Chapter Three: Whispers in the Palace

The palace was alive in a way Ethan hadn’t noticed before.

Not with music or laughter no, those things were rare here but with whispers. They slithered through corridors like smoke, clinging to marble walls and curling through the air long after footsteps had faded.

And the whispers were about him.

He felt them when he walked past servants in the gardens, when guards exchanged glances during their patrols, when courtiers paused in their hushed conversations as he entered the hall.

Prince Adrian had always been known. Not for kindness, not for duty, but for scandal. For cruelty. For every sin an idle noble could commit.

So when the second prince bowed at the council table, when he spoke of famine with something close to compassion, when he offered to cut into his own household’s funds the whispers spread like fire.

“Have you heard? The prince apologized.”

“Lies. He must be plotting something.”

“They say he’s been cursed. Or worse possessed.”

“Hah. Perhaps he struck his head in his cups.”

Ethan heard them all, though never directly. The palace had a way of speaking in tones meant not to be heard, yet always reaching the intended ears.

And Ethan, walking through Adrian’s life, felt each whisper coil tighter around his throat.

That morning, he sat in the prince’s solar, sunlight spilling through tall windows onto piles of neglected documents. Adrian’s desk was a battlefield of half-signed decrees, unopened petitions, and invitations to gambling halls written in florid script.

Ethan rubbed his temples. His old life had been difficult, yes but no one had expected him to govern. Now he was staring at policy drafts, tax ledgers, and letters from lords who clearly hated him.

He picked one at random.

Your Highness,

I write once more concerning the unlawful seizure of grain from my storehouses by your men. My peasants starve while you fill your cellars with wine. If restitution is not made, I shall take the matter directly to the crown prince.

Ethan shut his eyes. He could almost feel the real Adrian’s laughter behind these words, the arrogance with which he’d ignored them.

He couldn’t ignore them now.

With a deep breath, Ethan dipped the quill into ink and began to write. His hand was unsteady at first he hadn’t touched a feather quill in his life but the words were firm.

The seizure was unlawful. Restitution shall be made immediately from my household coffers. Further, I will see that the peasants are supplied from the eastern stores until their next harvest.

He paused, rereading. It sounded too modern, too… earnest. But he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t Adrian.

He sanded the ink dry, sealed the letter, and reached for the next.

“Your Highness?”

The voice made him jump. Ethan looked up to see the servant from the other day the dark-haired youth who had knocked at his door before the council meeting. The boy was holding a tray with tea and a cautious expression.

Ethan realized belatedly he’d been staring too long. He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

The boy bowed quickly, setting the tray on the edge of the desk. “Your morning tea, as ordered.”

Ethan blinked. “I ordered…?” Then he remembered: Adrian had routines, schedules. Servants probably carried them out by habit.

“Right. Thank you.”

The boy froze. His head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief.

Ethan frowned. “What?”

“N-nothing, Your Highness,” the servant stammered, bowing again so deeply his hair fell across his face. “Forgive me.”

But Ethan wasn’t stupid. The look had said everything. Adrian had never thanked anyone in his life.

“What’s your name?” Ethan asked before he could stop himself.

The boy’s head jerked up again, startled. “Your Highness?”

“Your name,” Ethan repeated. “Do you have one, or am I meant to call you ‘boy’ forever?”

The servant swallowed. “Tomas, Your Highness.”

Ethan nodded. “Then… thank you, Tomas.”

Tomas’s lips parted, but no sound came. His eyes flickered with something Ethan couldn’t quite placefear, confusion, and maybe… a spark of hope.

Before Ethan could say more, Tomas fled the solar, leaving only the faint scent of tea and a silence that suddenly felt heavier than before.

That evening, Ethan wandered the palace gardens. He told himself it was to clear his mind, but truthfully he couldn’t stay buried in Adrian’s letters forever. The weight of other people’s hatred pressed too sharply on his shoulders.

The gardens were quiet, lanterns glowing softly among manicured hedges and moonlit roses. He walked slowly, hands clasped behind him, trying to look more princely than he felt.

But he wasn’t alone.

“Strange.”

The voice came from the shadows of a tree. Smooth. Low. Familiar.

Ethan stiffened.

Lucian stepped into the light.

The crown prince was dressed simply, in black riding clothes rather than regalia, but simplicity only made him more striking. His posture was perfect, his gaze sharp. He moved with the ease of a man who had nothing to prove because everything was already his.

Ethan’s pulse quickened. He tried to bow slightly, but not too low. Adrian wouldn’t bow.

“Brother,” he said carefully.

Lucian’s lips twitched, as though the word amused him. He walked closer, each step deliberate. “You’ve been busy. Attending councils. Reading petitions. Thanking servants.”

Ethan’s stomach dropped. So he’s already heard.

Lucian circled him slowly, like a predator studying unfamiliar prey. “Everyone whispers of your change. They wonder if you’ve seen the light, or if you’re plotting something worse.”

“And you?” Ethan asked before he could stop himself. His voice was too soft, too honest.

Lucian paused behind him. “I think,” he murmured, close enough that Ethan felt his breath against his ear, “that snakes don’t change their skin so easily.”

Ethan’s throat tightened. He turned, forcing his expression calm. “Maybe not. But perhaps this one is trying.”

For the first time, Lucian’s mask cracked just slightly. His brow lifted, as though Ethan had said something truly unexpected.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things.

Then Lucian smiled, cold and fleeting. “We’ll see.”

He stepped back, vanishing into the shadows as swiftly as he had appeared.

Ethan exhaled shakily, his heart racing.

Lucian didn’t trust him. He didn’t believe in him. But for the first time since waking in this cursed body, Ethan felt something stir beneath his fear. Resolve

If the crown prince thought he was still the villain, then Ethan would just have to prove him wrong.

No matter how many whispers haunted the palace halls.

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