Fuck. My head was killing me.

  It throbbed in time with my heartbeat. Nausea assailed me. I focused on the feeling of the cool and gritty ground below my cheek, my fingers clawing at the dirt as I fought not to puke.

  Above me, voices warbled in and out of my hearing. I couldn’t focus on the words, but the panic in their tone came through loud and clear.

  I pried my eyelids open, quickly slamming them closed again as the bright light assaulted my delicate brain. A pained groan escaped me.

  The voices went silent before resuming their argument with greater ferocity.

  What the hell had happened to me? There was… fuck. The girl. The captain at the front of the briefing room. Carter had emptied the coffee pot and hadn’t bothered to make more. The Tactical Unit rolling out alongside our unmarked. Creeping through the abandoned construction site, a maze of scaffolding and old tarps. Elsie and I had split up to search. There were gunshots; mine? Points of liquid fire burning through my side. I'd been shot, I thought. Blood. There had been a lot of blood, and Els yelling as my world went cold.

  The voices had managed to get me upright, half carrying, half dragging me… somewhere. I raised a shaky hand to my screaming head. My fingers came away red, warm, and sticky. Blood. Not good; head trauma was a deadly bitch. Hopefully, the people manhandling me were dragging me to the hospital.

  The constant jostling drew a sharp moan from me, the pain in my skull flaring with each stumbling step. I felt myself fading, the world slipping through my fingers as I fell into the the dark void of oblivion.

  The voices faded away as I gratefully passed out.

  —————————

  I woke up slowly, swimming in and out of awareness. I was lying on a soft surface. A bed, my bruised brain supplied. A gentle breeze wafted over me, carrying the scent of flowers. My head was lightly bandaged, and the pain nicely muted. They must have put me on the good drugs.

  Gingerly, I opened my eyes, blinking against the bright light, and looked around. I was lying in a huge bed, buried in a nest of blankets and pillows. The sheets beneath my fingers were the softest thing I had ever slept on.

  The room I was in was large and sumptuously decorated. Definitely not a hospital room. The furniture was all warm woods and soft green fabrics, elegant, understated and expensive. The large windows stood open, facing out into a garden. The sunlight pouring in looked warm and inviting.

  I sat up carefully, the silky sheets sliding down my bare chest.

  I blinked. I was naked. I was in some random asshole’s house, tucked into their bed and someone had taken my clothes.

  Annoyance flared in my chest. This was not okay. I slid out of the bed and stumbled over to a standing mirror, grabbing the robe that was draped over one of the posts.

  As I pulled it down, I caught sight of my reflection, and stared at it in stunned stupefaction.

  Staring back at me in shock was a willowy young guy, leanly muscled with a dancer’s figure, slim hips, and long legs. Best guess put him in his mid to late teens, maybe 5’2”. Straight black hair flowed past his butt, framing a heart-shaped face with a delicate nose and a cupid’s bow mouth. Long, thick lashes surrounded a pair of large, deep purple eyes that stared back at me in horrified confusion.

  It was a stunningly pretty face.

  It also looked beaten to shit. One eye was bruised and blackened, surrounded by the remains of badly smeared makeup. the rest of the face was a mess of scrapes and deep bruises.

  The figure in the mirror copied me as reached up and traced my eye with my fingertips. I hissed at the sharp sting.

  I… this wasn’t a dream, right? Dreams didn’t hurt. This face. This was my face.

  The thing was, yesterday I'd been a middle-aged guy with short brown hair and a permanent 5 o’clock shadow. I 'd leaned towards stocky all my life, with a growing gut thanks to a fast-food diet, chronic sleep deprivation, and a pack-a-day habit; all of which were catching up with me fast.

  I frantically examined my new face, trying not to whimper in panic. How badly hurt was I? Was this a really bad drug reaction? Was I tripping balls at a hospital, while Els laughed her ass off at me? Was I in a coma?

  Some scarring running back across my ribs caught my eye. I traced the raised edges with my fingertips and slowly turned.

  A cold lump grew in my gut as I took in the damage. A good dozen large overlapping starburst scars peppered my ribs and ran across my back. They were still red and fresh.The memory of lying on a concrete floor and bleeding to death flashed through my mind and sent shivers down my spine. I'd been shot. The bullets that had caused this type of damage would have torn my side apart and turned my organs to soup. There was no way I should be standing here right now.

  A door opened behind me, knocking me out of my panic spiral.

  I spun, trying to cover my groin and ass with the robe still clutched in my hand. My foot caught the edge of the carpet, and I fell in a mess of wildly flailing limbs, collapsing in a sprawling heap at the feet of the maid who had just come in. The robe slowly fluttered down on top of me as we stared at each other in horrified silence.

  “Milord!” Her sharp cry sent a new spike of burning pain through my brain. “Are you all right!?”

  “M’fine!” I insisted, trying to scramble to my feet.

  A wave of pain and dizziness overwhelmed me. I sank back down to the floor, clutching my pounding head.

  The maid carefully helped me up, half carrying my naked ass back to the bed. I sank back down into the pillow mountain with a pained groan as she pulled the sheets back over me.

  “Apologies, milord.” She sunk into a deep curtsy, nervousness radiating off her.

  “No, it’s fine. It was my own damn fault. Thanks for helping me…” Shit. Was I supposed to know who she was? She definitely seemed to know me. “Sorry, what’s your name again?” I asked sheepishly.

  “Louise, milord.” Instead of calming down, she was starting to look even more upset.

  “Thank you for your help, Louise.” I said politely and nodded my head in a small bow.

  She straightened, her brows climbing even higher.

  I tried smiling at her reassuringly and she paled. I quickly schooled my expression into something neutral.

  “Do you know what happened to my clothes by chance?”

  She fell into another nervous curtsy, unable to meet my eyes. “I am sorry my lord. They were badly torn and bloodied. I was unable to save them.”

  Damn. “Did anyone happen to get my phone?” She stared at me blankly. Were phones not a thing here? I measured it out with my hands. “Black, rectangular, about this big?”

  “No, my lord. What is it for? I will send a footman to buy another one for you."

  I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. It’s not important.”

  I was quiet as Louise straightened out my blankets, my thoughts a whirring mess. Things were terribly wrong here.

  “Louise?” I hesitantly tried to get her attention. “What happened to me?”

  “Something startled your horse, my lord.”

  I knew how to ride a horse?

  “Giselle threw you. You landed badly in a small rocky gulley and hit your head. We should have found you sooner when she returned without you. Apologies for failing you, your lordship.” She sunk into another nervous curtsy.

  Following her up and down was starting to make me dizzy.

  “No, I’m sure you all tried your best. I’m lucky you found me at all.” I could easily have broken my neck or died of exposure.

  My head throbbed and I winced. I gently rubbed my temple, trying to soothe away some of the pain.

  Louise’s expression grew alarmed. She placed a gentle hand on my forehead, staring at me intently before relaxing. “You need more rest, my lord. The healer left a pain potion for you.” She gestured at a small bottle on my bedside table next to a pitcher of water and a glass. “Please take it and rest.”

  After Louise had left, I absently picked up the bottle and stared at its contents, my mind spinning.

  Where was I? Who was I? How did I get here? I had no idea what was going on, no clothes, gun or badge, and no way to reach anybody.

  Fuck.

  ————————————

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  A few days of rest did wonders for my recovery, if not for my understanding of the situation.

  My healer proclaimed me to be recovering well, at least physically. He diagnosed me with amnesia (I wasn’t going to argue), and he recommended more rest. He left me with another half dozen potions, strict instructions to fetch him if I worsened, some ointments and bath sachets to help with the bruising, and a lot more questions.

  As far as I could tell, the reason everyone acted like they knew me was because as far as they were concerned, they did. They’d all known me for years. Fortunately, everyone was willing to answer my inane questions once they stopped jumping every time I spoke.

  My name was Violet Briar Dusk. I was the seventeen-year-old third son of the Late Duke Arthur and current Duchess Sylvia of House Dusk. The oddly feminine name surprised me, but honestly? It seemed to fit.

  I was also, apparently, a complete and utter asshole. Louise had been my personal maid for the past eight years, and this was the first time I had ever bothered to ask her name.

  I was languishing in the royal capital of the kingdom of Illestria, at my family’s city manor in the nobles' quarter near the palace. The actual duchy was further south, where we had an estate.

  I had two older brothers, Tempest Gray Dusk and Autumn Forest Dusk. Tempest was the head of our House, about seven years older than me, and my half brother. Autumn and I were full siblings, and about two years apart. He had left the House to join the Royal Knights.

  I met Tempest the day after I woke up, when he came to talk with the healer. He was a man of average height with red-brown hair, stormy grey eyes, and an attitude that warned to mess with him at your own peril. I could have sworn the man could see right through me. He visited briefly every few days to check on me and exchange a few awkward words.

  Autumn never bothered to visit at all.

  After a week, the gash on my head had closed, leaving a faint scar along my temple, and my bruises were fading nicely to an ugly greenish-yellow. The only concern the Healer has left was with my memory.

  He must have shared those concerns, because one evening a nervous and fidgety footman informed me that I had a meeting with Lord Tempest Dusk himself.

  ---------------------------------------------------

  The next morning, I bathed quickly, then dressed in the outfit Louise had selected before letting her fuss over me until she was finally satisfied with my appearance. She was a genius with a makeup brush, and even with bruises I looked amazing. If I ever got home, I swore I would apologize to every woman I’d ever bitched at about how long they took to get ready.

  Tempest met me in his office. His desk was clear of papers, and he was obviously waiting for me. He nodded towards the chair opposite his desk. His blank expression revealing nothing.

  I sat gingerly and braced myself.

  “The Healer tells me you are recovering well,” he remarked. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  That… was a lot more mundane than I was expecting.

  “Uh, yes. Thank you.” I dared to microscopically relax into my chair.

  “Now then.” I froze as his don’t-fuck-with-me glare pinned me in place. “Who are you?”

  Not good. Do I play dumb? Lie?

  “What are- “

  His expression turned murderous. “Don’t.”

  ... Shit.

  I swallowed nervously. If bullshit fails, stun them with brutal truth. “My name is Logan Daniels. I’m a cold case detective.”

  I told him EVERYTHING. My job. My partner Elsie and her love of crappy music and even worse games. That asshole Carter who never refilled the coffee. My sad life. The string of girlfriends I couldn’t keep. Borrowing my neighbour’s dog because I didn’t have time to take care of my own. How I died.

  I let the verbal diarrhea flow. It felt incredible. I'd spent the past week watching every word I said, every move I made, trying to hide just how fucked up the situation was. Unsuccessfully, it seemed. Now there was nothing holding me back.

  Was this what therapy was like? I should have done this years ago.

  Tempest lasted longer than I expected before he pulled out the liquor. The trembling in his hands was barely noticeable.

  As the flood of words dried up, I collapsed back into the chair, limp with exhaustion. He wordlessly refilled his glass with a shaky hand before filling and pushing a second glass towards me.

  I sniffed it cautiously. Some kind of brandy, and a good one.

  The silence was smothering as I emptied it in one gulp.

  I could almost see the gears turning in Tempest’s head. He needed one last push.

  I stood, unlaced my vest, and pulled up my shirt, showing him the scars on my side. His only reaction was a sharp intake of breath.

  “I wouldn’t believe me either,” I began, my desperation bleeding through every word. “It’s insane. I could almost believe I dreamt the whole thing up, except for these. They’re not from falling off a horse, and Louise is pretty damn certain they weren’t there before.”

  She would know best, after all. I'd been horrified to find out that part of her job included helping me bathe and dress. No wonder she hadn’t been shocked when she found me naked.

  We were still working on finding a compromise I could live with.

  “They’re exactly what I would have expected if I’d survived getting shot, just like I remember. I don’t know how I got here, or what happened to your brother, but I swear I’m telling the truth.”

  Tempest didn’t move, staring at my side like he could figure out how I had faked it if he looked hard enough.

  My heart sank. I needed him to believe me. I had no desire to find out what passed as a mental institution in this world.

  “I believe you.”

  ... Holy shit.

  The relief flooding my system was strong enough to turn my limbs to rubber and drop me back into my chair. I awkwardly pulled down my shirt, not bothering to fight with the fancy lacing.

  Tempest refilled my glass and handed it back to me.

  We were going to need another bottle at this rate.

  “What gave me away?”

  He stared pensively into his glass. “You thanked me.”

  I gaped. “You suspected I’d swapped bodies with your brother because I thanked you?!” Just how big of an asshole had I been?

  “In the seventeen years I have known Violet, I have never heard him utter those words. Not once. This past week, not only have you thanked people, but you have also asked and remembered the names of everyone you’ve met.”

  Damn, I really was an asshole.

  I eyed Tempest, cautiously optimistic. “What happens to me now?” He was taking things in stride way better than I could ever have expected.

  “We make certain no one else finds out. I understand you have been doing a lot of reading?”

  “Yes. Still trying to get a handle on, well, everything,” I replied. I'd had nothing better to do for the past week other than read and gossip with Louise.

  “Good. I will have some other useful books brought to you. If you have questions, come to me.” He pickup his glass and emptied it once again, the condensation leaving a ring on his desk.

  I frowned. Why was his glass cold?

  He took my empty glass and refilled both. Before handing mine back to me, he absently tapped it with a finger. A ring of frost formed around his fingertip. As he passed the glass over, the bit of frost melted away.

  I stared at it in shock. My glass felt ice cold.

  Tempest frowned at me. “I assure you, it is much better chilled."

  “How- what?” I managed to stammer out.

  “It’s just a simple spell.” He explained, looking alarmed. “Any Ice mage can do something that trivial.”

  “Spell... you mean magic? Magic is real?!” I squeaked, nearly dropping my glass. “How did you do that? Can I do it too?”

  I focused on the glass, determined to try it for myself.

  “Have… have you never seen magic before?”

  I shook my head wildly. “No. It’s not a thing where I’m from. Am I an ice mage too?”

  He looked at me thoughtfully. “Violet was a Wind mage. A powerful one. We will need to find you a magic tutor, and soon. Can you use a blade?”

  “Like a sword? Not really. I know a bit about knife defense and I can use a baton. I’m good in a fist fight too.” I looked down at my lean arms, delicate hands, and beautifully manicured and polished nails. “Was good,” I corrected.

  “You will need a swordmaster as well then."

  Visions of swinging into fights on a chandelier danced through my head. Hollywood had a lot to answer for.

  I watched Tempest over the rim of my glass, feeling a little taken aback. He was far more relaxed than I would have been under the circumstances, calmly helping me like this was something he did every day.

  “Most people would be upset if they found out their brother was replaced by a stranger,” I prodded.

  He stilled, his eyes growing sad “Violet was… Our relationship was complicated. Violet was a petulant and spoiled brat when he was behaving, and when he was upset… well.” He shrugged.

  My heart dropped. Violet was abusive. No wonder everyone was so afraid of upsetting me.

  “This.” Tempest gestured between us. “This meeting. This is the longest and most civil conversation I have ever had with my youngest brother. How should I feel when a stranger I hated and who loathed me in return is replaced by a stranger I think I might grow to like?”

  I waited quietly as he fell silent, lost in his thoughts.

  I'd been an only child, and had always been a bit jealous of anyone with siblings. That Past Violet had what I always wanted and had chosen to throw it away was a painful thought.

  “Perhaps if I had tried harder,” he said softly, his eyes distant. “But he was so difficult… Not that you do not come with difficulties of your own. Violet was unquestionably the Duchess’s favourite child. She will not take the news of your ‘memory loss’ well.”

  I winced. Louise had a lot to say about my mother, and none of it was good.

  “Can we just… not tell her?” I asked plaintively.

  “Unfortunately not. You may be able to fool your fiancée, but you're nowhere near a good enough actor to fool her, especially since your ‘amnesia’ will be permanent.”

  “I have a fiancée? Really?” I asked, honestly surprised. “She never came to visit me. Is this a political thing?”

  “I believe it was romantic from your end; you were quite insistent. I cannot speculate on what he gained from the arrangement.”

  Wait. “‘He’?”

  “Yes.” Tempest informed me blandly, as if this were an everyday topic, “His Highness, Prince Victor del Arcturis.”

  “I’m engaged to a guy? … I’m engaged to a prince?!”

  My confusion must have shown because Tempest began to look concerned. “Violet? Are you all right?”

  I started. “Yes! I’m ok. Just… surprised, I suppose.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow, prompting me to continue. “I just… never considered that Violet might have been gay. I still feel like… me, I guess, and I’ve never been attracted to men.”

  He nodded sagely. “I hadn't considered that. I will leave the decision of how to handle his Highness to you.”

  I emptied my drink and motioned for a refill.

  Tempest rolled his eyes and filled my glass with chilled water instead.

  “Should I call you ‘Logan’?” He asked, breaking the silence.

  “Hmm?”

  “I've been operating as if your remaining here is a given. However, you were a grown man with your own life, one you might wish to return to, in a fashion. It would be simple for my brother to succumb to his injuries.”

  I paused, thinking hard. Did I?

  “No. As bad as your brother sounds, Logan was just as bad.” I sighed, playing absently with the condensation on my glass. “I was an obsessive workaholic on my way to an early grave. This… feels like a chance for a fresh start. Both for Logan and Violet. I want to make the most of it. If you’ll have me.”

  Tempest looked... almost happy at my decision. “Then stay, learn about our world, and find your place in it.”

  “Not sure what I’m going to do with that chance, though,” I huffed, smiling wryly. “What do third sons of nobility normally do?”

  “Traditionally? Marriages to secure alliances are common, otherwise… priesthood? Or the military? Although I doubt either of those would suit you,” he remarked, his gaze considering and careful. “You were an investigator of sorts you said? I have an… acquaintance who sometimes looks into things for me. He might be persuaded to take an apprentice. It would be an unusual choice, but there is some precedence.”

  I sat forward eagerly. I knew a few detectives who had struck out on their own. Bitching aside, none of them ever seemed to regret the decision. The thought of trying it for myself was exciting.

  “Yeah!” I exclaimed with a big grin. “Please ask him.”

  For someone who had woken up in the wrong world, things were looking up.

  Damn. Els would have loved this.

  A pang of homesickness hit as I thought of my longtime partner and best friend. It almost felt like something out of one of her terrible books, or one of the shitty romance games she kept… torturing me… with…

  I could feel the blood drain from my face, suddenly stark raving sober. Els’ voice cut through the haze of memories and left me cold.

  God, she’s such a bitch. Could they have made her more annoying?

  I looked down at my lap. Louise had picked out my clothes this morning.

  And the names! Could they have been less creative?

  They had been pretty, all delicate frills and ribbons. Right down to my underwear, come to think of it. Lacy. Kind of girly. A lovely purple that matched my eyes.

  I mean really. Her eyes? There was nothing else interesting about her?!

  Violet Briar Dusk. Such a feminine sounding name. I could almost see Elsie rolling her eyes as we drove.

  Might as well have named her ‘Princess Bitch’ and saved everyone the trouble.

  Holy shit. I was Princess Bitch.