Ten Years Ago
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
The sound of birdsong dragged me from my slumber. Sunlight spilled across my face, warm and golden, and for a moment I considered sinking deeper into the silken sheets.
I stretched lazily, bones loose, every inch of me soaking in the comfort of a life I had once begged for. From the day I opened my eyes in this world, I knew I had been given another chance—a chance to escape the hunger, the cold, the endless nights of my old life. And yet… here I was, fifteen years old, still clinging to comfort like a child.
A smirk tugged at my lips. Why bother struggling, when servants rushed to dress me? When feasts were laid out before I ever felt hunger? When the world itself bent to the will of my family name?
Yes. I had been reincarnated. Given everything I once dreamed of. And instead of building an empire, conquering the world, or proving myself to the gods… I wasted my mornings counting how many grapes the kitchen left in my bowl.
Pulling myself from the comfort of my king-sized bed, I sat up, squinting against the sunlight that dared creep through the curtains. I refused to admire it. The world could wait for me.
"Adora."
My voice rang out, sharper, stronger, and far more commanding than in my old life. It carried arrogance, as it should—I was the youngest son of House Valebryn, the oldest and most powerful of the Five Great Houses.
The door opened almost at once, as if my call had been a blade pressed to her throat. Adora stepped in, bowing low, her hands folded neatly before her. She had been assigned to me since birth, a servant girl only a few years older than myself, though I had never thought of her as anything more than an extension of the house's will.
"Good morning, my lord," she murmured.
I let the silence hang, watching her shift uncomfortably, plucked a pillow from the bed and tossed it aside carelessly, watching her flinch at the sound. How different this life was—where once I would have begged for scraps from someone like her, now I could command her with a single word.
"Bring water," I said finally, stretching my arms. "And tell the kitchens I expect more than grapes today. I'm not some stable rat to nibble at leftovers."
"Yes, my lord." She bowed again, retreating quickly.
I leaned back against the carved wooden frame of the bed, a smirk tugging at my lips. This was what it meant to live as a Valebryn. To be born into power, to breathe it, to wear it like a cloak.
One thing I liked about Adora was her ability to carry out any task given to her. The water was always perfect, heated to the core, and today was no different. I lay back as her hands worked across my body, scrubbing with practiced precision.
There was no room for shyness. Nobles had no reason to blush before servants; that sort of modesty belonged to peasants, not to those of our station.
"History class today," I murmured, my voice thick with annoyance.
Adora didn't answer. She never did when I complained, which was wise. She dressed me quickly, buttoning the deep-blue tunic embroidered with my family's crest—a silver hawk clutching a crown. My hair was combed back, polished boots slipped on, and before long I was standing in front of the gilded mirror, staring at the reflection of privilege.
The boy who stared back at me was both beautiful and chilling. A face cut in sharp lines, flawless as marble, lips curved in the faintest hint of disdain. My hair—snow-white, the unmistakable mark of Valebryn blood—fell neatly to my shoulders. My eyes, piercing blue like winter skies, carried the cold arrogance of my house. Even at fifteen, my frame held the promise of stature, tall and lean, though softened by the comforts of luxury.
I adjusted the cuff at my wrist.
The son of Valebryn. The reincarnated beggar. The boy who had everything, and still thought it wasn't enough.
Breakfast awaited in the solar, but I hardly noticed the platters of roasted meats and sugared fruits. My thoughts were already souring at the idea of sitting through another dreary lesson.
Still, I rose, stretching lazily, and motioned for Adora to follow. It was time to face the world—on my terms.
The hall never fails to impress—though, frankly, I've grown used to it. Towering ceilings, carved lions looming overhead, enough stained glass to shame a cathedral—all designed to remind anyone who walks through these doors that House Valebryn isn't just old. We're inevitable.
My boots hit the stone floor with just the right amount of echo. Not too fast. Not too slow. A prince of the blood doesn't rush to breakfast—breakfast waits for him.
Tapestries lined the walls, each one more self-congratulatory than the last—great-grandfather impaling someone at some battle, uncle saving the king's life, my father looking tragically noble in a sea of fire. All terribly dramatic. Someday, they'll weave mine. I've already decided on the pose.
Servants bowed as I passed. I didn't bother to look at them—not out of cruelty, just tradition. You don't bow back to ghosts.
At the end of the hall, two knights snapped to attention. Their armor gleamed. Good. If you're going to stand around doing nothing all morning, at least look impressive.
"My lord."
I gave them a nod—barely. Too much acknowledgment and people start thinking they're important.
The doors to the morning chamber opened with the usual theatrical groan. Inside: warmth, firelight, food laid out like an offering. Spiced meats, fresh bread, silver teapots. All for me. Technically for the family, but let's be honest—I'm the only one worth feeding this early
I took my seat, not at the head—not yet—but close enough. My brothers prefer to sleep in or sulk through court meetings. I prefer bacon and admiration.
I leaned back, let the warmth soak in, and smirked.
One day, I'll sit at the head of this table.
And they'll all thank me for it.