Chapter 3: A Prince’s Secret Agenda
By the time the sun had climbed high enough to bathe the villa in warm gold, Elric had already mapped the entire room in his mind: the door creaked slightly at the top hinge, the single window faced east—perfect for morning light—and under the bed was a small chest, dusty, but locked.
Lira returned with food—a bowl of soft, overcooked porridge with dried fruit—and a steaming mug of bitter-smelling herbal tea.
He took a bite and nearly gagged.
"This tastes like sadness," he muttered.
Lira gasped. "It's your favorite, Your Highness! Dried fig porridge with monkleaf tea—it helps calm your nerves after your episodes."
"Episodes?" he asked, raising a brow.
She looked at the floor. "The fits you'd have sometimes... before the fall. The palace physicians said your mind was too 'fragile' for court duties. They sent you here to rest."
Elric almost laughed.
So the original Elric was considered too mentally unstable for politics, and they'd locked him away in the countryside? This was better than he thought.
"I see," he said, sipping the tea despite its bitterness. "And what of my family?"
Lira hesitated. "Your father, King Taran... he hasn't visited in years. But he sends letters. Your elder brother—Ceren—heir to the throne, he's... busy. At court."