Legend has it, if you stand in front of a mirror, shuffling an enchanted deck of cards, you can open a doorway between dimensions.
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Prince Teodric of Springport remembers the promise he made his father: to *not* try to reenact the legend of dimen...
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I checked my reflection for the last time. The man looking back at me was, while familiar in the face, a stranger. Not the devilishly handsome scoundrel who'd caused riots in Acewood, but a gentle-hearted, peaceful soon-to-be ruler. Decorated and dressed-up, painted and monarch-like. Or so, everyone would think.
Maid—I believed her name was Petra, which she'd begged me to scream when I climaxed—had laid out the perfect outfit for me, tailored to my measurements. Upon noticing that nothing in this prince's closet fit me, she wasn't even suspicious. She sent for a seamstress to adjust all the clothing, and the woman worked tirelessly to have at least a few outfits for me. Exquisite breeches, finely woven shirts, sturdy, buckled shoes, a fur-lined cloak; all so regal, so luxurious, so unlike me. But it'd have to work for my great escape from my chambers.
Or more like my grand arrival in the rest of the castle.
It was time. I'd been holed up in these chambers long enough. And while the place was enormous, it felt smaller and smaller the more I remained within its gilded walls. The more I stared at its gilded walls, having run out of reading material. I needed air—and not a whiff from the balcony and the sea-spray from outside. Real air. Castle air. Corridor air. Air from a dining room, a ballroom, a throne-room; air brought in by courtiers who'd prostrate at my feet.
I'd read all the books on etiquette that I could, ingested all the knowledge necessary. I was ready to take my place on this throne. A stolen throne, yes, but as I'd discovered, many of the new staff-members didn't even know what I looked like. It wouldn't be difficult to fool everyone else into thinking I was this Teodric. We had the same dark hair—though mine was longer, greasier—and while my skin was darker, it wouldn't be hard to powder it at first. I had a bigger build, but for all these nobles knew, I'd bulked up and worked out and gained more strength.
This was never the plan that I'd devised. Falling into another world? Fucking a serving girl that I didn't know? Plotting to usurp a throne that wasn't mine? No, not me. I was supposed to help another usurper, but not here. My boss waited for me in Efura—and I was here in Eroa. Useless, purposeless, and he'd be furious about it.
But I imagined he'd want me to do this, since I had no other choice. Our plans in Acewood went awry since I ended up here, but that didn't mean I couldn't enact different plans with a similar goal. He wanted a throne? I'd get one for him in Springport. And if he ever deigned to come save me, he could take it.
My fists balled at my sides, tugging on the snug leather fabric around my hands. "We had a plan," I grumbled, my teeth grinding. My face flushed with heat, bringing out the depth of my scar, burning it. Whenever I became irritated, it flared in pain, reminding me to calm down.
But we had a plan, him and I. They and I. It was all ready, set in motion. Places, key words, hidden spots. I had orders to execute, which were interrupted when I stumbled through the mirror.
