Chapter 3 The room I deserved

They didn't take me to a guest room.

No.

They took me to his room. The prince's room. Or, well... my room now, apparently.

Double doors opened to reveal a space bigger than the flat I used to share with three other boys. High ceilings. Silk drapes. A bed large enough to drown in. Everything in shades of deep emerald and gold. There were paintings on the walls-oil portraits of men with sharp eyes and colder expressions. I recognized none of them. But I was willing to bet they were all dead kings.

"Is this... for me?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

A servant-young, maybe a few years older than me-nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Your Highness.

That was me now?

He left me alone after that. Said something about bringing food. I didn't care. My legs finally gave out when the doors shut. I dropped onto the edge of the bed and stared at my reflection in the mirrored wardrobe.

Same eyes. Same mouth. Same beaten-up face.

But not the same life.

Not anymore.

The prince's room was unlike anything I had ever imagined-not even in my wildest dreams. The sheer size of it felt like an apartment on its own, with ceilings so high they disappeared into intricate golden patterns, gilded moldings swirling around a grand crystal chandelier that sparkled even when the lights were off.

Velvet curtains, deep burgundy with gold embroidery, framed towering windows that stretched nearly wall to wall. They offered a sweeping view of the palace gardens-manicured hedges shaped like royal symbols, marble fountains, and cherry blossom trees that fluttered like whispers in the wind.

The bed stood at the center like a throne in its own right. Four towering mahogany posts supported a canopy of translucent silk, cascading down like mist. The sheets were smooth as cream, the pillows so many and so soft it felt like drowning in clouds. Even the mattress seemed to adjust beneath me, as if it knew I wasn't used to luxury.

To the right was a sitting area, complete with a plush emerald-green sofa, a crackling fireplace lined in white marble, and a bookshelf built into the wall-filled with thick, leather-bound books, old and scented with time. A few gold-framed paintings hung above, each one depicting ancestors I assumed I'd have to pretend to recognize.

There was a walk-in closet big enough to live in, filled with clothes I didn't remember ever owning. Silk shirts, embroidered jackets, formal sashes, polished boots. And the bathroom-it wasn't even a bathroom. It was a royal spa. Heated floors, a sunken marble tub, scented oils lined up in crystal bottles, and a mirror so wide I could see versions of myself I didn't even know existed.

Everything smelled like fresh linen and something warm and woodsy-like wealth had a scent, and I was living in it.

---

That Night

I didn't sleep.

Not really.

I lay in the dark, surrounded by velvet and silence, wondering how I'd gotten here. Just twenty-four hours ago, I was being dragged into a van. Just twelve hours ago, I watched a man die in my arms. Just two hours ago, a queen called me her baby.

I should've told the truth.

I should've.

But my voice never came back after that beating. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe it was the thought of going back to what I came from-cold nights, aching hunger, no future.

And this?

This was safety. For now.

I didn't know how long I could keep the act up.

But I knew one thing for sure-whoever the real Prince Elias was, he wasn't coming back.

And the palace had just opened its doors to a stranger