Chapter Two: The Prince, the Royal Family, and the Birthday

The morning for Herscherik Gracis, the seventh prince of the kingdom of Gracis, started late. He got out of bed after the royal wives had finished their breakfast, just about when the kitchen staff began clearing the dishes.

...I want to go back to sleep.

Preferably until noon, thought Ryoko (or rather, Herscherik) sleepily. In his previous life, Ryoko was secretly proud of her personal record of seventeen hours for the longest consecutive sleep session. Herscherik was not an early bird by any means. In his previous life, she needed three alarm clocks and the alarm feature on her cell phone just to barely wake up in time for work.

“Weird. Why do I wake up with alarm clocks in my bed?” she used to say, puzzled.

She would retrieve her cell phone from under her comforter, too. With the alarm feature turned off, of course. For a while after she started living on her own, there were many mornings where she was nearly late for work.

I have to get changed...

Herscherik leisurely climbed out of his bed and stretched, holding back a yawn. The sun was already high, the gentle rays of spring illuminating the carpet through an opening in the curtains. Two years had passed since the day Herscherik had recovered his memories from his previous life—from the day he gained consciousness. For Herscherik, who never found it difficult to sleep in or spend days doing nothing, living in a baby’s body was heavenly. Whenever he felt tired, he climbed into bed no matter the time of day; when he felt bored, Meria—whom he later learned was his nanny—took him on walks or read him stories. When he felt hungry, there was food on the table. He was enjoying the baby-life in the lap of luxury. Only while he was a baby, though. As time passed, now that he could stand and walk on his own, Herscherik felt embarrassed about having his nanny do everything for him.

Just like that one comic, I’m an adult in a child’s body... A mid-thirties woman in a baby’s body, that is.

While he still couldn’t move his body correctly, he acted like any other baby. Meria graciously took care of him—changing his clothes, feeding him, bathing him, and even changing his diapers. As he grew up and gained more control over his body, though, he was eager to leave behind some of these silver spoons. After pondering how to convey that fact to Meria, Herscherik decided to employ the tactic that most toddlers used: the ‘I can do it myself’ tactic. Every time Meria tried to tend to him in some way, Herscherik threw a tantrum, saying, “No! I can do it!” When she tried to change him, he snatched the clothes out of her hands, and he begged to hold the spoon himself during meals. He went to the bathroom on his own and insisted on taking his own baths. While Meria seemed wary at first, as Herscherik gradually learned to dress himself, feed himself, and use the toilet himself, she began to relax and didn’t tend to him when it wasn’t necessary. She was by no means neglecting her job, though. Ready to jump in at any moment, she was always standing somewhere nearby. She never left anything like a knife or pair of scissors anywhere near him, and whenever Herscherik accomplished something, she praised him like he was her own.

I did have to play some tricks, though... Those were embarrassing.

Herscherik remembered how, in an effort to look more natural, he would skip a few buttons on his shirt on purpose, or try to put on his shoes on the opposite foot, as well as intentionally dropping his spoon or knocking over his glass. He silently apologized to Meria every time she let out a little sigh when he did these things, as he gradually improved at each task. Thanks to his efforts, Meria now didn’t help him at all with changing clothes in the morning, but she did bring breakfast with her when she arrived at his room. Herscherik told himself that his occasional genuine oversleeping just added to the act.

Herscherik jumped off of his bed and landed on the lush carpet. Unable to support his weight, he tumbled forward onto his palms but saved himself the embarrassment of falling flat on his face. Walking, which he struggled with at first, was now as natural as it had been in his previous life, save for the difference in the size of his stride.

Holding back another yawn, Herscherik headed to the sink. Stepping on the step stool prepared for him, he turned on the faucet to fill the bucket with water before washing his face. The refreshing, cold water snapped him right out of his drowsiness.

I wasn’t expecting any modern technology after being reborn in this kind of world...

Herscherik couldn’t help but be impressed all over again as he turned off the faucet. The appliances of this world were almost at the same caliber as modern-day Japan. Water came out of faucets, and toilets flushed. He could take a shower or soak in a bath. The utter convenience of it made it seem like he was living in a dream, but he’d passed hundreds of days and nights here without waking up from it.

After washing his face, Herscherik trotted into his closet.

And was this a big surprise...

The closet was a room of about 300 square feet, adjacent to his bedroom. When he stepped inside, he was greeted by overtly extravagant outfits hung up on either side of him. In addition to clothes, the closet held an array of shoes and accessories all tailor-made, without exception.

Still overwhelmed by the glittering selection, he picked out an outfit.

Let’s go with navy today.

Herscherik slowly took off his pajamas. While he could perform the task on his own, his three-year-old body only moved so fast. He put his arms through the sleeves of his blouse, pulled up his shorts, and put on his jacket. From how comfortable they felt, he could tell that they were made of quality fabric. Gold buttons gleamed on the jacket, indicating that it must have been detailed by a top-notch artisan.

After changing his clothes, Herscherik combed through his silky, blond hair to flatten his cowlicks. In his previous life, Ryoko had fought long, hard battles with her curly hair every morning, but this blond hair only took one satisfying comb to straighten out. Finally, Herscherik did one twirl in front of the floor-length mirror. Seeing the reflection of a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy as cute as a girl, he gave a satisfied nod.

Night and day, compared to before.

Herscherik thought back on his previous life. Ryoko had had no interest in clothes or jewelry, despite being a woman. She wore a uniform at work and sweatpants at home. When she went out, she usually wore jeans and a T-shirt or hoodie. The only time she’d dress up was when she went out with friends or family. As a sensible adult, she did make sure to be presentable during her commute, but that hardly classified as dressing up.

I sure pay more attention to my appearance now, Herscherik said, praising himself.

While he couldn’t help but think that he was wastefully growing out of his custom clothes, he would have felt guilty not wearing the outfits available to him.

“Good morning, Hersch. Where are you?”

When he heard a young man’s voice calling him, Herscherik peeked out of the closet to find Meria with his breakfast alongside the young man who had just called out.

“You got changed all by yourself? Good job, Hersch,” he said, smiling.

The smile was so bright that Herscherik couldn’t help but squint a little. The man had platinum blond hair that looked like it was woven out of moonlight and the same jade-colored eyes as Herscherik. His sunken and slightly downturned eyes gave off a gentle impression. All in all, he was an attractive young man that appeared to be in his twenties.

However, Herscherik knew that the man was actually in his thirties.

He’s pretty much as old as I was in my last life... Life really wasn’t fair.

Herscherik buried his internal lament with a smile and said, “Good morning, father.”

As Herscherik greeted him, the young man—Herscherik’s father—hoisted up his son and flashed a smile that could have made any woman fall in love, before stroking his silky blond hair. As Herscherik had never gotten used to having his hair stroked, he looked tickled and embarrassed. For an old maid of 35 trapped in a three-year-old’s body, this was the best reaction she could muster.

As he gave an embarrassed giggle, Herscherik recalled his astonishment when he’d found out that this man was his father. In this life, Herscherik considered himself as adorable as a princess, even for a baby. The goose that had laid the golden egg that was Herscherik, though, was platinum—more precious than gold. When they’d first met, Herscherik mistook his youthful father for his brother, albeit a much older one. Since his father didn’t regularly come to visit him, Herscherik was concerned that his “brother” didn’t have a steady job. Once he found out what his father’s occupation was, though, he realized those worries were groundless.

“Pardon my interruption.”

Their quality family time was interrupted by the deep voice of a gentleman who had been standing beside them. The man with steel-colored, not-quite-emerald green hair and similar eyes was Rook, the butler who exclusively served Herscherik’s father. Most people realized that only the wealthy had butlers. Combined with the existence of his nanny, Herscherik had guessed that his father was a noble or some other upper-class citizen. The truth, however, far exceeded his expectation.

“It is almost time for your meeting, Your Majesty.”

As his butler said so, Herscherik’s father, Solye, the 23rd king of the kingdom of Gracis, reluctantly lowered Herscherik to the floor.

Gazing up at his somewhat disappointed father, Herscherik held back a dry chuckle.

Just going by my quality of life, I assumed that I was reborn as an heir to some rich noble... But a prince...? What can I do but laugh?

Herscherik’s thoughts when he discovered this were indescribable. Surely, almost everyone dreamed of being a prince or princess at one point in their life. Ryoko was no exception. When she was little, she’d also daydreamed about being a princess. Now that she’d been reborn as the opposite gender and was actually a prince and not a princess, instead of just enjoying this dream come true, she was mostly curious about why she’d daydreamed about that sort of thing in the first place.

A daydream kind of loses its luster in real life, doesn’t it...?

So early in life, Herscherik already felt like he had lost an important piece of himself.

“I’d best be going, then.”

“Have a good day at work, Father.”

Solye smiled at Herscherik and gave his son’s head one last pat before leaving the room with his butler in tow.

After seeing his father off, and as Meria prepared his breakfast, Herscherik quietly sat in his chair, staring at the painting above the mantel. It was the portrait he saw directly across from him whenever he sat down to eat—a portrait in the style of the Mona Lisa. Just recently, Meria had informed him that the subject of the portrait was his mother, who had died from complications shortly after giving birth to him. According to Meria, his mother was the most beloved among the king’s queens and concubines. However, since his mother was of lesser birth and the king already had a First Queen, Herscherik’s mother was never granted that title. As for how they met, Herscherik couldn’t tell how much of it was the truth and how much of it was Meria’s exaggeration.

Apparently, his father had met his mother on one of his secret trips into town. Then, after a series of events that, if factual, could understandably send Herscherik down the road of delinquency out of sheer embarrassment as well as make anyone who heard it blush, (yes, even avid readers of shojo comics!) the proposal came. His mother had proposed to his father. At that point, his father and mother were more than a decade apart in age. Herscherik kept wondering if his mother actually wasn’t bothered by it, or if his father was some kind of pedophile since he was practically in his thirties when he’d married his mother, who had been eighteen at the time.

Since Meria was one of his mother’s ladies-in-waiting, she told Herscherik with nostalgia in her eyes that she’d chatted with his mother often. Apparently, his mother was considered less attractive than the First Queen and even the other royal queens. By the ridiculous beauty standards of the queens, at least. She was plenty attractive by ordinary standards.

His mother was always cheery, Meria had said. She had never seen her upset about anything. Herscherik’s mother was always bursting with energy and loved to do household chores, despite being a queen. She often caused trouble by starting to clean things on her own or sneaking into the kitchen to make cookies or cakes to take to the queens’ tea parties. Once, she startled the king to tears at the end of a long day by greeting him in terrifying ghost makeup. She was one strange queen, indeed.

Eventually, she bore the king’s child, Herscherik, in exchange for her life. The king had lost his true love. It was apparent to anyone that his father had treated his favorite queen better than any other. He was still so smitten by her child that he now came to see Herscherik every chance he got during his busy schedule. However, that didn’t mean that the king neglected any other queens or their children.

Herscherik was the youngest prince, seven years the junior of his youngest sibling. His older siblings all attended the academy and weren’t around during the day. The queens, perhaps thanks to the king’s character, did not pursue any schemes motivated by envy or political ambition. In fact, they often had a sort of girls’ day where they elegantly discussed how to cheer up their exhausted king over tea, as Meria had witnessed on her walks through the courtyard. While she was there, she was occasionally given some snacks, too. Herscherik’s first thought was to hope that the queens stayed away from ghost pranks like his mother had loved to pull. He could easily imagine his father becoming a spirit instead of regaining his.

“Lord Herscherik, aren’t you excited for tonight?” Meria said, as she served him his late breakfast. “What outfit should we wear? How about the brand new burgundy one? Oh, but light green suits your hair so well.”

As Meria looked at him with glittering eyes, Herscherik swallowed a piece of bread and crooked his neck.

“What’s tonight?”

“Oh, my!” Meria’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Tonight is your birthday party, Lord Herscherik. And your debut.”

Herscherik crooked his neck again at Meria’s explanation.

Above the well-maintained royal garden, the ballrooms connected to each other via balconies. The best musicians, summoned from the four corners of the country, played in an area that hosted a dance floor in the center, where a few couples were dancing to the music. The ladies’ vibrant dresses twirled like flower petals, making them look like fairies that had come to announce the commencement of spring. The party had prepared food for the guests, too, albeit just a buffet. A crisp, white table cloth lined the serving table packed with dish after dish showcasing the best efforts of the royal chefs. Meanwhile, the waiters carried trays through the crowd, stacked with glasses filled with top shelf liquor prepared just for the occasion.

This is like a Shichi-Go-San, I guess? I wish I was out there eating, too...

Watching his guests enjoying the food out of the corner of his eye, Herscherik couldn’t help but be disappointed. At the far end of the ballroom, Herscherik sat beside his father dealing with the endless wave of guests, his exasperation completely concealed under the customer service smile he had mastered in his previous life.

Apparently, it was customary for royal and noble children to be introduced into high society at the age of three. Members of the royal family, in particular, remained in the palace until this point, with little opportunity to meet with other nobility. The closest interaction a royal child had was with their mother’s family, but Herscherik’s only relatives on his mother’s side were his elderly, commoner grandparents. When his mother married his father, though, they had disowned her. Never seeing his grandparents, Herscherik had met very few people in his life aside from his father, his nanny Meria, and Rook the butler. He had met the other queens and his siblings only a handful of times before now.

Tonight, at his third birthday party, was his first time meeting a significant number of non-relatives. His true high-society debut would come when he would turn sixteen, and he would be considered an adult (and allowed to drink) at eighteen. He only knew this because the First Prince, who would turn sixteen this year, had come with the First Queen to discuss the matter with his father. The king calmly acknowledged everything and reminded him to represent the kingdom of Gracis well.

However, much more than the topic of discussion between his father and his guests, Herscherik was interested in the fact that the queens and his siblings exceeded his expectations on how unimaginably good-looking they were.

Genes really are a powerful thing...

Just from the few meetings he had with them, Herscherik was already aware that the queens and his siblings were attractive. But seeing his royal family dressed to the nines blew him away. All of the queens were sublimely beautiful, with bodies so slim that Herscherik couldn’t believe that they had each borne a child. Since they were attending a party, of course, their makeup, hair, and dresses were all perfect. Naturally, they all pulled it off wonderfully.

The princesses, too, were all stunning girls. “Beautiful as a flower” seemed to be a comparison concocted for the sole purpose of describing them. And all the princes were handsome to match the queens and princesses. Herscherik didn’t know how else to describe them.

Take the oldest of his siblings, the First Prince, for example. He had spectacular red hair, as if the purest rubies had been melted into strands on his head, and eyes of the same color that gleamed with unwavering willpower. His mother, the First Queen, was filled to the brim with sensuality that had unmistakably been passed down to the prince, whose every gesture was extremely elegant. His elegance was only enhanced even more by his well-built body clad in a perfectly tailored outfit. After greeting Herscherik and the king, he was immediately swarmed by ladies of the nobility. Dealing with all of them without showing even a touch of annoyance in his expression made him look like a prince among princes.

The next oldest, the Second Prince, looked more like the king. He had the same platinum blond hair as his father, loosely braided in the back, and his eyes, as blue as the deep ocean, gave off a different sort of sensuality. His beauty was as cool as a clear crystal ball.

Herscherik had six older brothers in all, each varying in style but all equally beautiful. As everyone congratulated him, Herscherik gave his thanks in return, but his mind was wandering.

What kind of shojo game am I living in!? Is there anyone not beautiful around here!? Herscherik internally interjected. He was quickly getting fed up with his dressed-up siblings.

Couldn’t one of them have been a disappointment!? This isn’t right! ...That probably means I’m the disappointment!

His internal comedic monologue concluded with this depressing realization. Still, Herscherik was adorably put together, thanks to Meria’s efforts. He was adorned with an ornately embroidered emerald outfit with buttons and cuffs of intricate designs glittering on them, and a light green ribbon stylishly tied around his neck. Both Meria and his father had showered him with compliments, so he had gotten a little cocky, feeling like maybe he was kind of good-looking, too. After his gorgeous siblings greeted him one after another, though, his fragile self-confidence was shattered into dust. Herscherik was now aware that he was lacking some sort of style or princely aura. While he was a stereotypical blond-haired, blue-eyed prince, Herscherik now learned that he was short on flashiness compared to his siblings. If his oldest brother was a rose and his second oldest was a lily, Herscherik was a sprig of baby’s breath; this vague comparison seemed fitting to him.

They say it’s what’s on the inside that counts...

Herscherik wondered what chance he had against them when he was an otaku woman in her thirties on the inside.

Besides, any compliments from these good-looking people don’t make me feel better. They just sound sarcastic...

His siblings had all welcomed the youngest into the family, and complimented his mannerisms and outfit, too. The fact that he couldn’t take the compliments at face value was on Herscherik himself, who was being a little sensitive. A comparison he imagined was the awkward feeling of giving the cutest girl in class a compliment, then having her reply, “no, you look cute, too!” Of course, Herscherik was being entirely paranoid.

As his cockiness was smashed to pieces and blown away, the wave of guests transformed from royalty to nobles. The first noble to greet them was a minister of Gracis, Marquis Volf Barbosse.

“An honor to meet you, Lord Herscherik.”

It’s so nice to see a normal face after all the beautiful people...

A thought that would have been extremely disrespectful to say out loud crossed his mind. Marquis Barbosse was a middle-aged man with hazel eyes and hair, with an impressive mustache, who exuded an obvious aristocratic air. But his sharply shining eyes, as if he was evaluating Herscherik, made him uncomfortable all of a sudden. Come to think of it, even during his previous life, Herscherik was always terribly sensitive to feeling as though he was being looked at, whether it was friendly or not. At her office, Ryoko had a little trick of sensing her boss looking at her and responding before her name was even called. She must have also had a sort of sixth sense, as she could pick up the phone almost the instant it began to ring. Her apprentices were more scared than impressed by these tricks, though.

Herscherik instinctively straightened his back and put on a gentle smile.

“The pleasure is mine, Minister. Thank you for coming.”

His accumulated experience allowed him to respond with etiquette too refined for a three-year-old. He realized after that fact that it sounded unnatural. In his previous life, Ryoko’s mother had told her, “The less you like the person, the more polite you act toward them.” Her mother had had the same temperament, too. “It’s maddening when someone you don’t like is super polite with you, isn’t it?” she had said, grinning. She really was Ryoko’s mother, all right.

To avert the minister’s sharp glare of suspicion, Herscherik maintained his calm smile. Make a mistake? Smile and nod. Just a survival tactic that any adult would learn eventually, although this one required the user to pick their audience. In turn, Marquis Barbosse broke into a smile that wiped away his glare.

“What a clever child. You must be excited for his future, Your Majesty.”

“...I am. He is my treasure. I can’t wait to see how he grows up,” the king answered with a smile.

But Herscherik didn’t miss his father’s face stiffening for just a moment nor the strange beat in the conversation. Seeing that the two men carried on as if nothing had happened, though, Herscherik couldn’t interject.

When the wave of nobles started to die down, a man with a desperate expression came up to the royal hosts of the party. Herscherik only noticed him because of his intense stare. The man was in his late thirties with mustard-colored hair. He wore a slightly wrinkled burgundy outfit and had a rugged face, but he was much skinnier than the other nobles. More accurately, he was more worn out than the others. Seeing his appearance and intense attitude, everyone around him kept a certain distance.

With determination, the man clenched his fists and stepped forward.

“Your Majesty, I must make a report.”

Herscherik jolted at this sudden proclamation that began without even a greeting. His father took a step forward, as if to protect him, and faced the man down.

“What is it?”

The king’s tone was not the kind one he used when he talked to Herscherik. Now wearing the expression of a serious leader, Solye demanded an answer from the man. Peeking his head out from behind his father’s back, Herscherik looked at his father, the man, and the people around them. The glitz and glamor of the party from a moment ago had dissipated from the ballroom. The music had stopped and everyone kept their mouth shut, leaving the oppressive tension to rule the room.

“Your Majesty, your people are being pushed closer and closer toward their breaking point, year after year. The annual tax increases, the forceful collection... Nobles and court officials are becoming more corrupt and self-serving by the day. I beg of you, Your Majesty, face up to what your people endure!”

The man’s voice echoed through the hushed ballroom.

“At this rate, the legacy of the Gracis Kingdom that has lasted over five hundred years will end in self-destruction!”

“Mind your tongue in the presence of His Highness! Step aside, Count Ruseria!”

Marquis Barbosse was the one who interrupted the plea. But the skinny man, Ruseria, glared right back at the minister.

“You should step aside, Marquis Barbosse. Beneath the mask of a noble and minister, you are nothing but a beast that gnaws at our country from within!”

“...Pardon?”

“I know you’ve deceived, embezzled, and now betrayed our country by selling state secrets!”

Count Ruseria produced a piece of paper and approached the king. A knight who had been standing beside Solye took a step forward to intercept, but Solye held him back with a raised hand. Ruseria knelt before the king and presented the paper with a bow.

“Your Majesty, this is one piece of evidence I’ve collected that proves his corruption. Please accept it.”

Solye timidly took the paper and read it. Herscherik could practically hear his father’s astonishment.

“This...”

While he didn’t describe the contents of the letter, it was evidently shocking. The hint of a quiver in the king’s voice was proof of it. Complete silence enveloped the ballroom. It was Marquis Barbosse, the defendant himself, who finally broke through it.

“Your Majesty, that paper is a fake.”

His tone was eerily calm, almost confident. Herscherik turned to find Barbosse sharply glaring at Ruseria.

“I was aware of the groundless rumors that suggested a connection between myself and these foreign nations. But I had no idea where they originated.” Barbosse gave a dramatic pause before continuing. “So, I conducted my own investigation to find that someone had been using my name while aiding enemy nations. ...I’m talking about you, Count Ruseria.”

Herscherik didn’t spot Barbosse’s serious expression shift for a moment as both corners of his lips twisted up in perverted victory. On the contrary, Ruseria’s expression remained contemplative for a few moments before the color, and hope, drained from his face.

At Marquis Barbosse’s call, a man appeared out of nowhere and presented a letter to the king. The letter was wax sealed, definitely unopened.

“One of my men captured a spy leaving Count Ruseria’s manor. The spy was carrying this.”

“...Count Ruseria, is this your seal?”

The count answered the king’s question with silence. A wax seal was made by imprinting a unique mark on melted wax. Opening the letter would break the seal. Hence, the seal’s presence was evidence that the letter was unopened. Ruseria didn’t utter a word as the king broke the seal, read the letter, and let out a heavy sigh.

“A letter seeking refuge in a foreign nation... Asking for status and monetary reward in exchange for our national secrets... With Count Ruseria’s signature and seal.”

His father’s words, or rather his tone, struck Herscherik as odd. He sensed a note of dejection. Someone else shared that same tone, too.

“...He was one step ahead.”

That voice belonged to Ruseria, uttered so softly that only Herscherik and the king, who directly stood beside him, could hear.

“Detain that traitor!”

Barbosse’s order echoed like a victory call. Knights stormed the ballroom, pinning Ruseria’s head to the ground. As the ballroom erupted in cacophony, a flicker of light shot across the marble floor and bumped into Herscherik’s shoe, coming to a halt. An antique, silver pocket watch. Herscherik picked up the watch from where it lay next to his foot. It barely fit in his three-year-old palm. When he looked back up from the watch to the rest of the ballroom, Ruseria was already bound and well on his way to being marched out of the room.

“...I’m sorry to ruin your party, Hersch.”

As he heard that voice from above, Herscherik was hoisted up by his father. Now that their eyes met, he could see that his father looked exhausted, on the verge of tears.

“Let’s call it for the night, shall we?”

That was the call to conclude the party, and the king exited with his son in his arms. Only the king’s butler followed them, and no one stood in their way.

Something’s not right...

Still being carried by his father, Herscherik stared at the watch, which he’d ended up taking with him. For the first time since his rebirth, he felt a sense of discontent and uneasiness in his royal life. In contrast from his previous life as a middle-class worker, the royal life at the top of society had been filled with surprises. All of the surprises so far had simply been changes in his lifestyle that he had eventually understood and gotten used to. None of those changes had been more taxing than simply eating bread instead of rice. This uneasiness, though, was of a completely different nature. The sound of the second hand ticking from within the pocket watch only made Herscherik more nervous.