Adrian's POV
The servants left me alone, finally.
I lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what just happened. My brain felt like someone cracked it open and poured in a whole other person's life.
Adrian Valcrest. Third Prince of Arevon. Seventeen years old. Weak. Sickly. Disappointing.
The memories kept flooding in, each one worse than the last.
Adrian's father, King Aldric, barely looked at him. When he did, his eyes were full of disgust. "Why couldn't you be strong like your brothers?" he'd said once. Adrian had cried for hours after that.
His stepmother, Queen Seraphine, smiled at him with cold eyes. She always insisted he drink special "medicine" to help him get stronger. That medicine was the poison. I knew it now. She'd been killing him slowly for two years.
His two older brothers, Damian and Elias, treated him like a joke. Damian once shoved him down the palace stairs "by accident." Adrian broke his arm. No one punished Damian.
Even the servants stole from his rooms because they knew he was too scared to report them.
This kid's life was hell.
And now it was my life.
I forced myself to sit up. My arms shook with the effort. This body was pathetically weak. In my old life, I could lift a man with one hand and throw him across a room. Now I could barely push myself upright.
I needed to see what I looked like.
Using the bedpost for support, I pulled myself to standing. My legs felt like water. I stumbled toward the mirror on the wall, catching myself on furniture along the way.
When I finally looked in the mirror, I froze.
The face staring back at me wasn't Marco Santini's scarred, hard features. This was a boy—pretty, almost delicate, with pale skin and sharp silver-gray eyes. Dark auburn hair fell across his forehead. He looked like he'd never thrown a punch in his life.
I touched my face. The reflection copied me. This was real. This was actually happening.
"Okay," I whispered to myself. "Think, Marco. What do you know?"
I was in a kingdom called Arevon. There was a king and three princes. Someone was poisoning me. And according to Adrian's memories, in six months there would be something called the Succession Trials—a competition where the three princes would fight to become the next Crown Prince.
Adrian never planned to compete. He knew he'd lose. He'd already accepted that he was worthless.
But I wasn't Adrian. Not really.
I was Marco "The Reaper" Santini, and I didn't lose.
A knock on the door made me jump. My heart pounded. In my old life, I'd never been scared of a knock on the door. Now this weak body betrayed me with fear.
"Your Highness?" A man's voice called. "May I enter?"
I recognized that voice from Adrian's memories. Lord Henrik, one of his father's advisors. The man who always looked at Adrian like he was a stain on the royal family.
"Come in," I said, trying to sound weak and sick like Adrian always did.
Lord Henrik entered. He was a tall man with a pointed beard and cold blue eyes. He looked at me like I was dirt on his shoe.
"I've come to remind you about tonight's Royal Ball," he said. "Your presence is required. Try not to embarrass your father this time."
Embarrass him? I wanted to punch this guy's teeth out. But I couldn't. Not yet. This body couldn't fight. I had no allies. No weapons. No power.
I had to be smart.
"I'm not feeling well," I said, keeping my voice weak. "Maybe I should stay—"
"You will attend," Lord Henrik cut me off. "The King commands it. All three princes must be there." He smiled cruelly. "Besides, your brothers want everyone to see the difference between real princes and...whatever you are."
He turned and walked out without bowing. Without showing any respect at all.
I stood there, anger burning in my chest. In my old world, I'd have killed him for that disrespect. But here, I was powerless.
For now.
I spent the next few hours going through Adrian's memories, learning everything I could. The palace layout. The names of enemies and potential allies. The political situation.
What I learned made me sick.
This kingdom was corrupt from top to bottom. The nobles stole from the people. The Queen controlled everything through fear and poison. The King was too weak or too stupid to stop her. And everyone treated Adrian like garbage because he was an easy target.
This wasn't a kingdom. This was a criminal organization with fancy titles.
And I'd spent twenty years taking over criminal organizations.
A small smile crossed my face. Maybe I could work with this after all.
As sunset approached, servants came to dress me for the ball. They moved me around like a doll, not speaking to me. One of them "accidentally" stuck me with a pin. When I glared at him, he smirked.
They didn't respect me. That would change.
The ball was in the Great Hall. I could hear music and laughter as servants led me through the palace corridors. My legs still felt weak, but I forced myself to walk straight. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me stumble.
When I entered the Great Hall, the music didn't stop, but conversations did. Hundreds of nobles turned to stare at me. I saw their expressions—mockery, disgust, pity, amusement.
Near the throne, I saw my "brothers" for the first time in person.
Prince Damian stood tall and handsome, surrounded by admirers. He looked at me and laughed, not even trying to hide it. Prince Elias stood beside him, quieter but with the same mocking smile.
And next to them, Queen Seraphine watched me with calculating eyes. The woman who'd been poisoning me for two years.
I wanted to kill her. Right there. Right then.
But I couldn't.
I walked forward, each step carefully measured. Nobles whispered as I passed. I heard some of their comments:
"Still alive? Surprising."
"He looks even weaker than last month."
"Poor thing. He'll probably die before the Trials even start."
I kept my face blank, like Adrian always did. Let them think I was weak. Let them underestimate me.
That's when I saw her.
A young woman entered from the side door, and the entire room seemed to freeze. She wore a faded dress that was clearly old and out of style. Her black hair was pulled back simply. But her face—she was beautiful in a way that made people stare.
But it wasn't her beauty that caught everyone's attention. It was who she was.
Whispers exploded around me:
"That's Lord Nyx's daughter!"
"The traitor's child?"
"How dare she show her face here!"
"Her father poisoned the late Queen!"
The woman—Lady Cassandra Nyx, I realized from Adrian's memories—walked into the room with her head high. But I saw what others missed. Her hands trembled slightly. Her jaw was clenched tight. She was terrified but refusing to show it.
I knew that feeling. I'd felt it the first time I walked into a meeting with the Five Families, knowing any one of them could kill me.
She was brave. Stupid, but brave.
Prince Damian moved toward her like a shark smelling blood. His smile was cruel. Everyone watched, waiting for the show.
"Lady Cassandra," Damian said loudly, making sure everyone could hear. "How bold of you to come here. Tell me, did your father teach you his poison recipes before they executed him?"
The room gasped. Some people laughed.
Cassandra's face went white, but she didn't back down. "My father was innocent. You know he was innocent."
"Innocent?" Damian laughed. "There were witnesses. Evidence. Your traitor father got what he deserved."
I saw Cassandra's hand move slowly toward her dress. Adrian's memories told me noble ladies sometimes carried small knives for protection.
She was going to attack the Prince. In front of everyone. She'd die for it.
And suddenly, I understood something important.
This woman had nothing left to lose. Her family was destroyed. Her name was ruined. She was desperate.
In my old life, I learned that desperate people make the best allies—if you give them something to fight for.
An idea formed in my mind. Crazy. Dangerous. But it might work.
I stepped forward, my weak legs carrying me through the crowd. Everyone stared as the "useless prince" walked toward the confrontation.
Damian saw me and smirked. "Adrian. Come to embarrass yourself too?"
I ignored him and looked directly at Cassandra. Her hand was still hidden in her dress, fingers wrapped around that knife.
Our eyes met.
And in that moment, I saw something in her green eyes that I recognized. The same thing I'd seen in my own reflection twenty years ago, back when I was a nobody from Brooklyn fighting to survive.
Rage. Intelligence. And the desperate will to destroy anyone who hurt her.
I made my decision.
I held out my hand to her.
"Lady Cassandra," I said clearly, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I believe you promised me this dance."
The entire ballroom went silent.
Cassandra stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.
But I'd survived twenty years in the mafia by taking crazy risks that no one expected.
"Dance with me," I said quietly, just for her. "Or attack him and die here. Your choice."
Her eyes searched my face, confused and desperate.
Behind me, I heard Queen Seraphine's sharp intake of breath. She knew something was wrong. The weak prince never did anything unexpected.
Cassandra's hand slowly moved away from her hidden knife.
She took my offered hand.
And the game began.