Chapter Two, Baby Steps

It's been a couple of months since I was reborn. I haven't been up to much, mostly crying and sleeping - normal baby things, not that I have a lot of experience with normal baby things from my past life. There wasn't a lot of normalcy altogether.

In the time I have been awake and lucid, I have learnt some things about my new life. Mainly that I am indeed a girl . . . I guess I shouldn't be so surprised if you're going to be reborn - there's always a chance of something like this happening.

But the problem is I don't feel like a girl, I don't feel like my mother's daughter, Ruža. I still feel like I'm that same lost boy who died cold, wet and ashamed.

I feel awkward as if I'm stuck inside the wrong body, I hope that changes one day, though I don't hold onto much hope currently . . . I guess there is no point agonising over something I can't change.

When I was freshly born, I likened my current home to a palace. I now know better, for I have gazed upon the majesty of the real one. My mother takes me onto the balcony sometimes, and I can see it over in the distance.

The royal palace.

It was made of pure white marble and was adorned with the finest and rarest metals; it was only two or three stories high at its tallest, they didn't prioritise building up. It was wide- wider than you could believe; it shocked me every time I looked upon it. With vast courtyards and gardens full of statues that I couldn't make out from such a distance, where my mother held me in a loving embrace.

It makes my current residence look like a mere holding of some lesser-known and merely forgotten Lord... Or lady, for there were no lords around me, or any men at all for that matter. The only people I had any contact with were my mother and the ladies who seemed to be attending her, and me when the time called for it.

My mother truly was beautiful- diamond blonde hair, silver grey eyes and sharp pointed ears . . . From what I have managed to pick up through my listening to what felt like broken conversations as I shifted through states of consciousness, like only an infant could. My mother seems to be an "Erdia", which is what this world calls those of mixed race . . . Such as my mother, who, to my understanding, was half human, half elf.

Most words I heard as English, even though I heavily doubted the presence of an England in such a world . . .But some words I heard as Euskara, the language of the Basque people from my old world. My current theory is that those around me, especially my mother, can speak two different languages, and as such, they are translated into two different languages I know. Erdia, meaning half in Euskara, is such an example of this.

By that token, I am also an Erdia even though I was strictly not half of anything, as my father himself appeared to be human, not that I've met him. I have heard many conversations not meant for a baby's ears, I can't blame them for not being more careful- you don't assume your newborn can understand you perfectly fine.

To my understanding, my father was a man in the country's military. My mother and those around her referred to him as a stud, A man specifically chosen for his genetic qualities. Mother was quite the same, she wasn't a noble woman, not even close to it. She was specially picked out of a common everyday village to mother a concubine for the newly born Prince, the next ruler of the Kingdom of Ekaina.

That being me . . .

It seems from some murmurs I have been picking up, that I'm not the only candidate . . . Lucky boy. From everything I have learnt, it seems concubines hold a significant role in this country's systems and culture, though exactly how this is, I haven't been able to ascertain.

They treat us with a prominent level of care and prestige. From what I can tell by my own experience in this world, we reside in what is called the outer palace. A vast area composed of lower-born royals, or in my case, people of potential use to the inner palace.

At least they seem to be strict on avoiding any incestual relations . . .

If the history of my old world taught me anything, it's that this isn't always a guarantee . . . Speaking of guarantees, someone's sex isn't one of them, at least in my old world, assuming it's the same here. . .

I wonder what they do with the boys.

I hope it's nothing too cruel, but I have my problems to worry about right now.

Firstly, how to wiggle out of childbearing duty.

Though that will have to wait as my mother begins her nightly lesson. I have many lessons throughout the day, mostly imposed of my mother's attendees trying to teach me the phonics of this countries alphabet- again it just sounds like English to me- but I cannot speak it still, trying to speak in my current state feels like someone trying to lift their foot after severing their achilles tendon- trust me, I've experienced it.

I remember how to do it . . . I remember it working . . . But something's missing now, and it won't budge . . . And it hurts to try . . .

But I guess from their perspective, it doesn't hurt to get ahead. My mother's lessons I enjoy much more, if you could even call them lessons, that is. Maybe they are more of a show?

My mother takes me up in her arms and holds me gently just as she is doing now, "My beautiful little Ruža, do you want to see a magic trick?" I grab onto her dainty little finger, which feels so big in my tiny hands, her touch always fills me with such warmth and safety . . . I felt ashamed for craving it, but there was no one to judge me... No one to correct me, not right now.

"Well, if you want to see, you're going to have to let go of my finger, Ruža" I obeyed like it was an order from my old commander, but it wasn't fear that made me let go of that finger. The air around me started to turn icy cold, but it was not uncomfortable like it would've been in my old body; it felt familiar and caring.

My mother flicked her finger in a back-and-forth motion, my infant eyes struggled to remember, but the effect wasn't pencilled into my heart; it was ingrained into it.

A rose made of ice, more alluring than any my old world or any world for that matter could conjure, materialised with an unparalleled artistry at the foot of my mother's finger. It floated there, mesmerising me with its form.

All had the potential to use magia in this world, I had seen my mother's attendants use it to help with certain chores around our little slice of palace life . . . But Elven magia stood above the rest, I only needed to look upon my mother's nightly gift to come to that conclusion.

If it wasn't for the shock of being reborn as a girl, the realisation that magic existed in this world probably would've overwhelmed me . . . now it was nothing more than a comfort.

In my old world, I was the deadliest assassin . . . In this world, I am dazzled by icy flowers.