I stare at the messengers, my ears suddenly filled with ringing noise that completely drowns out all the other sounds. The old man with the parchment keeps speaking, his ugly smile still curving his lips, but no words reach me.

Replacement?

"Seize them," I snap, pointing at him.

The ringing still fills my ears, so I don't hear my own voice, but, apparently, others do. There are instantly guards standing behind the three messengers, and the one with the parchment stops smiling.

"Throw them into the dungeons," I say, trying to shake off the strange, dizzy feeling. Is this how people feel before fainting? "They're to be executed later."

Slowly, the sounds begin to come back, and I become aware of all the people watching me, having heard what the old man has said.

"What're you waiting for?" I roar, and this time, I hear myself perfectly. "Prepare for the battle!"

People vacate the great hall quickly, as much in a hurry to follow my order as they are to get away from me. Guards drag the messengers away. Eventually, the only ones who remain are my two guards, Sagaristio, and Emilio.

Only that's not his real name, apparently.

I turn around and stride to him as he flattens himself against the column.

I grab his throat, pushing him back so that his head hits the stone. I barely hold myself from squeezing my fingers all the way and tearing his windpipe out, my rage threatening to blow me to pieces. I bring my face closer, peering into his horrified eyes.

"Speak," I say, surprised by my own calm voice. "Who are you?"

He makes choking sounds, grasping at my hand, his eyes bulging.

"He can't speak," says Sagaristio. I glance back and find him standing with his hands crossed on his chest, watching us. "You're choking him."

"Don't you have anywhere else to be?"

"I must see this." He smiles a little. "It clearly won't take long."

I growl and return my attention to Emilio whose face is turning purple. His toes are barely touching the floor now as the pressure of my hand almost raises him above it.

"Is. It. True," I say, spitting every word. "What they said."

"You're breaking his neck," remarks Sagaristio.

"I know damn well what I'm doing!" I turn to him, letting go of Emilio who crumbles to the floor like a sack of flour. "You've heard what they said! He's fake!"

"I did." He shrugs. "It kind of makes sense now." He nods at Emilio, gasping and coughing by my feet. "A few things about him did seem...off."

I grab a handful of blond hair and force Emilio's face up. My eyes meet his, full of tears that have already begun spilling down his cheeks. He's still trying to catch his breath.

"Is it true?" I yell into his face.

He squeezes his eyes shut as if my words were a slap.

Then, he nods.

I let go of his hair and straighten up, my mind flooded by memories, all kinds of little things suddenly clicking into places. Him being so pale, for one thing, seemed strange from the start. It was more suited for a lady of the court—or for someone who's mostly awake at nights? Him not knowing how to hold a sword properly. Him mentioning that he had no access to the royal library as a child.

Him sucking on my finger when I fed him a pear.

I unsheathe my sword. The ominous metallic sound makes him shudder, but he remains kneeling on the floor, looking down.

"Speak." The calmness of my own voice creeps me out. It's as if someone else is talking through my lips. "Who are you?" I fear I know the answer, but I must hear it from him.

He looks up, his face wet.

"Nobody," he says, his eyes fixing on the tip of the sword hovering near his face. "I grew up...in a brothel. I never knew my parents. I don't know if I was born there, or bought by the owner, or stolen. I was raised there, and when I was old enough..." He swallows and looks away. "They put me to work."

"Aha," I say in that new cool, detached voice of mine as my worst suspicion becomes the reality.

"I do look very much like the prince." His apologetic tone makes me cringe. "A few nobles who used my...services, have said that. So, I started to dress like him, and cut my hair like him, and read books to sound clever..." He sniffles and gives me a sad look. "I did enjoy the books, you know?"

"You sounded like a noble to me," says Sagaristio, coming closer. "I'll give you that."

"Really?" Emilio's face brightens briefly as he glances at him. "Thank you. I've spent a lot of time with the nobles, you see. They would come and make me dress and act like the prince, and then they would do to me things they wanted to do to him. I was like the second-best thing, you see? Those who wanted to hit him could hit me. Those who wanted to fuck him could fuck me. Those who wanted him to kiss their feet could get that from me. I was very popular."

Sagaristio chuckles while I remain silent.

"But then, the rumors have reached the king about what was going on, and he got really mad. I got arrested and put in the dungeons to await execution.

"Then, prince Emilio himself came to look at me. He was so amused by our similarity that he took me to be his servant."

"Servant," I repeat.

He glances at me guiltily. "Sometimes he slept with me, too. He found it entertaining, doing it to his lookalike."

"Apparently, everyone has slept with you." For some reason, I laugh. There's no mirth in that laughter, though, and he senses that, for he looks at me with newly found horror. "Everyone but me, that is."

"Yes, you..." He swallows and looks down at his hands clutched on his knees. "You were kind to me."

"Kind?"

I press the tip of by sword to his throat, just above the collarbone. He jerks instinctively back, but the column behind him prevents him from going further.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

The tip of the sword presses against the skin of his throat. I remember kissing him there, and a new wave of revulsion rises in me, mixed with anger and regret. I thought he was a treasure, but he was just a piece of trash they threw me—and then spent the following months laughing at me for swallowing their bait, all the while building a fleet to attack me with.

They made me fall for a whore.

The humiliation is unimaginable. It can only be washed off by blood—by Bawdrick's blood, by that of his real son, and by the blood of this despicable creature now kneeling at my feet.

My fingers tighten around the hilt of the sword. One movement, and the first part of my revenge will be enacted. His blood will color the floor red, and he'll become the first causality in the battle that's about to begin.

Apart for paying for his deceit, his execution won't matter much. I've never wanted him. I wanted what I thought he was. His sweet-smelling hair, his curious eyes, his sarcastic remarks, the long afternoons spent talking and laughing—it was all a lie.

He's just a human doll meant to please whoever is playing with him.

He's even succeeded in making me believe he was a virgin. Oh, the irony! Keeping my hands off this whore to spare his perceived innocence.

The tip of the sword presses harder at his skin. He's not even shivering anymore, just kneeling there, waiting. Then, slowly, he looks up. His wide eyes gaze upon me with such sadness that my hand feels heavy all of a sudden.

A sound of a cannon going off somewhere at a distance makes us all look up.

"You're wasting your time," Sagaristio says sharply. "There's an enemy on your doorstep. Throw him into prison and talk to him later if you wish."

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