Surviving Royality

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.

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