Suddenly, as if jolted awake, I came to my senses. Slowly, cautiously, I opened my eyes and looked around.
I was in a spacious bedroom, lying on an impressively large bed piled high with soft pillows and blankets. The bed itself looked exactly like the sort of bed an influential feudal lord might own—huge, with carved posts and a canopy of uncertain color covered in intricate, indistinct patterns. I couldn't make out the details; it was apparently still early morning. A pale gray light was just beginning to seep through the curtained and shuttered windows.
Pushing aside the blanket and clumsily sinking into the soft mattress, I crawled to the edge of the bed, sat down, and lowered my legs onto the stone floor covered with animal skins. I sat there for a while, flexing my fingers, looking around, and trying to get used to my new body.
To my left stood a bedside table with a metal bell on a long handle, and beside it, a low armchair buried under a heap of disordered clothing. It felt deeply strange—like I had climbed into someone else's clothes. There was also a faint sense of disgust and even shame. This body was unfamiliar, alien… not mine!
I stood up. My head spun, and my legs felt like cotton—weak and unsteady. I stayed still for a while, breathing deeply, waiting for the unpleasant and unfamiliar sensations to fade. Slowly, they did.
I looked down at myself. The only thing I was wearing resembled soft linen shorts that reached to mid-thigh, with a drawstring at the waist and two more at the bottom, allowing them to be tightened around the legs. The underwear looked rather ridiculous—there was no other word for it—but I was simply glad that there was any underwear at all!
Grumbling under my breath, I couldn't help myself—I untied the strings and examined my new manhood. A penis was a penis: not particularly big, not particularly small. Average. And in general, judging by my overall thinness and lack of fat, I must have been quite young. How old had Joffrey been at the time of his death? Not very old, though he had already come of age. At least I hadn't ended up in the body of a child.
Speaking of Joffrey… His personality wasn't here. But his memories were. I noticed the chain with a key around my neck and immediately remembered—it was from his personal safe. So the Seven hadn't deceived me after all. I still had access to Joffrey's memories.
Probing through them, I quickly got my bearings and went to one of the cabinets by the wall. The doors creaked as I opened them. Kneeling, I pulled back the bottom panel—beneath it, built into the base of the cabinet, was a hidden compartment. I took the key from around my neck and unlocked the small door.
Inside was a spacious, oblong strongbox where Joffrey kept his most valuable possessions. There were several purses of coins, a box of jewelry, a few costly trinkets, and a leather folder of papers. I was momentarily surprised that Joffrey had kept any written documents at all. Still, it was good to see the young king had the sense to store his private correspondence out of sight.
I scratched my forehead but decided not to take anything from the safe. Closing it, I rose to my feet and continued examining the room.
The bedroom turned out to be vast, furnished with several wardrobes, the aforementioned bed, a few armchairs, and a desk with a spotless, unused surface. Clearly, Joffrey hadn't been fond of working at his desk. Receiving letters was one thing—writing replies was another. On the desk lay a loaded crossbow. Was Joffrey frightened of something? Or simply comforting himself with the illusion of safety?
There were two doors in the chambers. One opened onto a long corridor where a couple candles still flickered in their wall candelabras—now, near morning, they were almost burned out. I walked down the hall, opened another door, and found myself at a fork. To the right was a small room with a hole in the floor and a chair that looked more like a padded armchair—upholstered in soft leather, with a velvet back and armrests. An oval hole gaped in the seat. Presumably, this was the royal toilet—a throne of its own kind, comfortable and plush, so that His Majesty, Seven forbid, might not bruise his crowned ass.
After relieving myself—and trying very hard not to dwell on the fact that I was seeing and touching this body, my body, for the first time—I tied the strings of my underwear and headed for the bath chamber. Inside were a couple of small, empty stone tubs, a barrel, several jugs of water, and a huge mirror surrounded by various hygiene items. Light entered through narrow windows high under the ceiling, but there was very little of it.
After a moment's thought, I returned to the corridor, wrestled a candelabrum free from its stand, carried it back, and placed it near the mirror. The flickering light illuminated my reflection.
I could see myself clearly, full length: a tall, slender young man with long legs and arms, and broad shoulders.
A young and beautiful body—quite promising, if I may say so. Even without knowing who Joffrey's parents were, I could easily assume both mother and father were handsome and well-proportioned. It felt like it was no accident, but the product of generations of careful breeding among nobles obsessed with producing "worthy" heirs. They really shouldn't have resorted to inbreeding, though!
I liked the head and face too. Thick, golden hair fell almost to the shoulders. Large green eyes, a straight nose, a firm chin. Only the lips were curved a little capriciously. And the facial expressions, the subtle reflexes written into the muscles, betrayed an extremely spoiled and rather shallow personality. I snorted softly.
The body itself was beyond reproach—at least in form. But its previous owner had clearly neglected it. The muscles were poorly developed, the skin pale and overly delicate. I doubted it had much endurance—probably about as much as a pampered cat. To test the theory, I flexed my right bicep.
Yeah… not impressive.