JON

The auburn-haired man who had named himself as Flynn Claymore, and had come to bring to the royal hall whoever this person Jon had found himself in his body, gestured out the door as he pulled it open. “After you, my lord,” he had said, and Jon allowed himself leave of the room, one foot carefully placed before the other, each at a time. If the fire had never existed, this would have been the greatest pain he’d have ever felt. His toes were still hurting and the boot was so tight, then there were the heels, the damn heels, how could anyone walk in these. Well, he was walking in them now, but only just, it was so hard to move in them, but he tried his best to make it seem as natural as possible, and in return his strides were slow, so slow that it felt as though he took ages to leave his room, but when he finally did, the pain subsided, something else took his mind from it as he halted his steps, his eyes squinting to a narrow in thought.

There were two of them, guards clad in full body armour with black long capes fastened to their shoulders, one a tad taller and broader than the other, like a mountain to a hill. They both had the visors of their armet down and he could not see their faces as they straightened back up after their bow, the only thing he was allowed to see at the place their face was, was the same crest he had seen on the banner hanging above his hearth on their armets, but at this moment what they looked like beyond all those metal fastenings were not of the utmost concern to him. It was something else.

Were the guards here all the time…? He wondered as he remembered the paper he had seen in his hand. That’s not possible, right…? Someone that was about to be king could not have such incompetent guards that he would die right underneath their noses… I doubt that…

Jon turned to Flynn, his mind iffy at its own thoughts and his eyes narrow with scrutiny as he fixed them on the auburn-haired man. “The guards, did they ever leave this door?” he asked, his chest tightening as he did. He could have dumped his question on the guards straight up, but this Flynn had given him a great reply to his earlier question despite how unruly it might have sounded, so it was he first before the guards, and he so hoped they might have gone somewhere because it would be utterly uncanny if such a high figure died while they were here manning his door. Incompetence at its peak it would be.

Flynn’s eyebrows twitched in astonishment at the question, and then he bowed his head slightly while he quickly replied, “Not that I know of, my lord. They would not dare.”

Jon’s heart gave one fierce thump against his rib cage. It was not the answer he had hoped for. Wherever this place that he had wound up in was, he had no doubt that his life was in danger as long as he remained in this body. This was not it. He could not imagine himself dying all over again, that darkness, all over again. No. A sudden shiver crept up his spine and he turned over sharply to the guards, but as he was about to question them, Flynn cut in.

“My lord, we are past the time for your enthronement, we have to be at the royal hall soon. Tardiness would not be the best of impressions on your first day as king.”

There was a slight hesitation, but when Flynn called again with a tone of urgency, Jon swallowed his words at last and chose to advance to the royal hall instead. They were not going anywhere, he thought, how long could an enthronement possibly take? He would question them once he got back, that he would do.

They made their way through the corridor, wide it was but it still felt a bit narrow. The torches set in the sconces on the walls were unlit, so their path was guided by the golden rays of light making its way in from the high windows. Jon wished a light would just appear and guide his path back to his world. Hmph… he scoffed. Wishful thinking indeed.

“Brother!” There was a voice, a young one but overtly loud and cheerful, and it called out, to him maybe or to Flynn, but what he knew was that it came for one of them, seeing as it echoed as soon as he and Flynn had wandered out of the corridor and onto the veranda of the concourse, a space so wide that a garden could have been grown there along with a fountain in its midst, but instead its floor of hardwood was designed with the same crest he had seen in the dead prince’s room. “Why are you so late? Did sucking on a maiden’s tit make you dull?” The boy that had called said. Jon saw him now. He was folding his arms with a mocking grin, and his black hair which was curled backwards smoothly, shined beautifully, but his brown eyes glowed with nothing short of mischief, and then there was his mouth… quite vulgar. He needed a whooping. The boy was wearing a brown high-quality leather doublet, and from his neck, hung a small chain made of gold. His dressing was befitting of no one less than a noble. No wonder the obvious lack of any sort of whooping.

“Thaddeus! Where in King’s city did you learn to speak such words? Have you been sneaking out again?” A woman placed her hands on the boy’s shoulders reprimanding him with a voice, soft and calm, her social status glowing perfectly from her dressing. Her body was swept beneath a golden gown made of silk, and a full skirt that flowed down from her waist, creating a bell-shaped silhouette, while the overlay bodice of the gown was fitted with a high-collar adorned with jewelries, and on her beautiful dark hair sat a small golden crown to complement her fit. There was no mistaking who or what she was. She was a queen.

“Leave me be mother. I am no longer a child,” Thaddeus said as he forced his shoulders free from her gentle grasp. “It is quite normal for me to know what I know.”

“Oh, no it’s not. You are but a boy of ten. You’re still too young to speak of such things.” She placed her hands once again on his shoulder.

Thaddeus gnashed his teeth in frustration, and then turned over to Jon who approached them along with Flynn. “Brother, command mother to unhand me, you’re the king, are you not?”

You would have gotten a whooping if it was left to me… Jon thought as he studied both mother and son. Luckily for you, it’s not left to me… I wonder what his personality was… Jon’s mind suddenly flashed towards the body’s original soul for a moment. If his brother’s a brat and his mother’s a somewhat too gentle a soul, then how had he been…?

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“Zephyr is my son too, Thaddeus. Have you forgotten?” The queen chuckled as she leaned closely to Thaddeus’ ear.

Zephyr? This body’s name. Well, I guess that has become my name now as well… Jon resigned himself to the reality that his identity was no longer what it used to be before he had transmigrated. A new name, a brother, and… a new mother. He spat within, whichever supreme being had been behind this had lost all respect from Jon. Couldn’t they have made him lose all his memories and return as a baby or something? Instead they let him keep his memories and then dumped him into the body of someone that had been murdered. He was sure they were having a big hearty laugh somewhere up in those skies as they watched him try to blend in.

“Brother!” Thaddeus wailed, calling his brother’s attention back as he insisted he adhered to his needs.

Jon sighed, for the last time as the person Jon. “Just let him be, Mother,” Zephyr said, waving his hand dismissively. “He would have learnt about these things sooner or later.”

“You’re too soft on him, Zephyr. You have to learn to be hard on him sometimes,” the queen said, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.

Well that explains this body’s previous owner’s character… Zephyr’s lips twitched softly before he replied in return, “I could say the same for you, Mother.” Geez… that sounds weird… Calling someone else's mother: mother was not an easy feat, but he had already accomplished one already today and this one just doubled his achievements of uneasy feats accomplished. The first one was walking in heels. His legs were still hurting, but at least he was trying.

“My Queens, My Lady, My Lords,” Flynn greeted as he bowed, placing his fist on his chest. Zephyr had almost forgotten that this man was here. He turned to look at who Flynn was bowing in greetings to, and then he noticed the four other people that were standing at a distance from them.

There was a woman adorned in a crown and a dress similar to Thaddeus’ mother, the dress only different in that it had a colour of flame, golden flame. There were also two young men and a lady, all three who looked no older than he was. The man who looked the eldest of the three, had brown hair and a stern face, and he wore a thick black coat with a golden chain hanging from his neck.

The second man, who had a more approachable expression, wore a brown leather tunic adorned with golden embroideries across its collar which complemented his brown hair. Then there was the lady, a youngling, he could see, and she kept combing her long brown silky hair, slightly avoiding his gaze as she stared into the ground instead. Her body was draped in a blue gown which looked to have been designed to perfectly fit her body shape and bring out her beauty.

“We should head in now, my lord,” Flynn bowed slightly as he gestured for Zephyr to make his way into the royal hall. Unsure of the relationship his predecessor had with the other four, Zephyr chose to walk past them without speaking a word. It was better not to talk than to say nonsense, or so he thought, even without talking he roused a rather delicate matter which he had not expected. No one would have expected it, in truth.

The stern looking of the two young men was the first to have a crack at him. “Oh look, Mother. The bastard speaks no word to us now that he’s about to become king,” he mocked spitefully, halting Zephyr’s advance to the royal hall.

Bastard? Zephyr wallowed in confusion as he turned over to look at them. It kept coming, he had not even spent an hour in this world and he was already being fed with more incomprehensible questions than everything he had ever seen from maths. He would give anything to solve maths now than listen to more of these rubbish questions come to raid his mind. Questions that most likely determined how long he would stay alive in this world if they were left unanswered. Gah… his dress was making his body itch.

“Leave him be, Damon. The king might have your head if provoked. You do not want to die at the hands of a bastard now, do we?” The golden-flame dressed woman said, provoking the gentle queen’s rage as she swung off her cloak of timidity and donned a fiery one.

“You dare not speak of my son in such a way, Ophelia. I will not stand for such dishonour,” the woman Zephyr had termed meek flared. She surprised him. Maybe she was as fickle as the weather, changing based on her mood? He wondered.

“Oh pardon me, Thalia. I just find it uncanny that a bastard ascends the throne rather than a trueborn. My sons are trueborns, can you say the same for yours?”

“My son is not a bastard. I will have you kindly take that back.”

“Oh please, you still say that after all this time.”

“Ophelia.” Thalia’s visible anger grew with every word that poured out of Ophelia’s mouth and Zephyr just watched. He was almost enjoying it.

“Mother…” the mirthful, more approachable looking son, tried to rein in his mother, “...trouble them no further. It is no time to fight. Father spat at such bickering as well.”

Zephyr understood them, if he was to be honest. He looked nothing like any of them. Unless there were hair dyes and eye lenses in this age then maybe, but in truth, this body looked to share nothing in common with either of them, even his own brother. The three of Ophelia’s children, who Zephyr took to be from the second branch or something like that, all shared the same colour of brown for their hair, and even though Thaddeus’ hair went towards the black of his mother, he no doubt shared their brown eyes. Then there was he, completely different from all… but it didn’t matter. If he had heard correctly, it was he that was made crown prince, and it was he that would be king, and honestly, it was the one thing in this world he would not object to. In worlds such as this, it was power that kept people alive longer, and the throne held the greatest of powers. He was going to be king, they could bicker all they wanted but that will not change. Or maybe they were the ones that killed the former Zephyr? Maybe?

Zephyr sighed, all the thinking wore him out. If they were, they would have acted more surprised when they saw him alive. He was not sure they were, there was no shock in them, just overflowing rage. He let out another exhale, a slight one. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me,” he began by silencing them. “If you deem me a bastard, then so be it. But I’ll have you know, this bastard shall become king, and this bastard shall rule. In truth, it is not up for discussion.”

That should settle things down, at least for now…

“Aren’t you being rather presumptuous, bastard?” Damon glared, his eyes glinting with intensity and ferocity like a wolf’s unwavering stare locked on to its prey.

A stubborn one… “You’re free to leave, Damon. Do not attend the enthronement if you so wish—but sooner than later, you’ll have no choice but to answer to me as king, or I will have your head...” Zephyr provoked Damon, “...and you will have no bastards of your own to father.”

“Is that a threat?” Damon growled.

“Nothing of such,” Zephyr answered him. “I wouldn’t dare. Make haste Flynn, we are late for the enthronement, aren’t we? Let’s go, Mother, Thaddeus.”

Thalia let out a proud chuckle as she placed her hand on Thaddeus’ head.

“Mother, hands off my hair. You’re ruining it,” Thaddeus let out a cry as he brushed his mother’s hand from his head.

“Sorry, Thaddeus. It’s just that your brother has grown so much, has he not?” Thalia laughed lightly as they advanced behind Zephyr and Flynn to the royal hall, whose large door stood no more than a few steps ahead of them, leaving behind Ophelia and her children to follow behind whenever they pleased.