Ash stirred to the sound of footsteps outside his chambers, the soft tap-tap-tap of a servant entering to pour tea into a delicate china cup. He rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, wincing as his head throbbed with an unfamiliar intensity. A wave of disorientation washed over him, and for a moment, he couldn't remember where he was or who he was.
A gentle voice, familiar and soothing, spoke softly. "Your Highness, perhaps a little breakfast would help settle your stomach?"
Ash's gaze snapped toward the door, and he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. A woman, a lady-in-waiting, stood with a tray, her pale features softened by concern. He took in his new surroundings, his mind scrambling to connect the pieces. The opulent furnishings, the paintings, the cold stone floor beneath his feet…he was in the palace.
The words came slowly, as if extracted from a reluctant past. "I…I remember being a child. My parents, the king and queen…I was a prince, one of three, I think. But that's all, and that's when…when everything stopped."
The lady-in-waiting, whose name he later learned was Lady Amelia, gently probed him with questions, offering small comfort as he struggled to grasp the magnitude of his transformation. She helped him sit up, and over a breakfast of simple porridge, he forced the flavors and textures down his throat, a reluctant eater.
The rest of his first days passed in a haze, each day indistinguishable from the last. His routine solidified into a monotonous cycle: spend the morning indulging in pleasures (reading, playing cards, or taking long baths), followed by meals in bed, as servants whispered among themselves about the useless Third Prince. Ash ignored the whispers; he didn't have the mental energy to care.
But with each passing day, something began to shift within him. He recalled his education in fits and starts, the meager attention given to his younger self, the lack of real-world experience. It was as if the past, stored away like ash in a kiln, had begun to smolder anew.
In the late afternoon, he allowed himself a rare excursion, taking a walk in the palace gardens. The cold sun warmed his skin, and the quiet, methodical work of gardening helped him clear his mind. He found himself lost in memories of his childhood, recalling his parents and siblings. There was Elara, his elder sister, and Victor, his elder brother, who now commanded the throne. The image of his family's strained relationships stung, but he knew he needed to recall them.
Just as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, a thought arose from the ashes, reforming into a coherent notion. The System, if there was one, might offer its first instructions. He settled into his morning routine, curious.
As he lay in bed, he focused, a decision to follow the instructions forming. The first words, small and unassuming, issued from his mind. The word was simple: "Ash." The System responded, flowing into his mind like a gentle breeze, painting the language with color and light. A description of basic soap-making from ash and animal fat. A guide.
Ash tried the technique, mesmerized as he applied the mixture to his hands. He scented the mixture with a bit of lavender, created a small amount, and practiced pouring it into small containers. He felt a small sense of satisfaction, of accomplishment, for the first time since his awakening.
Later that night, as he lay in bed, a messenger arrived, bearing a royal decree. The king summoned him to the throne room, and his pulse accelerated. Something was coming, and Ash had no idea what.
When he entered the throne room, his father sat on his throne, his face stern and intent.
"Lena of the Domefed Kingdom has proposed a marriage alliance between our kingdoms," his father declared. "We will accept this proposal. But there is more."
He paused, taking a deep breath.
"We require you, our Third Prince, to marry Princess Lyra of the Domefed Kingdom. It is a strategic alliance, and our claim on her dowry will strengthen our position on the council of nations."
The information weighed heavily on Ash. Only three days had passed since he'd become a prince. He'd yet to explore his new surroundings, learn the language, or understand his duties. Marriage, forced or not, was an unfathomable prospect, especially to someone he knew nothing about.
He recalled a whispered rumor about Princess Lyra: "the mad princess of the Domefed Kingdom," who'd spent years imprisoned in her palace.
"I…I don't understand," Ash said, the words barely above a whisper.
The expression on his father's face turned cold. "You will, my son. You will come to understand."
With these final words, his father turned to Sebastian, his trusted butler, and dismissed him.
Ash, feeling like a pawn in a chess game, looked down at the parchment in his hands, the message "Marriage at Midnight" scrawled across it in bold script. The kingdom's expectations weighed upon him, a crushing force he was struggling to comprehend.
He stood alone, unsure what to make of the impossible task thrust upon him. How could they expect him, the Third Prince, to fulfill a duty so unfamiliar? The darkness seemed to whisper questions in his ears, his doubts fueled by the pressure of expectation. What did the kingdom need from him? What did they require his allegiance for?
The royal decree slid to the floor, as the silence in the throne room grew, and Ash realized the first steps toward an uncertain future had already begun.