Chapter 61: An Ever-Fertile Prince

A few months ago, when the duel of the Four Princes ended and the cheering finally died down, Adonis woke up in the same servant bed he’d been used to since he transmigrated.

It took him another week to stand properly.

After that, he had nothing to do but think.

He thought about the duel. He thought about Clara, and the long talk they’d had. He thought about the novel, and how much of it he’d already torn apart without meaning to.

’Leander was supposed to kill the evil dragon, take the Holy Sword and become king, just like the tale of Saint Melcius.’

Instead, Leander was locked in a sealed room, muttering nonsense to his mother.

’Aldrius was supposed to die of a heart attack when his castle burned down. This is stupid, my only advantage was knowing the future, and that might be gone now.’

So how was the old man still alive?

And then there was Volume 4.

Godfrey was meant to be beheaded by Lloyd Halcyon, the protagonist of the next arc. But that was back when Godfrey was just the First Prince nobody cared about. Now he was second in line, and the darling of the whole kingdom.

’Does the scene still stand? Or does the story find a new one?’

It followed him everywhere.

...

"Adonis. Adonis! Are you listening to me?"

Prussia Dunamis stood over the garden table with her arms crossed, her cheeks puffed out. She’d been talking for five full minutes about a new dragon species her family discovered at the edge of Falsbane territory.

Adonis stared at a butterfly.

"Mhm."

"You said ’mhm’ to the last three questions!"

"Mhm."

Poke.

She jabbed his cheek with one finger. He didn’t react.

Poke. Poke. Poke.

"...You’re ignoring me on purpose!"

"Mhm."

Prussia let out a small hmph and sat down hard, pouting at her teacup with an oddly immature look.

Adonis never noticed.

’If Godfrey dies anyway, who’s holding the knife?’

...

"You’ve gone quiet again."

Queen Minerva set down her cup.

The afternoon tea was cold. Adonis had stirred his sugar into it four times and never taken a sip.

She didn’t ask what was wrong.

She just looked at him for a long moment, then pat her lap.

"Come here."

"Erva, I’m not in the—"

"Come. Here."

He came.

His head sank onto her thighs, and her cool fingers began to comb through his golden hair as he blankly stared up at the painted ceiling.

Minerva said nothing at all. She only kept stroking his hair and the room was quiet for a very long time.

That night at dinner, it was the same. He ate three mouthfuls of roast duck, put his fork down, and gazed at the candle until it burned low.

"Eat..." said Minerva.

"Mhm."

She sighed and cut his duck into smaller pieces herself.

...

On another day, Adonis walked Gilishon’s streets alone.

People noticed him right away.

Merchants waved and children pointed.

Even his mere presence was enough to make a group of young maidens whisper and giggle.

But no one came near him.

’Right. I did show everyone my trump card.’

The whole kingdom had seen what he could really do, and the royal court most of all. To the nobles, he wasn’t the useless fifth prince anymore.

He was a threat.

’If I make another move, they’ll be watching. The court, the king, and... and...’

He stopped in the middle of the street.

’The church...? Of course, the church!’

A cart rolled past him and even with his eyes blown open with surprise, he didn’t notice it.

’Godfrey’s always been a member of the Melcian Church. That’s why he awakened [Grand Holy Knight]. That’s why Aldrius never wanted him as king.’

The pieces finally started to click.

The Church and the throne had never agreed on anything.

One-wife marriage versus a king with five wives.

Faith versus bloodline.

They’re enemies, and they’d been polite about it for years.

’Then Godfrey’s victory wasn’t luck. It was arranged.’

The holy artifact that conveniently stood him back up in front of fifty thousand people.

They didn’t just want a prince, they wanted a poster boy for the Church, loved by the people and blessed by the heavens, ready to be pushed onto the throne.

Adonis started walking again, one hand stroking his chin.

’Which means the smartest thing I can do is nothing.’

No matter how much the story changed, its ending might not. Unless someone with a hand heavy enough to shove the plot around, someone like him, forced it to bend.

So Godfrey would still be beheaded by Lloyd at the end of Volume 4. One way or another.

And it may, or may not, take Aldrius down with him.

’Lloyd is a devout follower of the Church. Godfrey has the people and the Church behind him. So either the Church betrays Godfrey, Godfrey offends the Church, or Lloyd defects to the king’s side.’

Unquestionably, those were the only scenarios that would trigger a death flag for Godfrey.

He shook his head.

’And where does Hershant fit in all this?’

The old chamberlain was the one thread that wouldn’t tie off.

He didn’t fit into any of the three, in motive at least.

Adonis kept walking, deep in thought, one street after another.

He’d been walking for so long he didn’t notice when the stone paving turned to cobbles, or when the lamps changed from white to a soft, warm red.

"Ooh, look at this one!"

"So tall..."

Adonis blinked. "Eh?"

A hand slid into the crook of his arm, then another. The air had the smell of sweet pipe smoke and spiced oil, and the street around him was full of women in thin silk, leaning from doorways with their breasts out, calling to passing men.

He’d wandered into a pleasure district.

A group of them gathered around him, and the dense smoke from their pipes drifted past his face. Most of the women here smoked more than the men. It was mostly performance herbs, the kind that let them last through long nights.

"Such broad shoulders!"

"And that face, oh my goodness, he’s prettier than I am!"

One of them pressed up against his side.

"Wait... wait, isn’t this...? You’re the Fifth Prince!"

The others gasped.

"It’s an honor, Your Highness. Mmm~ share a bed with us and we’ll give you the best night of your life!"

Adonis looked at them and smiled.

"Lead the way."

That’s how it started.

Adonis spent gold like it was sand. He bought food, wine and sweets for every woman in the house. He bought jewelry too, some of it custom-made by Feena herself, and the girls wore it on their wrists and necks like treasure.

Soon, every pleasure district in the capital city looked forward to his visits.

The men of Gilishon looked forward to them a lot less.

The moment word spread that the Fifth Prince was heading to a certain brothel, men ran for the next one. Every beautiful woman in the house wanted him, and the owners knew a good deal when they saw one. Many even cut his price, and he’d walk out of the door with ten, sometimes fifteen women for a single night.

The other men were left with the leftovers.

... Belinda.

A broad-shouldered, sexless woman with hair on her arms and legs, a double chin that had its own double chin, and a chest so large and hard it probably squirted cement. Rumor said she once cracked a customer’s pelvis just by sitting on him.

Soon, half the men in the lower city were limping around and some couldn’t sit.

The protests started within a month.

"This is unfair!"

"Give us back our women!"

A crowd of men gathered outside the Bushy Rose, waving fists and a hand-painted sign that said things like [NO PRINCES BEFORE PAYDAY] or [Cancel Adonis].

The brothel owner held up both hands.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please! It’s not my fault! The girls only want the Fifth Prince!"

"Then tell him to go to the Diplomatic District! Let him dine with the high-class ladies and leave ours alone!"

A man at the front stepped forward, trembling with tears.

"Do you know what it’s like to go home to my sweaty, three-hundred-pound wife every night? This is the only place that gives me joy! And that prince took it away!"

"I haven’t had a decent lap dance in three weeks!"

"He bought out the entire house and I get Belinda again!"

"My knees still haven’t recovered!"

"WHAT ABOUT MY HIPS?!"

The owner had nothing to say.

...

So one night, Adonis left.

He didn’t leave because of the protests, though, but because it was always the plan.

There was a celebration in the lower brothels. The men drank and sang for five days and five nights, and some of them cried into their ale. Belinda was given a rare day off, and used it to sleep.

Only the women felt sorry.

Because here’s the thing, Prince Adonis never slept with a single one of them.

Every visit, he took all of the girls to the biggest room in the house. He’d lie on the cushions, and tell them stories. Sometimes it was Romeo & Juliet, other times Journey to the West. When the night ended, he paid them in gold for their time and walked home.

It was the first time in any of their lives that a man had bought them so many things and cared for them, without asking for their bodies in return.

"The Prince said I had a pretty laugh..."

"He’s mine! He told me my hair looked like silk!"

"Liar! He said that about MY hair!"

"You’re both wrong! He winked at ME first!"

The ladies boldly fought over the prince that wasn’t there.

...

Adonis yawned as he headed for the Diplomatic District.

This was always his real destination.

To stay in touch with the story without stepping into it, he had to be someone nobody feared.

Just another wastrel prince who spent gold on women, with no ambition left.

It would bring the expectations he’d built at the Realm of the Seven Knights back down to the floor, where he could slip beneath everyone’s notice.

There were nobles and church figures who came here for the same reason; beautiful women.

They drank and whispered all kinds of secrets to the women they paid to satisfy them.

All Adonis had to do was sit back and listen.