bent, lifted her apron, and did a curtsey.

“Sir Albert, I’m glad to see you have awoken. Walter has informed me of the circumstances, so allow me to introduce myself—Ingrid, head housemaid of Schönlicht Palace.” 

She stood from her curtsey and smiled, lips coated in glossy vibrant red lipstick. I would’ve believed the headhouse maid would be old—like one foot in the grave kind of old. Ingrid was far from that, though she would’ve been more beautiful had her face not been caked in make-up. Regardless of the make-up’s bulk, she had many other noticeable assets: her voluptuous hair, her golden eyes, curves for days, and, the cherry on top?—her humongous knockers. They had to be no less than an F or G cup. 

In short, I would’ve been jealous of her—in the category of looks, she was everything I was not—except now I was not me. I was Albert, a King of some unknown, fantasy land. 

“Ingrid, may I ask a dumb question.” 

“Anything, Sir.” 

“Walter mentioned it’s been two months since, I suppose, I fell asleep. What happened to me?”

If I could remember, I would, but, alas, Albert’s memories were locked away from me even as I inhabited his body. My head pounded, harder and harder, as I hopelessly tried to scour for even the tiniest of crumbs. Nothing—Albert’s mind was empty, a barren tundra.