He could feel the pavement.
Cold. Wet. Hard against his back.
His head throbbed — a deep, pulsing ache — and the metallic taste of blood coated his tongue. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe right. The pain was sharp, blooming in waves across his skull, his ribs, his legs.
Voices swirled around him — distant, panicked. Someone was shouting. Someone else was crying. But none of it really touched him.
So this is death, he thought, blinking up at the blurry streetlight above. Not as dramatic as I expected.
His vision wavered, black creeping in at the edges.
Guess I never really mattered.
Guess I'll never be loved.
I hope… I see Mom and Dad again.
Maybe... maybe someone like the knight will be waiting.
A faint smile twitched at his lips.
Then everything went dark.
No pain. No weight. Just… nothing.
Until a light filtered in — warm, golden. Not hospital white. Not fluorescent cold.
Birds?
He wasn't supposed to wake up, was he?
Then —
A voice.
Gentle. Clear. Like sunlight breaking through clouds.
"Prince Jun… Prince Jun, please wake up. It's time for breakfast."
Jace stirred.
His eyes fluttered open.
But it wasn't pavement beneath him anymore.
It was silk sheets.
And above him — an ornately carved ceiling.
Golden light poured in through tall glass windows. Somewhere nearby, birds were singing.
And a woman in a maid's uniform was smiling at him, holding a silver tray.
"You'll catch a cold if you keep sleeping like that, Your Highness."
Jace blinked at her.
Once.
Twice.
Then he sat bolt upright.
"What. The. Hell."
The words slipped from his lips, barely louder than a breath.
And then —
click. click. click.
Boots clicked on polished marble — steady, sharp, and deliberate.
Jace looked up.
A figure emerged from the doorway like a shadow stepping into light.
Everything stilled.
He was tall. Sharp. Cold.
His black hair, slightly tousled, framed a face that looked like it belonged in a painting — if someone had carved that painting out of tension and steel. His eyes were the worst part. Piercing, unreadable, like they could see through lies and hesitation and whatever the hell Jace was trying to pretend right now.
And he was staring.
Right. At. Him.
The knight.
Cassian.
> No. No way.
He looked exactly like the description — the military coat, the gold trim, the dark navy fabric hugging his frame like it had been stitched straight onto his soul.
Jace's breath caught.
"...My prince," Cassian said, his voice calm but edged with something he couldn't place. "Are you feeling unwell? You drank a lot last night."
Jace blinked. His mouth opened — then closed. Drank a lot? Okay. Great. Cover story locked in. Hangover confusion was totally on-brand for a reckless prince, right?
> Hangover amnesia. That explains everything. Classic noble behavior, right?
"I, uh… yeah," he said, forcing a weak laugh. "Guess I had a bit too much. Head's still spinning."
Cassian's expression didn't shift much — just a slight tilt of the head. Watching. Calculating.
Jace looked away quickly, focusing on the breakfast tray. Tea. Fruit. Some kind of fancy bread. He didn't recognize any of it, but he reached for a cup anyway just to have something to do.
His hands trembled slightly.
And not just from nerves.
This body felt wrong.
Longer limbs. Leaner. There was strength in his arms, yes — but not his kind. Even the way his fingers curled around the teacup felt foreign. Not just transported… replaced.
> Okay. Stay calm. Don't say anything stupid. Just… survive the morning.
The maid curtsied and retreated.
Cassian remained — still watching.
Jace felt his throat tighten.
He wasn't sure what was worse: the silence or the knight's stare.
If this really was The Wayward Prince… then Cassian was the only person who ever truly cared about Jun. The only one who never left. Never betrayed him. Never stopped loving him.
And now, he was real.
Jace glanced down, pretending to sip the tea.
> Okay. Think. You're inside a novel. You're Jun. The annoying, spoiled, emotionally constipated prince.
He didn't know what chapter this was. Didn't know what part of the story he'd landed in. That was the danger — Jun's behavior shifted throughout the book. The wrong tone, the wrong word, the wrong reaction — and someone would notice something was off.
> I need to figure out when I am. What's already happened? What hasn't?
He needed clues. Anything. A calendar, a conversation, a name drop. Something to tell him where in the plot he stood — and how far he was from the tragedy he already knew was coming.
All he could do… was try.
And find out how long he had before Prince Jun gets assassinated.
---
Cassian walked to the window, pulling open the heavy curtains. Golden morning light spilled across the room, but Jace barely noticed. His thoughts were spinning.
Cassian turned back to him, expression tight.
"My prince," he said carefully. "Is something wrong? Since I entered, you've been… different."
Jace forced a smile, his heart hammering.
"Just tired," he muttered.
Cassian didn't look convinced. He stepped closer.
"Or… is it the gathering at the end of the week that troubles you?"
Jace blinked. "Gathering?"
A pause. Cassian's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You didn't forget, did you? The formal announcement of your engagement to Princess Flora."
Jace froze.
> Engagement. Princess Flora.
The announcement party.
It clicked. This was the setup. The week where everything started to unravel. His chest tightened.
> So this is where I landed.
Around Chapter 20.
Right before Jun's father is targeted at the palace gala.
He swallowed. He still had time… but not much.