The reflection staring back was my face—mostly. But the hair was entirely different. Instead of my usual, styled modern haircut, a waterfall of long, blonde hair cascaded over my shoulders. When I reached up to touch it, my fingers brushed against a heavy, intricate silver headpiece that kept the crown of my new, long hair in place.
Even my features looked different. Paler, more refined, like a high-definition, polished version of myself. I looked exactly like the 'Beautiful Prince' archetype I was always typecast for, only... real.
A sudden, deafening horn blast echoed through the camp, making the bronze basin rattle.
"The march begins!" a voice roared from outside, amplified by spiritual energy. "Bring the Prince out! General Qi is waiting!"
The attendant franticly grabbed a heavy cloak, trying to throw it over my newly robed shoulders. "Please, Your Highness! We must go. If the General has to come inside this tent to get you... please, I beg of you."
I looked at the tent flap. Beyond it was a world of purple skies, a real slaughter, and a man named General Qi who apparently expected to marry the strange, beautiful man in the water reflection.
"This is a nightmare," I said, my voice barely audible. "I'm going to wake up and the director is going to yell 'Cut'."
But as the attendant pulled me toward the exit, the smell of smoke and actual death got stronger, and I realized no one was going to end the scene.
She practically shoved me out of the tent.
I stumbled, my silk slippers immediately sinking into the fine, purple-tinted dust of the camp.
Everywhere I looked, soldiers were moving in a blurred, mechanical rhythm. They were packing crates, sharpening blades, and dragging bodies toward massive pits.
None of them looked like the bored extras I was used to working with. They looked exhausted.
"Keep your head down, Your Highness," the girl whispered, her hand trembling as she gripped my sleeve. "Don't speak. Don't look anyone in the eye."
"That's usually my line for the paparazzi," I muttered, but I did exactly what she said.
We wove through the rows of black tents until the crowd of soldiers began to thin, opening up into a wide, scorched clearing.
In the center of the clearing sat a horse. It was a monster of a creature, jet black and draped in plates of dark steel.
And on that horse sat a man I assumed to be General Qi.
Even from twenty feet away, the man radiated a coldness that made the desert heat vanish.
A crown sat low on his brow, and his eyes, sharp and unforgiving, were fixed on a map held by a subordinate.
He looked like an executioner.
"General," one of the soldiers who had dragged me from the cave stepped forward and bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the dirt. "The Prince has been retrieved. He was found hiding in the back of the mountain caves."
The General didn't look up. He didn't even stop tracing the line on his map. "Is he injured?"
"No, General. Just... confused."
"Confused?" General Qi finally shifted. He turned his head slowly, his gaze sweeping over the camp until it landed squarely on me.
My breath hitched. In every movie I'd done, I'd been told to "act" intimidated, but this was different. My knees actually felt weak. It wasn't because of his size, but the way he looked at me, like I was a piece of equipment that had malfunctioned.
"Come here."
The voice wasn't loud, but it had a weight to it that made my legs move before my brain could protest. My attendant let go of my sleeve, retreating into the shadows of the tents with a final, terrified look.
I walked forward, the hem of my white robes dragging in the dirt. I stopped a few feet from his stirrup, looking up at him. Close up, he was even more terrifyingly handsome
He was all sharp angles and hard muscle.
"General Qi," I said, trying to find my 'regal' voice, the one I used for period dramas. "Look, there's been a massive misunderstanding. I'm not the person you're looking for. I'm an actor from—"
Before I could finish, he leaned down, grabbing my chin with a gloved hand. The leather was cold and smelled of horsehair and iron. He tilted my head back, inspecting my face with a clinical, freezing intensity.
"Still the same nonsense," he rasped, his eyes narrowed. "You disappear into the mountains during the height of a massacre and emerge claiming to be a jester."
He let go of my chin, his lip curling slightly.
"You are the Prince of the Fallen State. You are the Emperor's chosen tribute. And whether you remember or not, you are mine."
He looked over my head at the soldiers standing nearby.
"Throw him into the carriage. If he tries to run again, break his legs. I don't need him to walk to the altar; I only need him to be alive when we reach the Capital."
The soldiers didn't wait for a second command. Two of them stepped forward, their iron gauntlets clamping onto my shoulders with a grip that definitely wasn't in the choreography.
"Wait! At least let me explain—"
They didn't let me explain. They hauled me backward, my silk slippers dragging through the dirt, and marched me toward a heavy, black-lacquered carriage. It looked more like a rolling cage than a royal transport, with small, barred windows and a thick wooden door that looked reinforced with iron.
They threw me inside. I landed hard on a thin, velvet cushion that did nothing to soften the blow to my ribs. The door slammed shut, followed by the heavy clack of a bolt sliding into place.
"Hey! You can't just lock me in here!" I scrambled to the window, grabbing the bars. "This is kidnapping! I have a contract! Do you know how much my agency is going to sue you for?"
Outside, I saw General Qi wheel his massive horse around. He didn't even glance back at the carriage. He raised a hand, and a horn blasted.
The carriage lurched, throwing me back against the wall as the wheels began to groan over the uneven ground.
I slumped onto the floor, staring at the fine, white silk of my sleeves.
The carriage jolted again, a bone-deep shudder that rattled my teeth and sent a sharp sting through the cuts on my palms.
I stared at the blood. It wasn't a prop. It was dark, thick, and it throbbed with every beat of my heart. I pressed my thumb into the wound, expecting to wake up, expecting the pain to be a hallucination. It wasn't. The sting was sharp.
"This can't be..." I whispered, my voice sounding thin and hollow against the wooden walls.
I looked at the barred window, watching the jagged silhouette of the mountains recede. The air was heavier, smelling of dust and horse manure. There were no sirens in the distance, no hum of electricity, no glow of a city on the horizon. Just a vast, terrifying silence broken only by the rhythmic thud of thousands of marching boots.
What the fuck is going on?