THE KING’S COMMAND

CHAPTER 3

A new day dawned in the kingdom of Alagascar. The streets were alive with the hum of daily life, merchants haggling over prices, the clang of tools from smithies, and the rhythmic hurrying of feet as people bustled about. Cars trundled down cobblestone roads, their horns mingling with the distant whistle of a train. The kingdom sparkled with wealth, its golden spires glinting under the morning sun. Yet beneath the surface of its bustling harmony, something shifted a quiet tremor in the balance of fate.

Inside the grand palace, Grace Johnson or rather, Prince Quicke awoke with a start. The weight of her broad, muscular body pressed against the plush mattress. She sat up, her movements sluggish, the disorientation still palpable. Her reflection in the ornate mirror caught her eye, and she stared at the stranger with a chiseled jaw, piercing eyes, and the imposing build of a prince.

The room around her was opulent, adorned with red and gold draperies and furniture fit for royalty. Yet, she felt like an impostor in the body of a man, her heart still tethered to the fragile girl she used to be.

How am i supposed to live like this? Grace wondered, brushing her hand against her chest. Memories of her past life flooded back: the laughter of her parents, the warmth of Parkston's hand in hers, and the betrayal that led to her fiery end.

A sharp knock broke her reverie.

"Your Highness," a guard announced, stepping into the room with a respectful bow. Draped over his arm were luxurious royal robes. "Your attire for the day. The royal executives are awaiting your presence for a meeting in a few hours. If you need anything, I'll be waiting just down the hall."

"Thank you," Grace stuttered, her voice deep and unfamiliar. She watched as the guard exited, leaving her alone with the robes.

She hesitated before approaching the garments, her steps uncertain. The fabric shimmered under the sunlight, adorned with intricate embroidery and gems. She ran her fingers over the material, marveling at its richness. Prince Quicke must be someone truly important here, she thought, though the notion only deepened her unease.

Turning to the mirror, Grace studied her reflection. She touched her face-his face

with trembling hands, trying to reconcile the image before her with the woman she once was. Her mind flickered to her parents and Parkston. Did they miss her? Did they even know she was gone? And her killers were out there, living freely while she struggled to grasp this new existence.

Her lips tightened into a grim line. They will pay for what they did. But first, I need to survive this.

After hours of practice, Grace finally donned the royal attire. She adjusted the sash, straightened her posture, and took a deep breath. In the mirror, a regal prince stared back at her. Despite her doubts, she allowed herself a small, fleeting smile.

Another knock at the door startled her. This time, it was a woman, stunningly beautiful, with regal poise and a warm smile. "Good morning, Quicke," Queen Judith said, stepping into the room. She wrapped Grace in a hug.

Grace stiffened, caught off guard by the physical affection. "Good morning, Mother," she managed, her voice betraying a hint of discomfort.

The queen stepped back, adjusting Grace's collar. "You look wonderful today. Your father and the council are waiting for you in the great hall. Don't keep us waiting."

Grace nodded, unsure of how to respond. She hesitated, then blurted out, "You look stunning."

Queen Judith paused, her brow furrowing in surprise. Prince Quicke had never been one for compliments. "Thank you," she said, a faint smile gracing her lips. "That means a lot, Quicke. Perhaps today will mark a new beginning for you."

As the queen exited, Grace let out a shaky breath. 'A new beginning ', she thought. 'If only you knew how new this is'.

The great hall was a marvel of wealth and power. Glittering chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, and gold inlays traced the intricate carvings on the walls. The royal family and council members were already seated, their laughter and chatter filling the room. Guards stood at attention, their armor gleaming under the light.

Grace entered, escorted by a royal guard. Heads turned, and the room quieted as she walked down the aisle. She forced herself to maintain a steady pace, her heart pounding in her chest. The respect and reverence in their eyes made her feel like an impostor.

"Good morning, Prince Quicke," a council member greeted her warmly.

"Good morning," Grace replied, her deep voice still foreign to her ears. She took her seat at the table, trying to hide her nerves.

The king, a commanding figure with a crown perched on his graying hair, cleared his throat. "Let us begin."

He looked directly at Grace, his gaze piercing. "Quicke, you are the future of this kingdom. As such, there are certain expectations you must fulfill. Most important among them is the need for a queen by your side."

Grace's stomach dropped.

The king continued, his tone firm. "It is not just a matter of tradition; it is a matter of stability. The people need to see their prince strong, united with a partner who will share the burdens of leadership. This is not a suggestion, Quicke. It is a command. You will find a suitable woman and marry her before your coronation, or you will forfeit your claim to the throne."

Grace struggled to keep her expression neutral. The weight of the king's words pressed down on her like a physical force.

"Do you understand?" the king asked.

"Yes, Father," Grace replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The king rose, signaling the end of the meeting. "Good. This discussion is closed. The council is dismissed."

As the royal members filed out, a few patted Grace on the shoulder, offering words of encouragement. "You'll find someone in no time, Your Highness," one said.

Grace forced a smile, her mind racing. Find someone? she thought. How can I even begin to think about marriage when I don't even know who I am anymore?

She sat at the table long after the others had left, her hands clenched into fists. The life she'd been given was more complicated than she'd ever imagined. "She thought".