The first thing Ethan noticed was the silence.

Not the kind of silence that hummed with life the distant honk of cars, the buzz of a refrigerator, or the faint shouting of his upstairs neighbors fighting again. This silence was vast. Heavy. As if the air itself held its breath.

His head throbbed. His lungs burned as though he’d been running.

When he forced his eyes open, the world that greeted him was wrong.

The ceiling above him was carved from ivory stone, painted with constellations dusted in powdered gold. For a moment, he could only stare, blinking hard, willing the sight to change. But it didn’t.

He jolted upright. The bed beneath him was enormous, the velvet sheets spilling like dark waves across the mattress. His hands clawed at the fabric, shaking.

This wasn’t his cramped one-room apartment. This wasn’t his city.

“What the hell” His voice caught.

It wasn’t his voice.

It was deeper, smoother, carrying a richness that made his own sound almost fragile in comparison.

His heart hammered. He pushed himself off the bed, stumbling barefoot across polished marble. His reflection caught his eye, and he froze.

A mirror, tall and gilded with serpentine patterns, stood against the far wall.

And the man staring back was a stranger.

Silver hair fell in artful strands across aristocratic features sharp cheekbones, a jawline cut from marble, lips curled slightly as if in disdain. His eyes were pale gray, the color of storms before lightning, cold and unyielding. Robes embroidered with gold clung to his frame, bearing a crest he didn’t recognize: a serpent coiled around a sword.

Ethan staggered closer. The reflection followed. He lifted a hand. So did the stranger.

“No,” Ethan whispered. His own voice no, this man’s voice echoed back. “That’s not me.”

But the evidence surrounded him. The weight of the robe on his shoulders. The cool touch of the mirror. The reflection’s storm-gray eyes that were now his own.

His pulse raced. He gripped his head, gasping.

That was when it hit him.

Memories.

Not his.

They crashed into him in a flood scenes, voices, feelings. A banquet table piled high while peasants starved. Servants trembling as cruel laughter rang out. The arrogance of privilege, the indulgence of a spoiled prince who cared for nothing but his own comfort.

A name burned through the haze.

Adrian.

Ethan’s blood ran cold. He knew that name.

Because he had read it before.

From a book.

The Crown Prince’s Rise.

Adrian was no hero. He was the villain the wastrel second prince, despised by nobles and commoners alike. The arrogant snake who sought to rival his elder brother, Crown Prince Lucian, and failed. The man who ended up executed in the palace square, his head falling at the very feet of the people who had once bowed before him.

“No,” Ethan gasped. His knees nearly buckled. “No, no, no this isn’t real.”

But the velvet was soft in his hands. The marble was cold beneath his bare feet. The fire in the hearth warmed his skin.

This wasn’t a dream.

This was his reality.

He had transmigrated.

And he wasn’t the hero.

He wasn’t even a side character.

He was the villain already doomed to die.

A sharp knock rattled the heavy doors.

“Your Highness,” a voice called young, careful. “The council awaits you.”

Ethan’s breath caught. His hands shook. The council? Already?

He had read this part. Adrian was supposed to sneer, to mock, to throw the council into chaos with his arrogance. Every step, every word, had already been written. And at the end of the book, his own brother Lucian, the perfect crown prince would drag him to his death.

Another knock. “Your Highness?”

Ethan forced his legs to move. He reached the door and cracked it open.

A servant stood there young, slim, dressed in the palace livery. His eyes flicked up briefly, then dropped again, as if looking at Ethan directly might cost him his head.

“My prince,” the boy stammered, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor.

The title made Ethan’s stomach twist. Prince. They think I’m him.

“I…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to match the smooth depth of the man in the mirror. “I’ll be there shortly.”

The servant blinked. Perhaps at the politeness. Perhaps because the real Adrian would have cursed him for daring to knock at all.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the boy murmured, retreating quickly down the corridor.

The door shut with a heavy thud.

Ethan leaned against it, his chest heaving.

This was real. Too real.

And if he lived this story the way it was written, he was already marked for death.

He needed time.

He stumbled back toward the bed, eyes sweeping the chamber. His pulse still thundered, but his thoughts began to steady.

If this was Adrian’s body, then everything in this room belonged to Adrian. His life, his past, his sins. Maybe… maybe his survival too.

On a table near the window lay a stack of letters, sealed with wax. His fingers trembled as he broke one open.

To His Highness, Prince Adrian,

Your debts at the gaming hall remain unpaid. We expect restitution within the fortnight. Failure will result in the seizure of collateral, including estates under your name.

Ethan’s mouth went dry. The next letter was worse threats, demands, endless proof of a man who had squandered wealth and trust without care.

A leather-bound ledger revealed pages of reckless spending: jewels, hunting trips, private feasts. No mention of aid for the starving peasants whose cries echoed faintly in Adrian’s stolen memories.

Ethan slammed the book shut, bile rising in his throat. “No wonder they all hate him.”

No, no wonder they all hated him.

Because now, he was Adrian.

His fists clenched against the ledger. If he continued like this, he’d march straight into the execution he already knew was coming.

But if he changed… if he became someone different…

“Maybe,” he whispered, his reflection’s pale eyes locking with his own in the mirror. “Maybe I can survive this.”

The words steadied him, if only slightly. His voice sounded firmer.

“I’m not Adrian. But if I have to wear his face, then I’ll do it differently. I’ll prove I’m not the villain they think.”

But even as he spoke, a shadow loomed in his thoughts. Because he knew who stood at the center of this story. The perfect heir. The man adored by all. The one destined to end Adrian’s life.

Lucian.

The crown prince. The man who would either kill him… or just maybe save him.

The corridors of the imperial palace stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of marble and shadow.

Ethan walked stiffly, every step echoing too loudly against the floor. His borrowed boots clicked in a rhythm that betrayed the nervous tremor running through him. Two guards followed at a distance, their armor polished, their faces expressionless. They didn’t look at him. They didn’t need to. To them, he was Prince Adrian their master, their burden.

But Ethan felt like a fraud in every breath he took.

He tried not to stare at the palace itself, though it was impossible not to. Columns soared toward vaulted ceilings, frescoes told the story of an empire’s conquests, and golden candelabras flickered with steady flames. Everything was vast, magnificent… suffocating.

And he was being led straight into the lion’s den.

The council chamber doors loomed ahead, massive oak carved with the empire’s sigil: a serpent coiled around a sun. As the guards pushed them open, Ethan swallowed hard, willing his legs not to falter.

The moment he entered, the room fell silent.

A dozen men and women in ornate robes sat around a long crescent table. Their gazes turned as one toward him. Some narrowed in disdain, others hardened in calculation. Not a single pair of eyes held warmth.

Ethan’s skin prickled. They’re waiting for me to mess up.

He remembered the book. Adrian had indeed messed up sneering at the ministers, mocking their worries, laughing off discussions of famine and trade. He had played the villain so convincingly the people cheered at his downfall.

If Ethan followed that path, he’d walk himself to the executioner.

So he forced his lips into a neutral line and bowed slightly at the table. It wasn’t deep Adrian wouldn’t grovel but it wasn’t careless either.

“My apologies for the delay,” he said, trying to shape the words with formality instead of arrogance.

A flicker of surprise crossed a few faces. Ethan saw it, stored it away.

“Your Highness,” Chancellor Renard drawled, folding his hands atop the table. His hawk-like nose made his already sharp features more severe. “We did not expect you to grace us with… punctuality.”

A ripple of quiet amusement swept the chamber. Mockery. Testing him.

Adrian would have lashed out. Ethan clenched his jaw instead.

“I see my past habits precede me,” he replied carefully. “I intend to change that.”

The laughter died. Silence filled the chamber once more, but it was different this time uncertain, edged with suspicion.

Ethan sat in the seat reserved for the second prince, every muscle rigid, his palms damp against the carved armrests. He tried to appear composed, but his heart was thrumming so violently he feared they could hear it.

The chancellor cleared his throat. “Very well. We have matters of urgency. The eastern provinces report crop failure. If relief is not sent soon, famine will spread before winter ends.”

Ethan’s chest tightened. He had read this before. Adrian had mocked the issue, claiming peasants were exaggerating and should “learn to starve quietly.” The words had sealed his reputation as a monster.

He couldn’t repeat them.

“Then relief must be sent,” Ethan said, forcing his voice steady. “Food from the capital’s stores, if necessary. And funds redirected to secure next season’s planting.”

The councilors blinked at him.

One of them, a gray-haired noble with ink-stained fingers, frowned. “Your Highness… you propose diverting your household’s funds?”

Ethan hesitated. His pulse stuttered. That wasn’t what he meant but the look in their eyes told him he’d stumbled onto something bigger. Adrian’s fortune was bloated with excess. His ledger of indulgences flashed in Ethan’s mind. Gambling, feasts, vanity.

If he wanted to survive, he had to cut ties with that past.

“Yes,” Ethan said, his voice firm. “Start with mine.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.

No one moved. The councilors exchanged looks, brows knitting. Some suspicious, some startled, others calculating.

And then a voice spoke from the far end of the chamber.

Deep. Steady. Commanding.

“My brother grows wise.”

Ethan’s head snapped up.

He was here.

Crown Prince Lucian.

The man from the book’s pages. The empire’s perfect heir.

Lucian sat at the head of the table, his posture regal, his presence undeniable. Black hair framed a face carved with severity, his expression unreadable yet suffused with authority. His eyes cool, sharp, almost too perceptive were fixed on Ethan.

The air itself seemed to shift under his gaze.

Ethan’s throat went dry. He had prepared for this, dreamed of this meeting in fevered fragments since waking in Adrian’s body. But no amount of preparation could match the sheer weight of being seen by Lucian.

He tried to hold his brother’s stare, though every. instinct screamed to look away.

Lucian’s lips curved just slightly. Not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. Something unreadable.

“I am glad,” Lucian continued, his voice smooth as steel, “that the second prince has taken an interest in his duties. Perhaps the empire has not wasted its patience after all.”

The words were mild. The tone was not.

Ethan bowed his head faintly. “The empire deserves more than my negligence, Brother.”

The chamber held its breath.

The councilors stared, some with widened eyes, others with suspicion flickering like embers. For Adrian to show humility especially toward Lucian was unthinkable.

Lucian’s gaze lingered, heavy and assessing, as though peeling back layers of skin and bone to see what lay beneath.

Ethan’s hands clenched under the table. He felt naked, exposed, as though Lucian could sense every false note in his borrowed voice.

But Lucian said nothing more. He only turned to the council and gestured for them to continue.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of numbers, disputes, and reports. Ethan forced himself to listen, to nod, to speak only when necessary. Each word felt like walking on a tightrope strung over a pit of knives. Too much arrogance, and they’d see him as the Adrian of old. Too much meekness, and they’d suspect something was wrong.

By the time the chancellor declared the session adjourned, Ethan’s back ached from sitting so stiffly. His head throbbed with effort.

The councilors rose, filing out with whispers trailing in their wake. Ethan stood last, eager to escape, when a voice stopped him.

“Adrian.”

He turned.

Lucian remained seated at the table, his gaze fixed solely on him. The other nobles had already left; the chamber was nearly empty.

Ethan’s chest tightened. He forced a steady breath. “Yes, Brother?”

Lucian rose slowly, every movement precise, controlled. His presence filled the chamber effortlessly, the way sunlight fills a room. He walked toward Ethan, each step unhurried yet heavy with purpose.

When he stood before him, Ethan realized just how much taller Lucian was. How much colder his eyes seemed up close.

“You’ve changed,” Lucian said softly.

Ethan’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

Lucian tilted his head slightly, studying him like one might study a dangerous animal that had suddenly learned a new trick.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” Lucian murmured, his voice low, his tone unreadable. “But I will find out.”

His hand brushed Ethan’s shoulder briefly as he passed by, the touch light yet commanding. Then he strode out of the chamber, leaving Ethan rooted to the spot, his heart pounding like a war drum.

Ethan pressed a trembling hand to his chest.

He had survived the council. Barely. He had even surprised them.

But Lucian wasn’t fooled.

The crown prince had seen through the mask.

And Ethan knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that his survival would depend on more than just playing the part of a reformed prince.

He would have to face Lucian.

And win his trust… or be destroyed by him.

The palace was alive in a way Ethan hadn’t noticed before.

Not with music or laughter no, those things were rare here but with whispers. They slithered through corridors like smoke, clinging to marble walls and curling through the air long after footsteps had faded.

And the whispers were about him.

He felt them when he walked past servants in the gardens, when guards exchanged glances during their patrols, when courtiers paused in their hushed conversations as he entered the hall.

Prince Adrian had always been known. Not for kindness, not for duty, but for scandal. For cruelty. For every sin an idle noble could commit.

So when the second prince bowed at the council table, when he spoke of famine with something close to compassion, when he offered to cut into his own household’s funds the whispers spread like fire.

“Have you heard? The prince apologized.”

“Lies. He must be plotting something.”

“They say he’s been cursed. Or worse possessed.”

“Hah. Perhaps he struck his head in his cups.”

Ethan heard them all, though never directly. The palace had a way of speaking in tones meant not to be heard, yet always reaching the intended ears.

And Ethan, walking through Adrian’s life, felt each whisper coil tighter around his throat.

That morning, he sat in the prince’s solar, sunlight spilling through tall windows onto piles of neglected documents. Adrian’s desk was a battlefield of half-signed decrees, unopened petitions, and invitations to gambling halls written in florid script.

Ethan rubbed his temples. His old life had been difficult, yes but no one had expected him to govern. Now he was staring at policy drafts, tax ledgers, and letters from lords who clearly hated him.

He picked one at random.

Your Highness,

I write once more concerning the unlawful seizure of grain from my storehouses by your men. My peasants starve while you fill your cellars with wine. If restitution is not made, I shall take the matter directly to the crown prince.

Ethan shut his eyes. He could almost feel the real Adrian’s laughter behind these words, the arrogance with which he’d ignored them.

He couldn’t ignore them now.

With a deep breath, Ethan dipped the quill into ink and began to write. His hand was unsteady at first he hadn’t touched a feather quill in his life but the words were firm.

The seizure was unlawful. Restitution shall be made immediately from my household coffers. Further, I will see that the peasants are supplied from the eastern stores until their next harvest.

He paused, rereading. It sounded too modern, too… earnest. But he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t Adrian.

He sanded the ink dry, sealed the letter, and reached for the next.

“Your Highness?”

The voice made him jump. Ethan looked up to see the servant from the other day the dark-haired youth who had knocked at his door before the council meeting. The boy was holding a tray with tea and a cautious expression.

Ethan realized belatedly he’d been staring too long. He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

The boy bowed quickly, setting the tray on the edge of the desk. “Your morning tea, as ordered.”

Ethan blinked. “I ordered…?” Then he remembered: Adrian had routines, schedules. Servants probably carried them out by habit.

“Right. Thank you.”

The boy froze. His head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief.

Ethan frowned. “What?”

“N-nothing, Your Highness,” the servant stammered, bowing again so deeply his hair fell across his face. “Forgive me.”

But Ethan wasn’t stupid. The look had said everything. Adrian had never thanked anyone in his life.

“What’s your name?” Ethan asked before he could stop himself.

The boy’s head jerked up again, startled. “Your Highness?”

“Your name,” Ethan repeated. “Do you have one, or am I meant to call you ‘boy’ forever?”

The servant swallowed. “Tomas, Your Highness.”

Ethan nodded. “Then… thank you, Tomas.”

Tomas’s lips parted, but no sound came. His eyes flickered with something Ethan couldn’t quite placefear, confusion, and maybe… a spark of hope.

Before Ethan could say more, Tomas fled the solar, leaving only the faint scent of tea and a silence that suddenly felt heavier than before.

That evening, Ethan wandered the palace gardens. He told himself it was to clear his mind, but truthfully he couldn’t stay buried in Adrian’s letters forever. The weight of other people’s hatred pressed too sharply on his shoulders.

The gardens were quiet, lanterns glowing softly among manicured hedges and moonlit roses. He walked slowly, hands clasped behind him, trying to look more princely than he felt.

But he wasn’t alone.

“Strange.”

The voice came from the shadows of a tree. Smooth. Low. Familiar.

Ethan stiffened.

Lucian stepped into the light.

The crown prince was dressed simply, in black riding clothes rather than regalia, but simplicity only made him more striking. His posture was perfect, his gaze sharp. He moved with the ease of a man who had nothing to prove because everything was already his.

Ethan’s pulse quickened. He tried to bow slightly, but not too low. Adrian wouldn’t bow.

“Brother,” he said carefully.

Lucian’s lips twitched, as though the word amused him. He walked closer, each step deliberate. “You’ve been busy. Attending councils. Reading petitions. Thanking servants.”

Ethan’s stomach dropped. So he’s already heard.

Lucian circled him slowly, like a predator studying unfamiliar prey. “Everyone whispers of your change. They wonder if you’ve seen the light, or if you’re plotting something worse.”

“And you?” Ethan asked before he could stop himself. His voice was too soft, too honest.

Lucian paused behind him. “I think,” he murmured, close enough that Ethan felt his breath against his ear, “that snakes don’t change their skin so easily.”

Ethan’s throat tightened. He turned, forcing his expression calm. “Maybe not. But perhaps this one is trying.”

For the first time, Lucian’s mask cracked just slightly. His brow lifted, as though Ethan had said something truly unexpected.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things.

Then Lucian smiled, cold and fleeting. “We’ll see.”

He stepped back, vanishing into the shadows as swiftly as he had appeared.

Ethan exhaled shakily, his heart racing.

Lucian didn’t trust him. He didn’t believe in him. But for the first time since waking in this cursed body, Ethan felt something stir beneath his fear. Resolve

If the crown prince thought he was still the villain, then Ethan would just have to prove him wrong.

No matter how many whispers haunted the palace halls.