The Prince's Script

Chapter 1: The First Entry

The silk sheets felt like water against Bakti’s skin, but the air in the room was thick with the scent of lilies and something metallic. He pushed himself up, his head throbbing as if he’d been hit with a lead pipe. The room was grand, cavernous, and entirely unfamiliar.

"Where the hell am I?" Bakti muttered, blinking at the ornate gold canopy overhead.

"Finally awake, Your Highness?" a voice rasped.

Bakti jumped, his heart hammering against his ribs. Standing by the heavy oak door was a servant with eyes as cold as glass.

"Who are you? And why are you staring at me like that?" Bakti asked, clutching the covers to his chest.

"I’m Rajasa, as I have been for the past ten years," the servant replied, his tone dripping with practiced indifference. "Your tea is cooling. You shouldn't keep the routine waiting."

"Routine? What routine? I don't even know who you are," Bakti said, his voice rising in panic.

Rajasa didn't blink. "You’ve been hitting the wine again, haven't you? The diary is on the nightstand. Read it. Maybe it’ll jog your pathetic memory."

Bakti scrambled to the edge of the bed. A leather-bound book lay there, its cover embossed with a royal crest. He flipped it open. The handwriting was jagged, frantic, and—chillingly—his own.

‘6:00 AM: Wake up disoriented. The servants are watching. Don't mention the headache. 6:15 AM: Rajasa brings the Earl Grey. Don't drink it. The sugar is bitter today.’

Bakti’s blood ran cold. "Hey, Rajasa! How did you know the sugar would be bitter?"

Rajasa paused, his hand hovering over the silver tea tray. "What kind of question is that? It’s exactly how you asked for it last night."

"I asked for it bitter? Are you sure?" Bakti pressed, leaning closer to the tray.

"Is the Prince losing his mind?" Rajasa sneered. "Just drink the tea. Or would you rather I report your incompetence to the King?"

"Why are you so eager for me to drink this? You’ve been hovering like a vulture," Bakti said, his eyes narrowing.

"It’s my job to serve. Yours is to survive the morning," Rajasa spat, his composure finally cracking.

Bakti looked back at the diary. ‘7:00 AM: The poison acts fast. It’s in the sugar. If you spill it, they’ll know you’re onto them. Pretend to trip.’

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" Bakti whispered, his hand trembling as he reached for the cup.

"Kill you? You're the villain of this kingdom, Kirun. Everyone wants you dead. I’m just the delivery boy," Rajasa retorted, stepping closer. "Drink."

"No. I think I’ve had enough," Bakti said. With a sharp, clumsy movement, he feigned a stumble, sending the porcelain cup shattering against the polished marble floor.

"Oh, look at that! I’m so clumsy today," Bakti feigned, breathing hard. "My apologies, Rajasa. Looks like I’ll have to go without."

Rajasa stood frozen, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. "You stupid bastard. Do you have any idea how much effort went into that brew?"

"Effort? You sound like you’re describing a work of art," Bakti said, backing toward the balcony. "Why? Is it a family recipe for murder?"

"It’s a shortcut to a promotion," Rajasa hissed, drawing a hidden dagger from his tunic. "And you just made the process much, much slower."

"So, the diary was right about the poison. Does it say anything about you pulling a knife?" Bakti asked, flipping through the pages frantically.

"The diary? You've been talking to a ghost, Prince. There is no one in that book but a madman," Rajasa growled, lunging forward.

Bakti dodged, feeling the wind of the blade pass his ear. He crashed into the desk, scattering quills and parchment everywhere.

"Wait! Let's talk about this. I can pay you double whatever they're offering!" Bakti shouted, putting the heavy desk between them.

"I don't want gold. I want the throne empty," Rajasa said, circling the furniture.

Bakti’s gaze landed back on the diary, which had fallen open on the desk. Fresh, wet ink was appearing on the page as if written by an invisible hand.

"What is that?" Rajasa froze, his eyes widening at the moving quill.

Bakti stared at the paper as the words formed in real-time, the ink glistening under the morning light.

‘You survived the poison, but the guards are coming for you now. They heard the cup break. You have ten seconds before they breach the door to finish the job.’

"The guards?" Bakti gasped, looking at the door.

A heavy thud echoed from the hallway. Then another. The hinges groaned under the force of iron-clad boots.

"You're not just fighting me, Kirun," Rajasa laughed, his blade poised for a final strike. "You're fighting the entire castle."