'Finally. I'm done for the day.'
Florian collapsed onto his bed, sinking into its plush softness. Every inch of his body ached from the day's relentless demands. It had been long and exhausting, and his mind replayed the chaos as if to mock him. His muscles throbbed particularly from the dance lessons with Duchess Sofia—an elegant yet merciless taskmaster.
The duchess had insisted on perfecting Florian's movements, pointing out every flaw with precision. Florian had learned that Sofia wasn't just the duchess; she was a force of nature who seemed determined to make him work for every ounce of grace she expected him to embody.
Apparently, as a prince in a matriarchal kingdom, Florian lacked the refined etiquette befitting a member of a royal harem. His upbringing had prepared him to lead, not to dance like a delicate flower. Sofia made sure to drill that distinction into him.
'I already have a pretty face. Now I need to act like a princess for two hours straight? Ridiculous.'
He groaned inwardly, rubbing his temples. After the grueling lessons, Cashew had whisked him off to the royal tailor. The experience should have been simple—just a matter of measurements and fabric swatches. Instead, it turned into an ordeal.
Sylvester, the royal tailor, was a flamboyant whirlwind of fabric and flair who preferred to go by Sylvia. A stark contrast to his muscular frame, Sylvia's vivacious personality filled the room as he clucked over Florian's measurements. When Florian suggested wearing attire similar to Lucius or Cashew—simple and dignified—Sylvia had gasped so dramatically it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
"No, no, absolutely not! You were so adamant about getting His Majesty's attention, and dressing like a manly man won't do, Your Highness!" Sylvia had declared, wagging a finger at him.
After much back-and-forth, they'd reached a compromise: outfits that blended masculine and feminine elements. It was a small victory, as long as they weren't as revealing as the scandalous attire he had been forced into before.
'At least I can wear something that doesn't scream look at me.'
Then there was the visit to the royal physician, Lysander. It had been a routine follow-up to ensure Florian's head wound had healed properly. Thankfully, magic had taken care of the worst of it, and Lysander confirmed that everything was fine internally. The doctor did, however, advise him to avoid climbing high places or attempting any dangerous stunts for attention.
'As if I'd ever do that again.'
By the time dinner rolled around, Florian was utterly drained. Thankfully, harem members were still permitted to take their meals in their rooms. Cashew had gone to fetch his food, and for once, Lucius and Lancelot were nowhere to be seen. Seizing the moment of solitude, Florian all but threw himself onto his bed, letting out a sigh of pure relief.
"I almost forgot how soft this bed was," he murmured, his voice heavy with contentment. Tears nearly pricked at his eyes as he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Above him, the faint glow of blue butterflies filled the room with a gentle light.
These were the original Florian's pets, he remembered, brought from his homeland. They were loyal creatures, always lingering near him or fluttering gently around the room like shimmering guardians. In the novel, the original Florian would often confide in them, pouring out his secrets to their silent presence.
'Surprisingly calming. No wonder he brought them with him.' Florian extended a hand, and one of the butterflies gracefully descended, resting lightly on his finger.
"I wonder if my body has already had a funeral," he whispered to the creature, his voice tinged with melancholy. "Or maybe it's in a coma... Maybe Kaz is sitting by my side, waiting for me to wake up." His lips quirked into a faint, bitter smile. "Or is the original Florian inside my body right now?"
The butterfly, of course, didn't answer. It simply twitched its wings, glowing faintly against the dim light.
"I have to find a way back," Florian said, his resolve hardening. "I don't belong here. One way or another, there has to be a chance."
But laying in bed wasn't going to solve anything. With a soft exhale, he moved his hand, letting the butterfly flit away. It hovered for a moment before joining its companions in a delicate dance of light.
Rising from the bed, Florian walked to his desk. He pulled open a drawer and retrieved a bundle of papers—his unwritten plans. They'd been untouched since the last time he had jotted something down. Now, with the faint glow of butterflies around him, he spread them across the desk and prepared to continue.
Florian carefully wrote the title across the top of the page:
The Village of Forgotten Waters Kidnapping Plan.
His pen hovered for a moment before he continued.
The Village of Forgotten Waters was a small, cursed settlement in Concordia. Despite being situated in the so-called "farming capital" of the kingdom, it faced constant drought. Its fields were barren, its rivers dry, and the few crops that managed to grow were often withered.
Florian leaned back, rubbing his temple as he tried to recall the backstory he had written for the place.
'Right. It was cursed by a so-called witch.'
The witch had been executed by the villagers decades ago, accused of dark magic and poisoning their wells. In her final moments, she cursed the land, vowing that no drop of rain would fall and no river would flow until justice was served. True to her words, the village became a desolate wasteland after her death.
It was such a peculiar and tragic phenomenon that twice a year, the King of Concordia would visit the village, accompanied by Arcaniors—with an affinity for water magic.
Arcaniors are individuals born with a natural affinity for magic. They harness their magical abilities using mana stones, essential crystals that amplify and channel their magical powers.
'A tradition passed down from king to king... except Heinz.' Florian scrawled this thought into the margin.
When Heinz ascended the throne, he reduced the visits to once a year, prioritizing other matters over the welfare of one cursed village.
'But then the council pressured him to visit more often.' Florian tapped his pen thoughtfully. 'It was all for appearances. Heinz didn't care about the villagers; he just wanted to boost his image. And of course, he dragged the harem along for moral support, to make them look charitable.'
The harem's involvement, however, led to one of the novel's pivotal moments. Florian continued writing, recounting the infamous kidnapping scene.
On the way to the village, a group of rogues ambushed the royal procession. Somehow, they had learned about the trip and executed their attack with precision. They overpowered the knights guarding the carriages, abducting the harem's members one by one.
'Conveniently, Lancelot wasn't there.' Florian frowned.
In the novel, Lancelot had been assigned to protect Heinz directly during the journey. Florian had always thought this was a plot hole. Heinz, as a king and a powerful individual, could easily handle himself with just a handful of knights.
'If Lancelot had been with the harem, none of it would've happened. He's too skilled.'
Florian tapped his pen against the desk, his thoughts drifting to Kaz. His sister had been adamant about Lancelot's absence being crucial for the plot.
'But still. It felt contrived. Guess that's my job now—to fix it.'
He glanced down at the paper, where he had written the question:
"Now the question is... what do I do to seem like a hero?"
Florian began listing options.
Option 1: Warn the knights beforehand. Claim to have spotted a rogue lurking nearby, forcing them to take extra precautions. This way, they'd be better prepared when the ambush occurred.
He stared at the page, tapping the pen against his lips.
Option 2: ...
"Fuck. I can't think of anything else," he muttered under his breath. He leaned back, running a hand through his freshly cut hair. The shorter strands felt unfamiliar under his fingers, a stark reminder of his recent transformation.
He had asked Cashew to cut it after noticing the singed ends. Now, his reflection showed someone who looked a little less like a woman and a little more like a person caught between identities.
'Focus, Florian. You're getting distracted again.'
He shook his head, staring at the empty space on the page where more options should have been.
"All I know is that I can't let the princesses—or myself—get kidnapped," he mumbled. His fingers drummed against the desk. "Maybe I could sacrifice Scarlett?"
The thought made him smirk. "Kidding," he muttered, though the idea of Scarlett, the most insufferable member of the harem, being dragged off by rogues did bring a flicker of amusement.
'Come on. Think.' Florian sighed, his focus returning to the page. He had to find a way to change the narrative, not just for his survival but to keep the plot from spiraling out of control.
As Florian pondered over his plans, a sharp knock echoed from the door, jolting him out of his thoughts. He flinched, his heart skipping a beat as he hastily grabbed the scattered papers and shoved them back into the drawer. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, irritated that his rare moment of uninterrupted thinking was cut short once again.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair to calm himself before calling out, "Come in."
Settling himself in his chair, Florian furrowed his eyebrows. 'Strange... why do I feel like I'm forgetting something?' The thought lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind like a faint whisper just out of reach.