“Good morning,” I nodded, watching her descend the stairs and step into the throne room. “Did you rest well?”

  “B-better than I hope to remember,” she stuttered, her gaze fixed on the ruby set in the center of my Crown. “I thank you, Your Grace… for everything.”

  “Are you acquainted with that boy?” I asked, trying to make use of her gratitude for a little information.

  “Not really, no,” she replied. “We’re from the same kingdom, but we first met as they were bringing us back, where you have found us."

  I nodded as if following along before slipping in the question I was actually interested in.

  “And what kingdom… is that, if I may?”

  The woman frowned, uncertain. “Do you mean… the Ashtara Kingdom? Your Grace, forgive me for asking again, but who-”

  “Ah, how tasteless of me, where are my manners?” I interrupted, jumping to my feet as the cold metal of the Crown vanished from my forehead, leaving only its weight behind as it turned invisible again.

  It seemed I’d rushed into the questions too soon and raised suspicion.

  If they’d been captured nearby, they must have been locals. And what local doesn’t know the name of their own kingdom?

  “Pardon?” the woman asked, her voice unsure, clearly startled by the disappearance of the Crown.

  “You must be parched and quite hungry, I assume,” I said, forcing a change of subject. “You see that room? Inside, there are some chairs; bring two of them here and wait while I fetch you something.”

  “Y-Your Grace,” she stammered, bowing slightly before hurrying off as I turned on my heel and made a quick walk for the kitchen.

  Damn you, introvertism.

  No history lesson had ever taught me how lords and kings managed to get information from the people around them.

  Nor had they ever explained how to talk to those people.

  Especially not to people who lived in a world that still had monarchies, and probably some form of feudalism to boot.

  Even back on Earth, the gap between a modern man and someone from the Middle Ages was astronomical, not just in intellect or belief, but in morality, ethics, and how they even spoke to each other.

  I couldn’t act like a normal guy here. This wasn’t a normal place. Not with sun-spewing, god-looking snakebird flying around, my invisible castle, Ephe, my powers, and all the other bullshit that might still be lurking just out of my sight.

  No… I needed the aid of some good old philosophy.

  But the only one who ever tried to give the instructions I needed was Niccolò Machiavelli, and he wasn’t exactly the example I wanted to follow.

  I was no prince, king, or lord of men.

  And I sure as hell wasn’t capable of the cruelty Machiavelli called a “necessary evil.”

  No, I wanted guidance, instructions.

  I couldn’t just change what I’d been my whole life, even if it would be to my advantage if I could.

  But nothing came to mind, no lesson, no moral framework, no clever strategy that could tell me how to act now.

  Which meant I had to improvise. Use whatever ideas they already had of me to my advantage.

  They were my source of information in this place, and I’d be damned if I let them leave before I learned everything they knew.

  “Your Grace,” said the boy, who must have come downstairs while I was gone. “Thank you for having us.”

  They rose as I entered, but quickly sat again on the two chairs placed a few feet away from the throne.

  “Please,” I said, setting down everything that I brought with me. “Help yourselves.”

  As I sat, the Crown's coldness returned on my head, and both of them went still, their eyes fixed on the now-visible ruby that stood above my forehead.

  “Now,” I continued, drawing their attention back to me, “Fill your cups, eat some fruit, and let us finally talk.”

  They obeyed, careful and quiet, before straightening up again, waiting for me to speak.

  “Let’s start with introductions,” I said, my gaze shifting between them. “My name is Elio.”

  The boy nodded, not yet drinking, “I am Stevin, Heir of House Barta.”

  “House Barta?” the woman blurted out, startled. “Since when?”

  “Since birth, I assume,” Stevin replied, brow furrowing in confusion.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Not that,” she said, altogether forgetting my presence. “We were sent to find you in this cursed place a month ago, but the poster they gave us showed you as a fucking child. How long have you been in these forests?”

  “Who are you, my lady?” he asked, visibly thrown.

  “I am Enna of the Priest Road, an adventurer commissioned by the guild and by your father, to bring you home.” Her voice faltered. “There were seven of us when we left. Look at me now.”

  “Quite eloquent for an adventurer, Enna of the Priest Road,” Stevin said, not unkindly.

  The jab made her jaw tighten; her silence was sharp, and frustration was visibly building in the back of her mind.

  “I’m sorry for your friends,” Stevin continued, softer now. “But whatever my father promised you, forget it. If I return, I’ll just die.”

  “We were going to die anyway,” she snapped, the control in her tone finally cracking. “What difference does it make where it happens?”

  “Some priest you are,” he muttered, turning away to hide how much her words stung. “I liked you better when your mouth was tied.”

  And me? Wise as I am, I said nothing.

  Why interrupt such a generous flow of information just to hear myself talk? I had fuck all to add to the conversation.

  The only thing that bothered me was how neither of them had yet taken a sip of their water. Weren't they thirsty?

  “You’ll be coming with me when we leave this place,” she declared.

  Stevin smirked, shaking his head in disbelief. “I walk a Road you couldn’t handle, priestess. I’d rather risk my life here.”

  “Oh, please.” She sighed, exhausted by him already. “Your clothes are too clean for a month of captivity or wilderness. Someone’s been keeping you alive.”

  “Nobody helped me,” he shot back. “I’m simply capable of surviving.”

  [Passive Ability: Law of Truth - Activated.]

  [Lie.]

  Oho, spicy. Bless your soul, Ephe.

  So they’d been honest until now, or at least not outright lying.

  ‘Ephe, do half-truths count as lies?’ I asked in my mind.

  [No.]

  [Law of Truth - Level 2.]

  [Level 5 required to detect 'Half-Truths'.]

  ‘Good enough,’ I thought.

  “Capable of surviving,” Enna pressed, “And yet not a speck of dirt under your nails? Do you take me for a fool?”

  “No,” Stevin replied smoothly. “I take you for a reasonable person. One who’ll accept my payment and tell the guild, and my beloved father, that you failed.”

  “And lose my license?” Her orange eyes widened. “You must be out of your noble-kissed mind.”

  “You don’t sound much like a priestess yourself with that tongue,” he said, crossing one leg over the other. “Who are you, really?”

  “You’re lucky I’m out of mana,” she said with a half-laugh, ignoring his question. “Otherwise, I’d have shackled you and sent you straight to your mother’s bum.”

  Stevin chuckled back. “Threatening me would’ve sent you to your maker even faster. But lucky for you, that damn snake drained my mana, too. Still, My Lady, my fists are bisexual. We can have at it if you do so wish.”

  I coughed deliberately.

  The tension snapped like a bowstring; both froze, realizing how far they’d gone.

  “Y-Your Grace,” Enna stammered, jumping to her feet and bowing low. “Forgive my behavior.”

  “And mine,” Stevin added, lowering his head in clear embarrassment.

  I groaned, got up, and walked toward them, only to crouch and grab the last mug from the basket. I filled it with water, took a sip, and went back to my throne.

  “So,” I exhaled, as the Crown reappeared on my head, “Not quite the talk I expected.”

  Enna’s cheeks turned as crimson as her dirty hair. “Ple-please forgive-”

  “Calm down,” I waved her off. “It was mildly entertaining to watch you two argue. But now, I want answers.”

  I studied them for a moment, weighing how best to start, then cleared my throat. “What year is this?”

  It’s a feat, I think, to drain the color out of two people at once.

  “Y-Your Grace?” Stevin stammered, the bold, bisexual warrior suddenly a very sexually confused squire. “What do you mean by… year?”

  “The date,” I said. “Day, week, month, year, century, all that?”

  “The fifth of Spring, year…” He hesitated. “Under what calendar?”

  I don’t fucking know, dude.

  “Fine,” I sighed, turning to Enna. “You said we’re in the Ashtara Kingdom?”

  “Not in, exactly,” she frowned. “The Great Velvet Forests are outside the Kingdom’s reach. They’re a realm of their own.”

  I nodded, pleased with that answer and revelation. “And you’re both from Ashtara, then?”

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  “But Your Grace,” Stevin continued carefully, “We’ve never heard of a King ruling these forests. They’re not mentioned in any history.”

  “I’ve been… busy,” I said, hoping that would end it.

  “Your Grace,” Enna pressed, “The Ashtara Kingdom has existed for nearly two centuries.”

  Well, fuck me to tears.

  I coughed, trying to salvage the situation, but somehow, only making it worse. “Ah, really? Been a minute then. So, in that case, why are we speaking in Westgod Terminia?”

  “Westgod?” Stevin frowned deeper. “We’re speaking Ashfera, Your Grace. Old Terminia is its root, but Terminia fell a long time ago.”

  “Let me guess, two centuries?”

  “Four,” Stevin said. His tone shifted, respectful, but edged with fear. “Your Grace, we may have different definitions of ‘a minute.’”

  “It might appear so.” I scratched my cheek. “All right then, tell me about these Roads you two mentioned. What’s a Priest Road?”

  It took them ten hours.

  Ten hours of questions, explanations, and wild tangents, how they were captured, politics, magic, religion, geography, languages, races, past wars, current wars, the gods, the Forests we were in. Everything.

  While I made sure to avoid giving them almost any information about me. Deflecting, ignoring, and changing the subject worked every time.

  By the end, they were drained, excusing themselves for the evening, leaving me alone to digest all the information they so gracefully provided me.

  Only for me to realize that, at best, I was… slightly less ignorant.

  There were still a lot of things that I did not know; in fact, in many ways, I had more questions now than ever before.

  But it was a lucrative discussion... for me at least.

  As for the poor souls, as long as they didn’t pry too deeply, I didn’t care what they believed about me.

  I was aware that they thought I was some confused, probably amnesiac ancient being. By the end looking at me like they were looking at that snakebird creature.

  I just prayed they didn’t start thinking I was a vampire. I’d had enough of that back on Earth.

  “The Son of Dracul,” I muttered as I looked at my pale hand, my mind returning to a past I didn’t want to remember.

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