I had just crossed over into this world—a twisted romance fantasy where royalty seemed to exist only to be humiliated—and woken up as its sovereign King. Right there in the royal rose garden, four adopted daughters had formed a protective ring around a delicate, pretty-faced youth, actively forcing my trueborn heir to his knees. When they saw me approach, there wasn't a flicker of guilt or fear in their eyes. Just sheer, haughty impatience. Vera, the eldest, stepped out first, her chin lifted with righteous indignation. "Greetings, Father. The Crown Prince struck Lucien across the face without provocation. If he hasn't learned basic respect as the heir to this realm, then as his elder sisters, we will teach him manners ourselves." Summer, the second, was even colder. Her tone carried the dismissive bite of an annoyed socialite. "Why are you even out here, Father? We were merely putting a little fear into him. Did he really run crying to you like a spoiled child?" My head was still throbbing from the sudden convergence of two lives, the reality of my new skin setting in. "Let me understand this," I said slowly. "You claim that forcing the Crown Prince of this kingdom onto his knees in the dirt is just 'putting a little fear into him'? That you're teaching him manners?" Autumn, the third, stepped forward, her brow furrowed with theatrical tragedy. "Yes, Father! A little adversity builds character. Lucien is the son of Earl Colvin—he has been gentle and pure since childhood. Yet Edric uses his royal station to torment him relentlessly. Last week he shoved Lucien into the pond, and today he struck him without cause. It is vicious and arrogant. He deserves this lesson!" Winter, the youngest, puffed out her cheeks, chiming in with shrill certainty: "Exactly! Stay out of this, Father! If Edric doesn't get on his knees and beg Lucien's pardon, this doesn't end!" I glanced toward Edric. His garments were torn, and three jagged, bleeding gouges ran from his temple to his jawline—fresh fingernail tears, deep and cruel. His fists trembled, his eyes burning with silent, humiliated fury. "Father," the boy choked out, "I didn't!" "Good lord." This was the textbook webnovel melodrama setup: the rightful heir abused while a band of self-righteous hypocrites coddled a manipulative little snake. Was this King supposed to be a decorative coat rack? Testing the water, I kept my voice deceptively calm. "You expect the Crown Prince of this realm to kneel and apologize to the son of a foreign vassal? And what if I refuse?" The four sisters answered in chilling, rehearsed unison: "Then we will ensure Mother never speaks to you again!" I blinked. "That’s it? That’s your leverage?" 1 The moment the words left their mouths, the previous king’s memories crashed into my mind like a bursting dam. Edric was the only child of the late queen. After her death, the King had wed Isabella, widely celebrated as the greatest beauty in Albion. But despite commanding a million-strong army and sitting on an imperial throne, the previous monarch had been a pathetic, groveling lapdog. He had neglected his court for Isabella. He had cast aside his dignity, pandering to her every narcissistic whim, jumping through hoops just to earn a passing glance. And this frail, porcelain creature, Lucien? He was the only son of Earl Colvin—Isabella’s untouchable, unrequited high-school-sweetheart archetype. These four "princesses" hadn't been adopted out of charity to keep the young prince company. They were Isabella’s lapdogs, placed beside Edric to isolate, police, and tear him down. Seeing my hesitation, Summer took another aggressive step forward, her lip curled in distaste. "Father, we are merely disciplining our little brother. It's not as though we're going to break him..." I let out a soft, humorless chuckle, looking down at her. "So until he is bled dry beneath your boots, it doesn't count as breaking him?" Vera caught Summer's arm, tossing her hair with an exasperated scoff. "Don't lose your temper, Father. Edric attacked Lucien purely out of petty jealousy. As his elder sisters, it is our duty to teach him magnanimity. A simple apology on his knees—it will give him something to remember." Behind Vera’s skirts, Lucien clutched at the silk fabric. His eyes were rimmed in red, shimmering with practiced, martyr-like vulnerability. "Your Majesty... please do not blame the Princesses. It is all my fault," he whimpered, his voice trembling like a bruised flower. "I should never have accompanied them into the gardens. I offended His Highness, so it was only natural for him to strike me. If it will calm His Highness's wrath, I will kneel to him right now." He made a theatrical show of falling forward. Autumn gasped, instantly catching him under the arms, cradling him like a wounded bird. "Lucien, you are too pure for this world! It is not your fault—do not degrade yourself for a monster!" She snapped her head toward me, eyes blazing with sanctimonious fury. "Did you hear that, Father? Lucien has more grace in his little finger than your son has in his whole body! Edric is envious and cruel. Is this the sort of monster you raised?" Winter nodded furiously. "It's true, Father! He terrorizes the capital just because he wears a crown. If we don't teach him his place today, he'll grow into nothing more than a tyrant tomorrow!" "Unbelievable." They genuinely believed their script was bulletproof. The delusion was so absolute it was almost mesmerizing. "So," I murmured, "by that logic, I should be thanking you?" The rose garden went dead silent. Vera parted her lips, about to offer some patronizing "'as long as you understand, Father,'" but something in the chill of my gaze made the words stick in her throat. Winter, lacking even that minimal instinct for self-preservation, blurted out: "Well, if you really insist on thanking us, we wouldn't—" "Winnie, shut your mouth!" Vera hissed. Winter flinched, biting her lip in wounded defiance, muttering, "It's the truth..." 2 I looked at the four of them the way one looks at carcasses hanging in an alley. Then my gaze settled on Lucien. Credit where it was due: the boy was an artisan of weaponized frailty. High cheekbones, fine porcelain skin, delicate lashes trembling under the weight of an unshed tear. A masterclass in high-society victimhood. Pity for him, I had zero appetite for snakes. Under my scrutiny, Lucien began to squirm. Right on cue, two perfect tears spilled over his lower lids. "Your Majesty... truly, I am fine. If only His Highness could find it in his heart to forgive—" "Forgive you?" I cut in, turning back to Vera. "Tell me. Why did Edric hit this pretty boy?" Vera froze. She hadn't bothered asking for context; to her, Lucien’s tears were sufficient evidence. She cleared her throat, falling back on sheer arrogance. "Why else? Jealousy!" "Jealous of what?" "Of... of how much we love Lucien, of course!" I gave a slow nod, stepping over to Edric. "Lift your head." Edric looked up. The three gouges tore straight from his hairline to his jaw, the raw edges weeping blood. They had dug their nails in deep. "Tell me," I said quietly. "Why did you strike Lucien?" Edric’s jaw clenched, his voice cracked with raw, humiliated fury: "...Lucien told me you were weak. He said you were a coward who danced on Mother's strings, and that everyone in the capital knows Mother has been in love with his father for years." The boy drew a ragged breath, tears of rage finally breaking through. "He said it wouldn't be long before Mother made you hand the crown to Earl Colvin. He told me the throne would belong to him soon anyway. And then... then he told me to get on my knees and bow to him now, just to get used to the practice." The silence that followed was suffocating. The color drained from the four sisters' faces all at once. Lucien went rigid, his theatrical tears drying instantly on his cheeks. A bolt of raw panic tore through his eyes. He dropped to his knees with a dull thud against the gravel. "I didn't! Your Majesty, give me the courage of a thousand men and I still wouldn't dare utter such treason! He's lying—he's framing me! You must see through his lies, Sire!" "Father!" Vera recovered first, her voice shrill. "Don't listen to his slander! Edric is simply trying to deflect—" Summer stepped up, her tone icy: "Crown Prince, lying is a foul habit for someone who expects to rule!" 3 I took off my heavy velvet mantle, draped it gently over Edric’s shaking shoulders, and drew him behind me. "Your father is here," I said, my voice steady. "No one touches you again." Vera’s brows knitted tight, her tone sour with open disgust. "Father, shielding him like this will be his ruin. Edric, if you have any sense left, apologize to Lucien right now, and we might consider letting this go—" "CRACK!" The slap was like a whip cracking across the stone balustrades. Vera’s face snapped violently to the side. A bead of dark blood welled at the corner of her lips, her eyes wide with uncomprehending shock. The other three gasped in unison, stepping back as if burned. "Father! What are you doing?!" "What am I doing? Pruning the weeds." "Guards!" I barked. Within a breath, a dozen armored Royal Guards burst from the garden colonnade, their heavy broadswords drawn, dropping to one knee with a deafening metallic crash. "Sire!" The silver plate of their pauldrons caught the afternoon light, cold and merciless. "Seize all five of them." "By your command!" Ten veteran soldiers moved like hunting hounds, lunging forward and slamming the screaming girls and Lucien face-first into the gravel in the span of a heartbeat. "Get your filthy hands off me! How dare you lay hands on royal blood!" The garden erupted into wild shrieks and thrashing limbs. Vera wrenched her head up, five crimson finger-marks swelling across her pale cheek. Even pinned in the dirt, the toxic righteousness clung to her like perfume. "Father... are you truly doing this over a petty squabble? If striking me soothes your wounded pride, I bear it without complaint! But hear this: Edric must learn honesty and respect. Until he does, neither I nor my sisters will ever acknowledge him as our brother!" Lucien sobbed from beneath a guard's iron boot, his voice shaking: "Thank you, sisters... His Majesty is so terrifying... I'm so frightened..." Summer glared up at me, pure contempt dripping from her voice. "You disgust me, Father! I thought your love for Mother meant you possessed some shred of nobility, some sense of justice! You are no better than a common brute spoiling a violent child!" Autumn and Winter shrieked on cue: "You've lost your mind!" "You believe a lying brat over us? Striking your own daughters—when the capital hears of this, they will laugh you off the throne!" I looked down at their porcelain faces, twisted with entitlement. They were Isabella's creations, through and through: selfish, parasitic, and completely untethered from reality. "Ungrateful, treasonous vermin," I said softly. "Roland." A hulking commander stepped out from the ranks, dropping to one knee with a fist over his breastplate. "Sire!" "Strip these four frauds of their royal styling. Take them, along with Earl Colvin's whelp, down to the Crown penal brothels in the Lower Quarter. Let the common garrison teach them what obedience looks like." The guards exchanged dark, hungry glances. "To the death, Sire!" 4 To my astonishment, the four girls didn't tremble. They laughed. Winter giggled hysterically, shaking her head. "Stop acting, Father! Who do you think you're frightening?" Vera spat a mouthful of dirt, sneering with absolute certainty: "Throwing a tantrum has its limits. Mother raised us with her own hands. Everyone knows you worship the ground she walks on. If Mother hears of this, do you honestly think you can survive her fury?" Summer added, her voice thick with ridicule: "Exactly. Swallow your pathetic pride, make Edric apologize to Lucien, and let this end before you make a complete fool of yourself." Autumn scoffed. "How far do you intend to push this farce? Give you a hundred lifetimes and you still wouldn't dare lay a finger on us. Are you truly not afraid Mother will never speak to you again?" I looked at their smug, smirking faces and genuinely started laughing. The sheer absurdity of it. I had inherited an empire. I commanded millions of soldiers. I held the absolute power of life and death over an entire continent. And these idiots thought I lived in terror of the silent treatment? Without answering, I gestured toward Roland. Roland leaned in, his scarred face grim. "Sire?" "The Crown penal brothels," I asked in an undertone. "You know how they operate?" Roland blinked, then broke into a broad, ruthless grin. "Sire, in my reckless youth, I frequented those barracks. I know every brutal rule of the yard." "Excellent." I raised my voice, ensuring it carried across the rose garden with razor-sharp clarity: "Escort them personally. Instruct the overseers that these five have my special dispensation. Tell them to break their pride completely. No courtesies. No mercy." Roland bowed deeply, his voice booming like rolling thunder: "Understood, Your Majesty!" He turned on his heel, his cloak snapping in the wind. "Drag them out!" The guards hauled them up like sacks of meal. Finally, the cracks appeared in their masks. Winter was the first to snap, her voice reaching a frantic, shrill pitch: "Father! You wouldn't dare!" I stepped forward, my eyes hardening to ice. "Smack! Smack! Smack!" Three backhands cracked through the air in brutal succession. "Watch me," I whispered. "Drag them away." God, in a world running on unhinged romance logic, a solid backhand was remarkably therapeutic. Now, real terror took root. Vera’s face was a mottled mess of red and white, her jaw trembling. "Father! You... you struck us again?! You're... you're serious?!" "Did you think I was joking?" I shook out my stinging palm, looking down at her with dead eyes. "I am the King. My word is law." Summer and Autumn felt the burning agony radiating through their cheekbones. The realization finally crashed down: the king who used to beg for their mother's smile was gone. Their screams fractured into desperate, ugly sobs as the iron grips of the guards dragged them toward the gates. "Father! No! Not the brothels! Mother will strip you of your crown! Father—!"
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