Ren had always been a night owl, the kind who thrived on quiet apartments and late-night reading binges. Tonight was no different. His desk was strewn with snacks and textbooks, but the real centerpiece was a tattered historical novel about the Kingdom of Valoria, a place where princes, scheming nobles, and forbidden romances ruled the land.

“Okay, just one more chapter,” Ren muttered, yawning, already half-dozing. His fingers traced the illustrations of a brooding prince—Prince Kael—who apparently was known for his icy demeanor and sharp wit.

Thunder rumbled. He didn’t care. He was too deep in Kael’s world, imagining court intrigues, secret letters, and—he had to admit—how ridiculously attractive the prince looked in all those old sketches.

Then came the lightning.

It smashed through the night sky like a diva’s entrance at a royal ball. Ren blinked. And then… everything went white.

When Ren opened his eyes again, he wasn’t in his cramped, familiar apartment. No. He was lying on an opulent four-poster bed with silk sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and… something metallic? He sat up—and froze.

“What the…?”

He raised a hand. Long, slender, pale. His reflection caught in the gilded mirror, and Ren nearly screamed.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no.”

The face staring back at him was not his own. Perfectly sculpted, sharp features, icy blue eyes that looked like they could pierce through steel. And that hair… white-blond, meticulously styled, probably took three hours to arrange each morning.

Ren scrambled out of the bed, panic hitting him like a truck. His legs—long, toned, definitely not his usual stubby college legs—moved stiffly. Every movement felt foreign, like learning to walk again.

He bolted to the window. Outside… massive stone walls, a sprawling courtyard, soldiers marching in formation.

“…I… I’m… a prince?” Ren whispered, his voice catching somewhere between awe and terror.

A knock at the door.

“Yes, Prince Kael?” a calm, soft voice called.

Ren’s stomach flipped. He froze. That voice… it was too gentle for this world, too grounded.

The door opened, revealing a young man in scholar’s robes, holding a stack of scrolls. His dark hair framed a serene face, and those deep, warm eyes… oh no. Ren’s brain immediately short-circuited.

“Good morning, Your Highness. I have your lessons prepared,” the man said politely, bowing slightly.

Ren’s brain panicked. “Lessons? I… uh… yes… lessons. Of course.” He stumbled over the words, entirely forgetting how a prince was supposed to speak.

The scholar’s brow furrowed. “You seem… different today, Kael. Are you unwell?”

Ren gulped. “Different? No! I mean… maybe… I’m fine?” Oh god, why was talking so hard?!

The scholar—Ren now thought of him as dangerously cute Lior—smiled faintly. “Very well. Shall we begin, then?”

The lessons were… impossible. Algebra? No. History? Already knew it all because Ren had read it in his textbooks. Sword techniques? Hilarious. Ren’s reflexes were laughably bad, and he nearly tripped over the prince’s own boots more than once. Lior’s eyes, calm and observant, seemed to notice every stumble.

“You’re… unusually clumsy today,” Lior said softly, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

Ren cursed silently. Am I going to die from embarrassment before anything else?

By midday, Ren had survived a minor tea ceremony disaster, a near-diplomatic faux pas where he almost insulted a visiting noble, and a wardrobe malfunction involving a cape and a chandelier.

Lior… had been there the whole time, calmly rescuing him with a hand on his shoulder or a whispered hint, all while smiling faintly like he was secretly enjoying watching Ren flail.

At some point, Ren realized he was… staring. Way too long. Lior’s hair caught the sunlight just right. Those eyes… why were they so distracting? No, no, focus. He’s a prince. You’re in his body. Don’t get… distracted.

Easier said than done.

Evening came, and Ren collapsed onto the prince’s bed, exhausted. His mind raced. This isn’t real. This is a dream. I’ll wake up any second. He pinched himself. Pain. Real.

A soft knock. “Your Highness, dinner is served,” Lior’s voice called.

Ren groaned. “I swear, if you judge me for being bad at everything today, I will—” He stopped mid-threat. Lior was standing there, arms crossed, not a hint of judgment on his face. Just… calm.

Ren wanted to cry. Or faint. Or maybe just run away screaming.

Instead, he muttered, “Okay… dinner. I’ll… try.”

Lior’s smile was subtle, almost imperceptible. “Good. I’ll be waiting in the dining hall.”

That night, lying in the prince’s bed, Ren stared at the ceiling. This was insane. Absolutely, utterly insane. But somewhere deep inside… he felt something he hadn’t expected.

Curiosity. Excitement. And yes… a flutter of something dangerous every time he thought of Lior.

This is going to be… interesting .

The morning sun streamed through tall, arched windows, casting golden light across the elaborate tapestries of the prince’s bedchamber. Ren groaned as he blinked awake, the silk sheets sticking to his skin in an unfamiliar way. Somehow, sleeping in someone else’s body was even weirder than he imagined. Every muscle felt alien, every movement slightly awkward, and every glance in the mirror reminded him that this was not his body.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and nearly fell. The length of them, the weight, the unfamiliar rhythm—it was a struggle just to stand. His stomach twisted in nervous anticipation. Today wasn’t going to be just another awkward morning; it was the first full day of Kael’s royal duties.

Ren forced himself to march down the corridor, trying to channel whatever air of dignity he thought a prince should have. The palace was alive with servants, guards, and attendants, all moving with the kind of precision that made Ren feel like he’d accidentally wandered onto a film set. He nearly collided with a footman carrying a tray of silver cups.

“Careful,” the footman muttered, rolling his eyes.

Ren bowed awkwardly, nearly hitting his head on the tray. “Sorry! I mean… yes, of course!”

As he navigated the hall, Lior appeared quietly from around a corner, hands clasped behind his back. His expression was calm, almost amused, as if he had expected this chaos all along.

“You’re punctual, at least,” Lior said softly. “Breakfast will be served in ten minutes in the dining hall.”

Ren swallowed. Breakfast? Why does everything feel like a performance? He followed Lior, keeping a careful distance, trying not to trip over the long hem of Kael’s tunic.

The dining hall was massive, with towering windows and a ceiling fresco depicting the kingdom’s founders. Servants moved with seamless efficiency, serving dishes Ren had never seen before—piles of roasted meats, bowls of exotic fruits, pastries that glimmered with syrup. He stared at the array like it was a science experiment, unsure where to start.

“Eat something,” Lior said softly, placing a hand on Ren’s arm. “You’ll need energy.”

Ren hesitated. The hand felt warm—too warm—and the gentle pressure made his stomach do flips he wasn’t prepared for. “Right… food. Energy. Got it.” He picked up a piece of bread and accidentally flung it across the table. A servant dodged it nimbly, but Ren’s face burned.

Lior’s lips twitched. “Perhaps we start with smaller bites?”

Ren nodded, embarrassed. How does one act like royalty without losing all dignity in the first hour?

After breakfast, Ren was escorted to the council chambers. Today’s agenda involved reviewing taxes, meeting foreign envoys, and attending a lesson on diplomacy. All terms sounded familiar, but when paired with Kael’s name, they carried immense weight. Every official present eyed him with expectation.

Ren tried his best to mimic Kael’s composed expression. He failed spectacularly. His first comment—a casual greeting—came out far too loud, and he nearly blurted, “So… uh… hi everyone?”

A stern-looking official raised an eyebrow. “Your Highness, we were expecting your insight on trade tariffs.”

Ren froze. Insight? Trade tariffs? He barely remembered what a tariff was in modern economics, let alone how to discuss them convincingly in this palace.

Lior stepped quietly to his side, whispering, “Follow my lead. Just nod and respond after me.”

Ren tried. He nodded. Lior made a subtle gesture with his hand. Ren copied. Somehow, it worked. The council murmured approvingly, and Ren realized Lior was his lifeline.

But every glance from Lior sent a strange warmth through him, distracting him from the proceedings. He caught himself staring too long, feeling his heart thud painfully in his chest. Focus. You’re a prince. Don’t get distracted by the tutor.

The afternoon brought sword training. Ren thought he could bluff his way through lectures and meetings, but swordplay was another story. Kael was known for his skill, but Ren… well, he was not.

“Grip the hilt properly,” Lior instructed, standing at the sidelines. His voice carried authority, yet it was gentle enough to soothe Ren’s rising panic.

Ren held the sword awkwardly, nearly toppling over as he attempted a basic stance. Lior sighed, but it wasn’t harsh—more like exasperated amusement. “Relax your shoulders. Let the weight flow naturally.”

Ren tried again, swinging the sword with all the dignity he could muster. The blade wobbled dangerously, missing the practice dummy by a mile. He stumbled backward and fell onto his backside.

Lior’s eyes softened. “You’ll get there. Practice makes perfect.”

Ren’s cheeks burned. Is he… smiling at me? The thought made him hyper-aware of every movement, every breath, every accidental brush of their hands. Training ended with Ren more bruised than skilled, but strangely… he felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years.

After training, Ren was supposed to attend a formal tea ceremony with visiting nobles. The ceremony required sitting perfectly, holding the teacup at a precise angle, and engaging in polite conversation without laughing, sneezing, or spilling anything.

Ren sat down, heart racing. Every word from the nobles seemed designed to trap him. Do I compliment the embroidery or the table? What do I say about the weather?

“You may respond now,” Lior whispered.

Ren nodded and attempted a polite, sophisticated response. It came out mostly coherent, though he accidentally praised a noble’s hat instead of their diplomatic achievements. Lior hid a small chuckle behind his hand, and the noble raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to be offended or amused.

Somehow, the ceremony ended without major disasters. Ren exhaled, leaning back slightly. Lior’s eyes caught his, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them. A soft, unspoken understanding passed between them: Ren needed guidance, and Lior would provide it, but neither could ignore the strange tension growing between them.

Evening fell, and Ren returned to the prince’s chamber, utterly exhausted. He flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The day had been a whirlwind of awkward mistakes, near disasters, and moments of sheer panic. Yet… Lior had been there every step of the way. Calm, reassuring, silently watching him fumble but never judging.

A soft knock at the door startled him.

“Dinner is ready,” Lior’s voice called again, steady and comforting.

Ren groaned, sitting up. “I swear, I might collapse before I eat.”

“You’ll manage. You did well today,” Lior said, his tone light but sincere. “Progress comes with effort.”

Ren’s chest tightened. Did he just… compliment me? Or Kael? The thought made him dizzy.

Dinner passed in a blur of fine foods and polite conversation. Ren tried to keep his composure but found his mind wandering to Lior repeatedly, noticing every subtle movement, every glance, every soft laugh.

When the meal ended, Lior bowed slightly. “Rest well, Your Highness. Tomorrow will bring more responsibilities.”

Ren watched him leave, feeling both grateful and… something else. Longing? Confusion? He wasn’t sure.

Later that night, Ren stared at the mirror again. The reflection of Prince Kael stared back, handsome, composed, and entirely foreign. Ren touched his own face, still unsure if he could handle the coming days. Palace life was complex, treacherous, and exhausting. But somewhere beneath the panic, beneath the exhaustion, there was a thrill he hadn’t felt before—a dangerous excitement about navigating this world, about surviving in Kael’s body, and about the enigmatic tutor who seemed to see right through him.

Tomorrow… Ren thought. Tomorrow, I survive. Somehow. And maybe… I figure out what this strange feeling is.

Ren woke to the soft light of dawn spilling into the prince’s chamber. His muscles ached from yesterday’s training, his brain felt scrambled from council meetings and tea ceremonies, and his stomach growled for a breakfast he wasn’t sure he deserved. Somehow, being a prince was way more physically exhausting than he’d imagined.

He swung his legs over the bed again, nearly toppling over. “Ugh… this body is a nightmare,” he muttered, clutching the edge of the bed. Kael’s legs were fine for sword fighting, but apparently, grace came at the price of comfort.

A soft knock at the door jolted him upright. “Your Highness, the morning lesson is ready,” Lior said, stepping inside, scrolls in hand. His expression carried that calm, unflappable patience Ren had come to both admire and dread.

Ren groaned. “Lesson… right. Got it.”

The morning lesson wasn’t just about books. Lior had something special planned. Today’s agenda: etiquette, diplomacy, and public appearances. In theory, Ren could fake charm in small doses—but in practice, every word felt like a trap.

“You must project confidence,” Lior instructed, arranging chairs in the sunlit training hall. “Even small gestures convey authority. A prince must always appear poised, even in discomfort.”

Ren attempted a deep bow. His knees buckled slightly, sending a chair clattering behind him. Lior’s eyebrows lifted—not with judgment, but with the faintest trace of amusement.

“Less… dramatic,” Lior murmured. “Subtlety is key.”

Ren nodded, cheeks burning. Subtlety… right. I think I broke subtlety in three seconds.

Their lesson began with a simple exercise: greeting nobles and responding to polite questions with charm and confidence. Ren’s first attempt was… catastrophic.

A footman led in a visiting diplomat, tall and imposing. Ren’s knees wobbled. He opened his mouth to greet the man, and somehow, “Good morning… sir?” came out as “Yo… uh… greetings, fancy human?”

Lior’s hand appeared on his back. “Keep your tone steady. Speak as though your words carry weight,” he whispered.

Ren tried again, sweat prickling his forehead. The diplomat’s eyes flicked to Lior, then back to Ren, brows raised. Somehow, Ren survived the interaction without insulting anyone—though he might have unintentionally suggested that Kael’s wardrobe was outdated.

After a brief break, Lior led Ren to the palace garden. Today’s exercise: body language. Every movement, posture, and gesture had to scream “prince,” even when Ren felt more like a clumsy college student in someone else’s clothes.

“Relax your shoulders. Keep your head high,” Lior instructed, demonstrating with effortless grace. He moved like water, each step flowing into the next. Ren’s attempts were… less like water, more like someone trying not to trip on air.

Ren’s frustration boiled. “I don’t get it! How do you make walking look like magic while I look like I’m dancing with a broom?”

Lior’s lips curved in a faint smile. “It comes with practice… and attention to detail.” His eyes lingered on Ren longer than necessary, and Ren felt an uncomfortable heat rise in his chest. Stop noticing me! You’re supposed to be teaching, not… whatever this is.

A sudden gust of wind scattered papers from Lior’s scrolls. Ren lunged to catch them, stumbling into Lior. Their hands brushed, lingering a moment too long. Ren’s face turned crimson.

“Careful,” Lior murmured, though there was no sharpness in his tone—only calm observation, as if gauging Ren’s reaction.

Ren wanted to disappear. Instead, he muttered, “I-I’m fine… totally fine…”

Later, the prince’s lessons turned toward conversation practice. Lior set up mock debates with servants playing minor nobles. The goal: respond with wit, charm, and strategic intelligence. Ren’s first attempt ended with him accidentally agreeing with everything the servant said and bowing repeatedly.

Lior pinched the bridge of his nose, hiding a smirk. “Your mind races too fast. Pause before speaking. Consider your words carefully.”

Ren groaned, mentally hitting himself. Consider my words… maybe I should have stayed in my dorm, reading novels, instead of becoming a walking disaster in someone else’s life.

The final exercise involved a public greeting in the garden. A group of nobles waited for Kael’s arrival. Ren tried to stride forward with confidence. He tripped over the hem of his tunic, nearly face-planting into a fountain. Lior caught him mid-fall, steadying him with a hand at his waist.

Ren froze, eyes wide. Waist…? Did he just touch my waist? The moment lingered too long, and Ren’s heart thumped wildly.

“You’re improving,” Lior said, voice low enough only for Ren to hear. “Focus on presence, not perfection.”

Ren nodded frantically, cheeks burning. “Yes… presence… not perfection… got it…”

After lessons, Ren was allowed a short break before afternoon duties. He wandered the palace corridors, trying to memorize which door led where, which guards were assigned to which post, and how many steps to take to avoid looking clumsy. It was like navigating a labyrinth designed to humiliate him at every turn.

He passed the library, a vast hall lined with ancient tomes, and saw Lior seated at a table, reviewing documents. The soft concentration on his face made Ren pause. He had to… he had to look closer.

Lior glanced up. “Taking a break?”

Ren stammered. “Uh… yes… break… very good…”

Lior’s eyes sparkled faintly. “Shall I join you?”

Ren nearly choked. Join me…? The idea that Lior would want to spend time with him outside of lessons was… thrilling and terrifying. “Uh… yes… please,” he managed.

They walked together through the garden. Lior asked about Ren’s “perspective” on palace life. Ren tried to answer carefully, balancing honesty with the idea that he couldn’t reveal he was not Kael.

“It’s… overwhelming,” Ren admitted, glancing at the perfectly trimmed hedges. “And everyone expects you to be perfect all the time. Even small mistakes feel huge.”

Lior nodded, understanding. “It is a heavy burden, being a prince. Few realize the weight behind the title.”

Ren’s chest tightened. He wanted to say, I’m not really Kael, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he murmured, “I’ll try to do my best.”

Lior’s hand brushed his accidentally as they adjusted their path around a fountain. Ren froze again. Stop reacting… calm… calm…

Evening descended, bringing a gentle chill. Ren returned to the chamber, exhausted but strangely exhilarated. He realized that every interaction with Lior left him flustered, his thoughts tangled, his heart racing in ways he didn’t expect. It was confusing, frightening, and… exciting.

Dinner was quiet, with Ren trying desperately not to comment on anything inappropriate, spill anything, or trip again. Lior’s calm presence made it easier, yet the tension between them was unmistakable, unspoken but undeniably charged.

After dinner, Ren finally collapsed onto the bed, staring at the gilded ceiling. Today had been… a storm of embarrassment, missteps, and brief moments of connection with Lior. He knew he had a long way to go before he could convincingly act like Kael.

But deep inside, he felt something stir—a curious thrill, a sense that maybe this chaotic, exhausting life was not just about survival. Maybe… it was about discovering something more, something unexpected, something dangerously alluring.

Lior… Ren whispered into the silence, the name tasting strange on his tongue. His face burned. What am I even feeling?

Tomorrow promised more lessons, more encounters, and no doubt more chaos. But for the first time, Ren wasn’t entirely dreading it. Somewhere beneath the panic, the confusion, and the exhaustion, he was… looking forward to it.