I woke up in the same room and it seemed my father had left at some point. The sun has yet to rise. Unlike yesterday, this body's condition has significantly improved. It however still felt weak, too weak. Sanders has constantly been bedridden if his memories within me are accurate. I stood up and carefully stepped down off the bed.
"This is harder than I expected…
I muttered as I nearly stumbled over the thick carpet. I glanced back at the bed—larger and more luxurious than any I'd ever slept in before. How envious. I clung to whatever furniture I could reach and slowly made my way toward the window. There was a grandfather clock to the right of the room.
It's 4'30… does this world use a similar timekeeping system?
I weakly parted the curtains. The view outside was breathtaking, rows of manicured hedges, fountains, and flowerbeds. I could recall pictures of the garden in Versailles. I spotted the lever to open the window, but it was just out of reach. There were stools and cushioned seats in the room, but I didn't have the strength to move any of them yet.
I weakly walked towards the direction of Sander's walk-in closet and luckily it didn't take much strength to push the door. I flipped a switch and a warm, expensive-looking ceiling lamp turned on. Another switch activated an antique, ornately designed ceiling fan.
Sanders was loaded with clothing. The closet was meticulously organized, even labeled. I noticed another switch labeled Assistance Request and paused. The language here was still English, strangely enough. But I wasn't ready to draw conclusions yet.
I scanned the labels and found the one I was looking for: "Sportswear". I struggled to change my clothes. According to Sanders' memories, he had always been dressed by his attendants. I didn't want to bother them, and I couldn't accept having others do something so personal for me. It took me about 15 minutes to get changed. Afterwards, I decided to walk towards the large mirror in the room.
Sanders is going to grow up to be a womanizer.
Sanders has red hair, similar to Duchess Loretta, Sanders' mother, with blue eyes and features that I could quote "the Golden ratio". People called me a pretty boy but Sanders, this little boy has a future. I finished dressing. I switched off the lights and fan of the room and slowly but surely started needling less of holding objects as I pushed forward to the door.
I tried to push it but it was heavy. But when I pushed it again, for some reason it became lighter and moved without much resistance. I wondered if this is some magic mechanism.
The halls are well-lit but I could see shafts of sunlight had begun to filter through the windows. I looked at the wrist watch on my left wrist as I took note of this time. The palace staff looked at me with concerned looks and some attempted to tell me to return to my room. I told them weakly that I wanted to check out the field.
By the time I reached it, half an hour had passed. I was already sweating. One of the palace maids had insisted on following me and handed me a cup of water. I rested a moment before starting a daily routine, simple strengthening exercises from my Marine training.
… and I could barely do even just a quarter of any of them. I adjusted the regimen. Inconvenient, but things take time. When I started jogging laps, memories came flooding in middle school track and field, falling on the cracked pavement of a poorly funded school. I must've been daydreaming again, because I tripped and scraped my right arm.
Sorry Sanders.
I stared at the cut, about to assess it, when I heard the maid gasp and call out for the palace doctor. She moved quickly, grabbing what looked like a first-aid kit.
"This will sting young master, please bear with me" she said as she placed a rubber ball on my right arm and gestured for me to squeeze it. She took a ball of cloth, dipped it with what smelt like ethyl alcohol and cleaned the wound. It stinged. Although I'm supposed to be used to it, it hurts as hell and my fist tightly holds the ball.
Then she grabbed something from a box and it looked like adhesive bandage strips. She carefully placed the strips where the wound was. She then asked for my permission to carry me and although I attempted to tell her that it's fine, she apologised to me as she carried me like a Princess. What a bliss, being carried by a gorgeous woman.
I then recalled the many times I was injured, back before I joined the Marines. I thought to myself how fortunate it is for Sanders to have people who care about him. Although I am unsure, the maids seemed to genuinely care for him.
"Ummm… I'm fine… it's just a scratch" I tried to tell the maid, first because I am concerned of the strain of carrying me and second, it's getting embarrassing seeing people see me being carried.
"I apologise young master, but you seem to be unaware that for months, you mostly remained on your bed with minimal physical activity. Your body is more… vulnerable than most."
Huh? Was what I thought as I felt there's more to what "vulnerable" means. I tried to scan any memory, any clue as to what might the maid mean but found none. I then reasoned that she might mean that Sanders has been physically weak and his memories align with that logic.
"Thank you… miss-"
"Pauline"
"Thank you… Miss Pauline"
"I'm honored, young master," she said, bowing her head. "But please remember your station. You are not only a noble, but royalty. Still, your lessons won't begin until you turn eight."
Ah right, Sanders is still royalty and the fact that his father, Archduke Alastair, has yet to announce an heir. For the nobles and elites of this country, Sanders has much of a stake to it as his older twin brothers. He would be a much easier puppet too given his poor health.
As I was mumbling about how I found myself in this political clown show, we arrived at the clinic, where we were greeted by a middle-aged man with monocles. He is wearing a white coat, so he must be a doctor or medical personnel.
Pauline carefully placed me on the bed as nurses took over. The doctor seemed to have a conversation with her, which I am sure is asking me what happened. His expression seemed to be shocked halfway through their conversation, as he darted his eye to me. Afterwards, he then proceeded to walk towards me.
"How are you feeling your highness? Does anywhere else hurt?" he asked me with actual concern from his voice.
"I'm fine… you all are making a big fuss over a small wound" I replied, making a brave face to show them that this small incident has been blown out of proportion.
"It's admirable to act brave in front of adults, especially since you're a growing boy. But I am a doctor and I want what is best for you. So I will ask your highness again, are you ok?"
I paused for a moment, thinking of a reply that wouldn't be rude to the doctor. "I am… ok… thank you but I'm really fine-" I paused as I used my hand to show where the minor wound, where an adhesive bandage is placed, then continued "It's a tiny wound."
"If you say so, Your Highness." He sighed, barely concealing it. He held a hand just above mine, and I saw the same soft light as I'd seen from Sanders' father, but this time, it was brighter. A magical circle formed, faint but visible, with a green cross at its center.
"That will sterilize the wound fully," he said. "I could have healed it with magic, but relying on magic too often may weaken your natural healing ability." He told Pauline I was free to go.
And that's when I realized, I was completely exhausted. Pauline carried me again, princess-style. My food was brought to me, and I later learned that the incident had been reported to my father.
I spent the rest of the day in my room, reading anything I could find that might help me understand this world. Looking back on everything, I couldn't help but feel jealous of Sanders. People cared about him. Deeply. His brothers visited twice. His mother scolded me for being careless, but still checked if I was okay.
This feels…
No. This is wrong.
That was the last thought I had before sleep took me.