After getting over her shock at my request for notes, Ella confirmed that I did, in fact, have a study and that it contained an organized record of my lessons, assignments, and instructor feedback. A miracle. After learning I had an hour before dinner, I asked her to take me there.
The walk was shorter than I expected but no less grand. We passed through another wing of the palace, this one quieter and more dimly lit, with sunlight filtering in through tall, arched windows half-draped in velvet. The air here smelled faintly of parchment and old polish, less decorative and more lived-in. There were fewer guards, fewer staff, and thankfully, fewer eyes.
Eventually, we reached a tall oak door carved with symbols I didn't recognize. Ella pushed it open without a word, revealing a room that felt more grounded than the rest of the palace.
It was a private library in everything but name, though it looked like no one had stepped foot inside in weeks. Tall shelves lined the walls, packed with tomes, scrolls, and bound lecture books—most of them gathering a thin film of dust. The large desk near the far window was heavy and claw-footed, its surface cluttered with yellowing papers and ink jars sealed so long ago that the wax had begun to crack. A tall, straight-backed chair sat untouched across from a smaller one with a worn cushion, both angled toward a chalkboard in the corner that still bore faint, half-erased markings. A lectern stood nearby, holding a stack of texts left open to pages long since forgotten. The air smelled faintly of old vellum and something stale, like even the sunlight filtering through the windows was reluctant to linger.
"I shall retrieve your notes, highness." Ella said, a faint note of confusion creeping into her voice. My meager attempts at sounding authoritative were clearly starting to raise suspicion. Still, I didn't think I could manage much better. Maybe I could blame the change in behavior on a divine dream or something equally vague and unprovable.
She returned quickly with a sheet of paper, and one glance was enough to tell me it probably hadn't been written by the original owner of this body. Speaking of which, apparently his name is Darian Serathorne. Reading the name hit me with an odd mix of relief and dread. Forget the year, I hadn't known my own name until five seconds ago.
Reading the page was difficult, but not impossible. The characters of this world were alien, yet I could make out their meaning with some effort. It seemed I could read the language, albeit slowly. Maybe whatever brought me here also gifted me Darian's subconscious knowledge.
Though if this was how he read, that didn't bode well. Of course he was bordering on literate. Why wouldn't he be?
Glancing through the notes, I realized they were essentially a highlight reel of talking points meant to impress during dinner. Invaluable, if I had even a shred of foundational knowledge to back them up. As it stands, I have no idea what "debated the principles of the Infinitesimal Mana Theorem, highlighting its application in modeling Wuxing Resonance Theory" is supposed to mean.
Maybe I should just flee the castle. It's not like I've seen many guards hovering around. Then again, I'd be an idiot to think that meant slipping away would actually be easy.
Sighing, I moved on to the history notes. Apparently, my recent studies had focused on the current sociopolitical landscape. As it turns out, the peace Thalia brokered wasn't just important, it was monumental. Auremath, the kingdom to our west, had long benefited from a natural barrier known as the Dividing Veil. This mountain range shielded them from the demonic lands, allowing them to develop without the constant threat of magical beasts breaching their borders. With that advantage, they had grown into a powerful force and had a tendency to strike us at the worst possible moments.
Thankfully, they were our only direct neighbor. The sea bordered us to the south and east, while the north opened into the demonic lands. Beyond the western kingdom lay the loosely allied free cities of the Kelmar Steppe. These independent settlements often launched raids when our neighbor was too busy with its own campaigns, keeping the regional balance of power fragile at best. Still, halting their incursions might buy us enough time to establish proper defenses along the northern front.
As for the western kingdom itself, I'm fairly certain it's ruled—at least in part—by elves. The notes mention "the long-eared Queen Aurielle," whose reign has apparently lasted for centuries. They refer broadly to the "people of Auremath," but don't clarify whether that includes other races or just the elven majority.
Thankfully, the final section of the notes was something I actually recognized: a form of early algebra. "I have added the square and ten times the side; the result is thirty-nine." It took a second to process, but then I saw the breakdown: "Take half of 10, which gives you 5. Then square that to get 25. Add 25 to 39, and you have 64. Now take the square root of 64, which is 8. Finally, subtract 5 from 8, and you're left with 3." Suddenly, it clicked. In symbolic algebra, this would be written as: x2+10x=39
I vaguely remembered this from a time I went on a deep dive into the history of math. Judging by these notes, it seems this world hasn't yet developed symbolic algebra. That tracks, I've barely seen any writing outside the library, and from what little I've observed so far, the overall level of technological advancement doesn't seem especially high.
Still, I had little idea how magic might have changed its course from what I knew. As I looked around, my eyes landed on the room's light fixtures, something I had ignored until now. They flickered like flame but were sealed inside translucent glass spheres. I reached out and touched one. It gave off a faint warmth, enough to feel real but not nearly enough for there to be actual fire inside.
"Y-your Highness, it is time," Ella said, making me jump. I'd completely forgotten she was still in the room. Honestly, probably for the best. Judging by the look on her face, she was one second away from accusing me of demonic possession. Sorry, Ella. The demon is me, Simon.
"Ah, I suppose it is. Let us make haste then, to our doom." Ella promptly tripped over her own feet at my comment, which got a laugh out of me. That divine dream excuse is really going to have to work overtime. Clearly, I am not cut out for maintaining the tyrannical princeling act.
The walk from the study to the dining hall was quieter than before. Ella didn't say a word the entire way, though I caught her glancing at me more than once. Maybe it was the change in my demeanor. Or maybe she was bracing herself for whatever scene I might cause in front of the royal family. Don't worry Ella, I'm nervous too!
We moved through a different section of the palace now. It was brighter, wider, more pristine. The scent of polished wood and sweet oil hung in the air, and soft music drifted faintly through the halls. Servants moved with deliberate efficiency, bowing just enough to acknowledge me but never holding eye contact for long. I noted the difference. In this part of the palace, people watched without watching. Every step I took was quietly measured.
Eventually, we reached a pair of towering doors inlaid with gold filigree and framed by two guards in dark, formal armor. Neither acknowledged me beyond a slight nod. Ella came to a stop just short of the threshold and folded her hands in front of her.
"We have arrived," she said softly, voice steady despite the tightness in her posture.
I paused and glanced back at her. She stood tall, but her knuckles were white where they gripped the fabric of her skirt. A small, irrational pang of jealousy hit me. She got to stay out here. I almost told her to come with me, misery does love company, but stopped myself. No sense dragging her into something that was already bound to go poorly. Besides, this was a dinner meant for royalty.
"Understood," I said, softer than I intended.
If she noticed the slip, she didn't mention it. Instead, she looked at me with something new. Something I hadn't seen from her before. Not fear. Pity.
The guards didn't speak. One simply stepped forward and pulled the door open. They wore dark blue uniforms, sharp and immaculately kept. High-collared tunics were trimmed in silver, with gold buttons marching down the front in perfect alignment. A dark sash crossed each chest, pinned with a polished medallion I didn't recognize. Their trousers were tucked neatly into knee-high black boots, and resting at their hips were long swords bound in dark leather sheaths, the hilts peeking out with subtle engravings. The look was unmistakably ceremonial, but the swords suggested their purpose wasn't just for show.
Warm light and low conversation spilled into the hall. The dining room was enormous, as extravagant as I've come to expect in my short time here. The vaulted ceiling was painted in scenes I couldn't quite make out from this distance, and a chandelier of glowing crystals hovered above a long, polished table. Dozens of chairs lined its length, though only a handful were currently filled.
At the far end sat the king. I didn't recognize him, but I didn't need to. His posture, presence, and the way everyone subtly angled themselves around him made it clear who he was. His face was powerful, the kind that commanded silence without effort, and though streaks of white touched his neatly kept violet hair, there was something ageless about him. His golden eyes, the same as mine, cut through the candlelight with quiet intensity.
One thing immediately stood out: there was an empty seat next to him, set with care but left unoccupied. Its absence felt intentional, not overlooked.
To the king's right sat a younger man whose features closely mirrored his own. They shared the same golden eyes, sharp brow, and quiet authority, though the younger face was less weathered. His violet hair was short and cleanly styled. If I had to guess, that was Crown Prince Alric.
To the king's left sat a figure dressed in a tailored formal suit more commonly worn by men. Her violet hair was cut short, framing a sharp jawline, and she regarded me with thinly veiled disdain. If seating order reflected importance in this world, then that must be Thalia. Given the political weight of the peace she brokered, it made sense for her to hold the next seat closest to the king.
Beside the crown prince sat a young woman with long, flowing purple hair that shimmered like silk in the candlelight. Her posture was impeccable, hands folded neatly on the table, her expression composed and unreadable. That was likely Princess Mirelle.
None of my siblings looked particularly old, though compared to their composure and stature, I had a creeping suspicion I might be the youngest among them.
After a brief surge of panic, I offered a small nod to acknowledge my new family, then moved toward the only remaining open seat beside the woman I assumed was Thalia. I highly doubted the spot next to the king was meant for me.
I kept my head high, trying to project the sort of arrogant confidence I imagined this princeling would wear naturally, even as their eyes tracked my every step.
"You've certainly grown bold, little brother," Thalia said, her voice sharp and dripping with disdain as I took my seat beside her.
Great. I must have just trampled over some bit of etiquette I've never heard of.
"Must a royal not be bold in action, sister?" I respond, attempting to sound as haughty as possible. Considering how naturally those words escaped my lips, I feel I've stumbled on the correct path.
Across the table, a soft snort broke the silence. Mirelle, trying and failing to look composed, pressed a cloth to her mouth in a poor attempt to hide the source. Alric looked amused as well, though he kept his expression more restrained.
The king, my father, watched me with a perfectly neutral face. No amusement. No curiosity. Not even disdain. The sheer emptiness of his expression made my heart lurch. I could not read him at all, and somehow that terrified me more than anger ever could.
"The line between being bold and being a fool is thin. I don't know what possessed you to hold yourself next to our royal father, but it is a disgrace. I will wipe the shame from our family."
Apparently, I had chosen the wrong path. This was a much bigger deal than I thought. A suffocating pressure seized my entire body, as if I had been stripped of the right to breathe, to move, to even exist. My knees buckled, and I dropped from my chair to the floor. It felt like the world itself was trying to erase me.
Fear cut through the shock, and I fought to stay conscious, my mind reeling. It felt like I had become Atlas, with the weight of the sky dropped onto my shoulders. The pressure crushed down like a mountain, and I pushed back with everything I had. The struggle felt like it lasted for hours, but somehow, I managed to brace myself and resist.
But then something shifted.
I remembered the feeling when you pretend something is heavy. You squint and strain for the sake of a joke, only to straighten up with ease once the act is over. That kind of tension is all in your head. This felt like that.
The moment I stopped fighting like I was drowning, the weight around me loosened. I let go of the panic and imagined the pressure as theater. It wasn't mine. It wasn't real. I wasn't resisting anymore. I was sidestepping.
The pressure didn't vanish, not entirely, but it no longer pinned me. It passed over me like a strong current around a stone, present but no longer unbearable. I drew in a breath, preparing to stand, when what must've been the king's voice pierced through the room.
"That is sufficient, Thalia. Darian has been unwell these past few days and has simply forgotten himself."
It had to be the king.
"Yes, Father," Thalia replied smoothly, performing a practiced motion with one foot sliding back and her hands crossed over her chest.
I hurried to my feet and did my best to mimic the gesture.
"I beg forgiveness from Thalia and Father," I said, keeping my tone respectful. "As expected, Father speaks with clarity. My health has caused me to act poorly."
"You are not yet a god, so perfection cannot be expected. Learn from this experience."
With that, both Thalia and I returned to our seats. I could feel her eyes on me, sharp with disbelief. In fact, everyone at the table except the king was watching me the same way.
Was it because I pushed back against that pressure? Or because I accepted my faults so readily? In any case, I made a quiet promise to myself: if I survived this dinner, I was going to lock myself in the study until I could pass for a functioning person in this world.