In the backstage, I found Lola waiting with a smile so bright it could have powered the stage lights. “Lady Charlie!” she squealed, practically bouncing toward me.

Before I could react, she wrapped me in an enthusiastic hug, her ever-present tablet squished awkwardly between us. It beeped in protest, but she didn’t seem to care. “You were phenomenal! That was just amazing!” she beamed, her joy radiating like the crowd’s cheers still echoing in my ears.

“Yeah…” I panted, still catching my breath, my chest rising and falling as I tried to steady myself.

Sweat prickled at the nape of my neck, and the faint scent of stage dust mixed with the lingering tang of my frost effect still clinging to the air. “It was quite amazing, wasn’t it?” I let out a laugh, the sound a mix of triumph and exhaustion.

The soft clink of boots on the metallic floor drew my attention. “I have to tap my hat,” said a familiar voice, warm and full of good-natured respect.

I turned, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face, and there they were—the bandits.

The leader stood front and center, his grin crooked but genuine, his tunic still slightly damp from my frost attack. “You are quite talented with that rapier,” he added, tipping an imaginary hat. The glint in his eyes revealed his feeling.

I nodded at him with the same respect.

The other bandits, still in their theatrical costumes, nodded enthusiastically. “It was so cool,” one piped up, his voice tinged with awe. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his exaggerated stage makeup had smudged just slightly, adding to his rogue aesthetic.

“Well, you were also great!” I said, flashing them a broad grin and running a hand through my now-tangled hair. “You had me hard-pressed at one point there. And let me just say—looking dashing while doing it? Like, wow!” I couldn’t resist a little bounce on the balls of my feet, the residual adrenaline giving me a burst of energy.

They all stared at me.

To my utter delight, then they all blushed at my compliment, their earlier bravado melting away into sheepish smiles. The leader rubbed the back of his neck, his swagger replaced with an almost boyish charm.

“Good job,” I added, giving them a quick thumbs-up, my grin widening. The sincerity in my voice must have caught them off guard because one of them actually muttered a “thank you” like he’d just received a medal.

Lola cleared her throat, her professional mask sliding back into place, though the hint of a smile still lingered on her lips. “Lady?” she prompted, her tone brisk yet warm.

“Yeah?” I muttered, distracted as I fumbled with the frost gadget still strapped to my hand. The mechanism was awesome but annoyingly complicated to remove without a second hand. “I really need to find the name for this thing,” I grumbled under my breath, twisting my wrist awkwardly.

The bandits, sensing the end of their moment, turned to leave. Each offered polite farewells, their theatrical personas softened by genuine respect. “I hope to play with you again,” the leader added, his tone tinged with hope as he gave a bow.

The bow caught my attention—low and deliberate, with an air of refinement. It wasn’t just a random gesture. In the Imperial court, this kind of bow signified equality, an acknowledgment of mutual standing.

Was he playing in the court? I tilted my head, intrigued, but he was already stepping away.

“Goodbye,” I said with a small wave, filing the moment away for later.

“Mister Riker would like to know if you want to attend any event?” Lola’s voice brought me back to the present. She glanced at her tablet, her brow furrowing slightly as she waited for my answer.

“With him?” I asked, half-distracted by the frost gadget still refusing to budge.

“No,” she clarified, shaking her head. “He has other matters to attend to.”

“Well, then no,” I said firmly, finally unclipping the stubborn mechanism with a triumphant little twist. “I need to find my friends.”

Lola nodded, her professional demeanor softening slightly. “Very well, Lady Charlie. I’ll let him know.”

“Can you help me? I need to find Lucas—” I started, only to be interrupted by the ever-chipper voice of Jerry.

“I can share the info with her,” he said, his tone way too smug for an AI.

Lola raised an eyebrow. I cleared my throat, trying to salvage the moment. “I mean… sharing the details you need to know…” My voice trailed off as Jerry chimed in again.

“Done,” he announced with the efficiency of a machine, which, well, he was.

Lola blinked, glancing at her tablet as it pinged. “Oh, that was… fast,” she murmured, scrolling through the data.

“Now,” I said, flashing a quick grin, “let’s get going before Riker decides I need to juggle flaming swords next.”

“Actually, Lady, there is the person—Lucas,” Lola said, her voice uncertain, like she was about to confess to some horrible crime. “He said he was your friend and wanted to enter backstage, but he wasn’t the first. To… claim that. We had about fifty others. Sorry, I didn’t know…”

The way she looked at me, you’d think she was about to get thrown into a dungeon. Honestly, I’m not the fourth prince to do that sort of thing.

“Ah, Lola!” I waved off her panic with a smile. “Let’s just find him now. Everything’s fine.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Yes, lady.” Relief washed over her face as she nodded rapidly. “Boys, let’s go.”

And then, out of nowhere, seven bodyguards appeared, flanking us like a wall of muscle and matching uniforms. I blinked, my gaze sweeping over them, their serious expressions almost comical in contrast to the situation.

I crossed my arms, one eyebrow raised as I looked at Lola. “What’s the meaning of this?”

She straightened, all business now. “Now that you’ve performed, you’ve been upgraded to top VIP status. AIs suggested additional help to handle fans and ensure you meet your schedule—or, uh, your actual goals. Your schedule is currently free for the next five hours.”

“Oh, well,” I said dryly, gesturing vaguely at the security team. “And here I thought I’d have to fend off hordes of adoring fans with my rapier alone.”

Lola blinked, clearly unsure if I was joking. “It’s protocol, Lady.”

“Right.” I sighed and turned toward the nearest corridor. “Let’s go find Lucas before the AI decides I need an armored escort, too.”

“Uhm, lady?” Lola’s voice was hesitant.

“Yeah?” I asked over my shoulder, still moving.

“He’s waiting that way,” she said, pointing toward a completely different corridor.

Without breaking my stride, I pirouetted in place, the skirt of my dress flaring dramatically. “I knew that,” I said with a grin, landing gracefully. “Just testing you.”

Lola blinked, clearly aghast. “Yes, lady,” she murmured, clutching her tablet as though it might provide her moral support.

It didn’t take long before I spotted Lucas leaning casually against a wall, his eyes glued to his phone, the glow from the holo-screen painting his face.

As I approached, the security team instinctively parted the crowd like I was royalty—which, okay, maybe in a sense I was, but it still felt weird.

“Lucas!” I called out, my voice carrying through the hum of the bustling corridor.

He looked up, startled, and as his gaze landed on me, I caught his subtle double-take. He wore his usual casual attire: jeans, a graphic t-shirt, and that awful jacket he’s insisted on keeping since high school. It was a disaster of clashing colors and questionable fabric choices.

I’d criticized it a thousand times before, and yet, there it was, still hanging on like an unshakable curse.

Stupid Lucas, never listening.

When I reached him, his mouth opened, but no words came out. I raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Well?” I asked, stepping closer to wrap him in a quick hug.

“Ch-Charlie,” he stammered, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. “I… I saw the fight, so I shouldn’t be surprised, but… damn.” He ran a hand awkwardly through his hair. “You’re… beautiful.”

A grin tugged at my lips, cheeky and unrelenting. “Only beautiful?” I teased, tilting my head. “Where’s the poet I know? Did your muse abandon you?”

His cheeks flushed faintly, and he laughed, the sound a little rough around the edges. “You know me. I’ve got a talent for screwing up timing.”

I smirked, crossing my arms. “Yeah, but you’re consistent, at least. I’ll give you that.”

“So, you saw my fight, right? It was awesome!” I grinned, the adrenaline from the performance still making my voice a little louder than necessary. “I didn’t know I had a knack for it, but apparently, I do…” I leaned in closer, dropping my voice to a whisper. “And… thanks for this body. I… prefer being me, Charlie, than being John.”

Lucas stared at me, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable.

His mouth opened, but no words came out at first. Then, he finally managed, “Charlie… I…” His gaze dropped to the floor, and his tone turned troubled. “I need to tell you something about Charlie…”

I raised a hand, cutting him off before he could go further. “Stop. If it’s what I think it is…” I paused, exhaling slowly. “I’d need a drink.”

Ever since that dream—that dream with Lucas—I’d been wondering what the connection was. Why it all felt so… tangled. And then there were the other dreams that followed, so vivid. I told myself they were just that—dreams.

Because otherwise…

Well, it added a point for Riker’s theory. And maybe a slap for Lucas.

I turned to Lola, who was standing nearby, watching the exchange. “Is there somewhere we can drink and have some privacy to talk?”

She nodded quickly, eager to assist. “Of course, Lady! The bar has private booths. They aren’t soundproof, but you should still be able to talk without shouting.”

“Perfect,” I said, brushing past Lucas and gesturing for him to follow. I glanced back at him, catching the unease on his face. “Come on. If this is going to be a thing, we’re not doing it here in the hallway.”

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed and followed me, his footsteps heavier than usual.

When I attended Rim-cons in the past, it had always been a nightmare. Being swept along in the sea of people, jostled at every step, stuck behind groups that refused to move as they posed for pictures or chatted endlessly with friends—it was chaos.

Now?

The security team paved the way like a small army parting the seas, yes. But even they couldn’t stop the occasional fan. “Ice Princess!” a ten-year-old dressed as a swordsman shouted near my ear, his excitement loud enough to leave a ringing. “Can I take a selfie?”

He was at least the tenth.

“Sure…” I sighed, resigning myself to the inevitable as I crouched slightly to fit into the frame. I forced a smile for the camera. Why? Because I remembered the overwhelming joy I felt years ago when I got a selfie with the Mage-Killer.

Four more selfies later—and a growing ache in my cheeks—we finally reached the private booth area.

The bar had alcoves along the far wall bathed in neon pink holo-light. The lighting pulsed softly, casting a glow over the glossy black seating and chrome tabletops.

Ah!

That’s why I didn’t recognize this bar. They must have remodeled it later to fit the fantasy Rimelion aesthetic.

Our alcove had one glass wall overlooking the bustling bar, the transparency muted by faint holographic designs swirling across its surface like living graffiti. It gave just enough privacy to feel secluded without losing the energy of the room.

Sliding into the plush seating, I marveled at the feel of the cool material against my legs. I stretched out slightly, leaning back to take it all in as Lucas followed, his expression unreadable as he joined me. He hesitated for a moment before sitting across from me, his movements deliberate, like he was mentally bracing himself.

The waitress arrived a few moments later; her dress was a shockingly vibrant neon green that practically glowed under the pink light.

Riker’s orders so he doesn’t feel bad about his coat?

Her hair was styled into a gravity-defying updo with streaks of metallic silver running through it. “What can I get for you?” she asked, her voice smooth and professional, but with a playful edge.

Better than the v4 earlier.

“Bourbon. Neat.”

Lucas glanced at her briefly before responding, “Vodka. Straight.”

She nodded, her neon dress shimmering as she tapped in our order. “Got it. I’ll be right back.”

As she walked away, I leaned forward slightly, resting my chin on my hands. “Alright, Lucas. Spill.” My voice carried a mix of curiosity and trepidation. “What’s this thing you need to tell me about… past me?”

Lucas looked down, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the chrome table. The faint pulsing neon light caught on his knuckles, making the tension in his grip painfully obvious. His eyes darted up to meet mine, then dropped back to his hands as if the weight of my gaze was too much.

“I…” He hesitated, his voice low and uneven. “I knew the past Charlie. She…” He paused again, swallowing hard. “She died.”

That single syllable carried enough grief to punch me in the chest. His shoulders slumped, the usual confidence I associated with him utterly stripped away.

“And I was foolish,” he continued, his voice quieter now, “to… give you her character.”

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. My pulse quickened, each beat like a hammer in my ears. The puzzle pieces I’d been collecting—the dreams, the strange connection, the nagging sense of familiarity—clicked into place, and the picture they painted wasn’t pretty.

“You…” I started, my voice tight, but I forced it to steady. “You gave me the character of someone you knew. Someone who’s… gone.”

Lucas nodded, barely, like the motion itself was too much effort.