Paul Callahan was in big trouble. He was supposed to be sitting at home right now, working on his essay. The one that was due tomorrow. He was already at risk of failing that class, but there was a problem. It was Thursday. That meant a new episode of his favorite show.

  Every Thursday, he and two of his best friends met up to watch it together. They’d get some snacks, drink a few beers, and hang out afterwards. It was the most important part of everyone’s week. Now, Paul could have missed a regular episode to work on his essay, or he could have asked his friends to move the watching party to tomorrow, but could he do that to the season finale? Especially after last week’s cliffhanger?

  No. He couldn’t. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only class he was struggling with.

  Back in high school, everyone was impressed with his grades. Paul was one of the best students in his class and he managed to get into this prestigious college out of state. His entire family was so proud when he finally received his acceptance letter. And now he was failing.

  It’s not the end of the world, he thought to himself, I’m not the first student to fail a class. Nor the last. Sure, it would suck if I had to repeat any courses from this semester, especially considering the tuition, but it was just a simple mistake, right? I’ll pass next time!

  This is college after all! This is the time to spread my wings, meet new friends, make new connections. I’m free for the first time in my life. Can anyone really blame me for enjoying my newfound freedom?

  Such thoughts occupied his head as he rushed through the rainy streets towards his friend’s house. He wanted to get out of the downpour as soon as possible. It was fogging up his glasses and soaking through his raincoat.

  He almost made it by now. He just had to get across the street and he could settle in just in time for the newest episode.

  Unfortunately he wouldn’t get the chance to see how that story ends. As he ran across the asphalt, a truck was coming from the other side. The driver reached down to pick something up from the passenger’s seat and turned away from the road. He didn’t see the student, dressed in a black coat, jogging across the dark street in this pouring rain.

  Paul too hadn’t see the truck coming. Too preoccupied with his thoughts, he rushed across the street without thinking. He turned just in time to see the headlights coming right at him.

  “Oh shi-“ was all he managed to say, before everything turned black.

  -*-*-*-

  The next thing he noticed was some muffled voices around him. Paul tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy.

  His limbs felt like lead, but he could feel himself lying on some sort of bed. Am… am I alive, he wondered, is this a hospital?

  He heard a female voice. “You were right sir! I can’t believe it worked! He made it!”

  “Patience Perry, patience,” a man replied, “we have to make sure we don’t lose him now.”

  Well, I guess this is a hospital then. I can leave everything up to them now, Paul thought and fell back asleep.

  -*-*-*-

  When Paul woke again, he was feeling a little better. He was still very weak, but he could at least open his eyes. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the brightness in the room. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but it was daytime now.

  Lying on his back, the first thing he noticed was the ceiling. It was wooden, decorated with complicated patterns. I’ve never seen a hospital like this, he thought, is it a clinic in some old building?

  He turned his neck to look around the room. His bed was unusually lavish for an institution like this. It was made out of solid wood, with fantastical figures cut into the bedposts. The walls were lined with wooden furniture. The cupboards looked straight out of a museum. Silver and on a few occasions golden decorations stood on top of them.

  The most surprising thing however, were the candles. They were unlit, but they still perplexed Paul. He couldn’t find any other sources of light in the room, apart from the fireplace. No lamps, not even any power plugs either.

  What kind of place is this, he wondered.

  His memories were a little foggy, but he finally remembered the reason he passed out in the first place. Close to panicking, he looked down at his body, still covered by a large silk sheet. He pulled the cloth off of himself. Surprisingly, he looked completely fine. As far as he could tell, there were no traces of any wounds or stitches on him.

  His clothes seemed a little strange, however. He expected to be wearing some kind of a robe, or perhaps uniform. Instead, the white shirt he wore had far more flounces than anything he wore in his entire life. It looked straight out of a theater play.

  He heard the doors open and he immediately looked back up. A woman walked in carrying a tray. Paul leaned up to get a better look at her. She had short black hair and wore a long white apron. She must have been around twenty years old.

  As he watched her, another unexpected thing struck him. Normally, without his glasses, a person’s face would appear blurry at this distance. Yet he could see her perfectly clear. He even checked to ensure that he didn’t have them on his face, somehow.

  The woman stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw him move. She stared at him for a second, even more shocked than he was, then turned towards the doors. “Master Zarkon! Come here quick!”

  Paul heard rushing footsteps outside and soon two new people entered the room. The first must have been the so-called Master Zarkon. He was an older man, with greying hair and an impressive mustache. He too wore a white apron. The second, was another woman, who looked identical to the first one. They must have been twins. She was the only one without an apron.

  The man walked past the girl still holding a tray. He pulled up a stool and sat by Paul’s bed. “How are you feeling, lord?”

  Lord? The student was confused, but he decided to play along for now. “Tired. Very tired,” he answered groggily.

  Zarkon nodded. He touched Paul’s forehead and checked for a fever. “You were out cold for several days, but it seems that the worst has passed for now.”

  “How bad was the accident?” the student asked.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The older man’s eyes widened for a second. “Accident? Ah, you must be talking about your sickness, right?”

  “I… may-maybe?,” Paul stammered.

  Zarkon nodded sagely. “I see. Tell me, prince Varre, are your memories feeling a little fuzzy?”

  Prince Varre, the student cocked his brow, but remained silent for now. What the hell is he talking about? Does he have me confused with someone else?

  Paul looked around the room one more time. The old furniture. The wooden walls. The strange clothing. It all started coming together. It can’t be real, can it, he wondered, am I really in another world? Or is this some sort of dream? Who knows what drugs they gave at the hospital. Well, I guess I better play it safe until I figure out what’s going on here.

  “Yes. You could say that,” Paul finally answered, “a little bit fuzzy.”

  It looked like Zarkon smirked, but the student couldn’t be certain if he hadn’t imagined it. Either way, the old man looked down and grabbed Paul’s hand as if to check his pulse. “Yes, I feared as much,” the old man said, “as I warned, this treatment is effective, but it carries the risk of amnesia.”

  That’s convenient, Paul thought, maybe I can use this is an excuse. “And how long does this amnesia last?” he asked.

  “That depends,” Zarkon replied, “can you remember anything? Anything at all? Like say, your family?”

  The student decided to think before answering. Let’s see. Could this be some kind of a trick question? I don’t know how extensive such an amnesia can be. He did call me a prince, so I’m most likely some kind of royalty. But that’s pretty much all I know for now. If we assume this isn’t just a prank, than this country is most likely some kingdom. If I answer incorrectly, it could get me into trouble. It’s probably best to play up the foggy mind angle for now.

  “I’m afraid not,” Paul finally said, “I’m trying to look into my memories, but I still have a terrible migraine.”

  The two women in the back gave each other a look.

  “I thought as much. I’m afraid that this amnesia could be rather long-term in this case. Perhaps, with time, you can recover your memories. But there is a risk that they may be lost forever,” the old man showed his patient a reassuring smile, “now the good news is that you are alive. After all, very few people survive the Soulkiller plague.”

  “The Soulkiller plague?” Paul had never heard of anything like it, but it definitely did not sound good.

  Again, the two women in the back looked at each other.

  Zarkon turned around to look at them. “Girls, why don’t you bring the prince some warm soup?”

  They nodded and left the room.

  “Yes, your highness,” the old man turned back to his patient, “it’s a very dangerous illness. Rare, but very deadly. I had to use some extreme methods to cure it. The loss of your memories is an unfortunate side effect. But I think you’ll agree that saving your life was more important.”

  “I do. You’ve made the right choice,” Paul paused for a second, “are there any other side effects I should be worried about? Am I contagious?”

  “No. The worst has passed for now. I think it would be best to have you rest in bed for a few more days. To let your body recover. But afterwards, you’ll be free.”

  Before the student could ask another question, he heard a new set of footsteps rushing outside of the room. Either something happened, or that soup has to be eaten while very fresh, he thought.

  Another middle aged man suddenly ran into the room. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Paul sitting up, but quickly recovered. He rushed over to the bed and kneeled down on the ground next to it.

  “Prince Varre!” he called out in tears, “you’re alright! I can’t believe it!”

  Paul wasn’t sure how to react. He wanted to console the sobbing man, but he had no idea who this was. He didn’t even know how to begin. Luckily, Zarkon realized the awkwardness of the situation.

  “Benjamin, I must inform you that the prince is experiencing the very side effects I told you about,” the healer said.

  “You mean… did he really…?” the man still kneeling on the ground couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes, I’m afraid the prince has lost his memories,” Zarkon confirmed.

  “My lord… Varre…” Benjamin grabbed the student’s hand and asked in a soft voice, “do you remember me?”

  “I… do not. Sorry,” Paul replied awkwardly, “I have amnesia. I couldn’t even recall my own name, until he said it,” he nodded towards the healer.

  “Well,” the kneeling man released Paul’s hand and stood back up, wiping a tear off his face. “In that case, allow me to introduce myself again,” he took a deep bow, “I am Benjamin, your family’s personal chamberlain.”

  “Good to meet you Benjamin. I, apparently, am Prince Varre.”

  The servant smiled. “I’m so glad to have you back. I was so worried when you caught the plague. I only wish we accepted master Zarkon’s offer sooner.”

  “What offer,” Paul asked.

  The healer sat up straight. “When I heard that your family fell under the Soulkiller curse, I came as soon as I could. I was working on some new treatment methods and believed I could help you. Fortunately I was correct.”

  Benjamin was on the verge of tearing up again. “When master Zarkon first arrived at the manor, I told your father about his offer, but I’m afraid duke Tymon didn’t want to hear anything about it. I watched his condition deteriorate, day by day. Until finally he fell unconscious. Then it was time for your mother, and finally yourself my lord.

  “Still, I followed the duke’s orders. Master Zarkon came by every day, asking about your condition and repeating his offer, but I did not let him in. Then, your mother died. Next, it was your father. I could not sit idly by and watch your entire line be stamped out! I disobeyed my orders and allowed master Zarkon to treat you.

  “I had my doubts at first. The master occupied the entire second floor of the manor and only allowed his assistants back here. I thought I made a mistake, but now my only regret is not allowing him in here sooner. Perhaps your parents would have survived.”

  Benjamin’s story gave Paul, much to think about. So my father was a duke. Not a king. Now I still don’t know if he was ruling over the whole country or simply a part of it. But either way, does this make me the new ruler? I’ll need to find out more information first, but to do that it’s best to start fitting in. I have to get used to my new name.

  “Well Benjamin, then I’m glad you’ve made the right choice,” Paul, or rather prince Varre said, “you saved my life. And you only hesitated because of my father’s orders. No one can blame you for that.”

  “Thank you, your highness. Your words mean a lot,” the chamberlain looked down, “but I will carry these regrets with me, to the end of my life. Please, if you think I need to be relieved of my duties for my incompetence, do not hesitate to do so my lord.”

  Zarkon looked at the prince. “I would advise against that. With your amnesia, you will need all the help you can get to return to your regular life. And Benjamin will be able to help you with anything you need to know,” he turned to the servant, “you can think of that as the punishment for your inaction.”

  Yes, I suppose it would be much easier if I had a loyal person to rely on, Varre thought, Someone who could cover for me if I accidentally revealed too much. Assuming this is all real of course. I don’t want anyone to think I’m possessed and decide to burn me at the stake. He smiled at Benjamin. “I would like you to continue your work for my family. With whatever duties you were doing before, of course.”

  The servant kneeled down again. “Thank you my lord, my gratitude knows no bounds. I will make sure to serve you to the best of my abilities and help your recovery. I will continue in my duties as your chamberlain and assist you with any tasks you deem necessary. You may rely on me for anything!”

  “Well, I’m glad that’s sorted out,” Zarkon said, “now, I believe the prince should eat some soup. His body is still very weak and needs sustenance.”

  The two girls, apparently the healer’s assistants, quietly stood by the doorway waiting for the conversation to be over. As soon as they were called in, they brought a bowl over to Varre. They put a tray on a nightstand by his bed.

  Benjamin immediately perked up. “My lord! Please, allow me to feed you!”

  Good job servant, Varre thought just barely stopping himself from an eye roll, I would much rather have a middle aged man feed me soup instead of a nurse. He decided to leave such thoughts to himself, especially after seeing Benjamin’s excited face as he picked up the spoon.

  The soup was hot, but not unpleasantly so. It must have cooled down slightly during the previous conversation. It was decent. A broth together with some root vegetables inside, but nothing impressive.

  Zarkon watched the scene for a short while, before finally speaking up. “Now, I think we should let the prince rest for now, but there is one more test I’d like to run once you’re feeling a little better.”

  “What’s that?” Varre asked, in-between spoonfuls of the soup.

  “Amnesia is the worst side effect that can happen as a result of my treatment, but to be absolutely certain that your health is improving we need to measure your talents and abilities. It’s possible that they changed after your… recovery,” the healer gave the prince a look so suspicious that Varre almost shuddered.

  Classic excuse.

  I hope the professor buys it.