The youngest prince is too ambitious.

Nathan groaned as consciousness crept back, his head pounding like a drumline gone rogue. He blinked blearily, dragging a hand across his face before sitting up, stiff and disoriented. His muscles protested as he swung his legs off the bed and staggered upright, his feet brushing against an uncarpeted wooden floor.

"Ugh, what the hell did I drink last night?" he muttered, rubbing his temples. Habit kicked in as he stretched lazily, stifling a yawn. "Siri! What's my schedule today?" he barked groggily, his voice carrying an edge even in his half-awake state. He waited for the usual monotone response.

Silence.

"Siri?"

Nothing.

"Damn thing never works…" he grumbled, staggering toward where he assumed the bathroom door was. His yawn cut short as his forehead smacked into an unyielding surface with a resounding thud. He stumbled back, clutching his forehead and glaring up.

"What the fuck?"

Before him stood a crude wooden wall, its splintery surface mocking him. Nathan's eyes narrowed as his suspicion mounted, his headache momentarily forgotten. He glanced around the room, his frown deepening. The space was dimly lit and sparsely furnished—a bed, a single wooden chair, and walls of raw, untreated wood. Everything about the place screamed outdated and… traditional.

The faint creak of wood settling broke the silence, making Nathan's breath hitch. He turned slowly, scanning the dim room again, this time with a sharp focus. There were no windows, no visible electronics, nothing to suggest he was anywhere remotely modern.

"Am I… kidnapped?" he said aloud, the pieces falling together in his mind. It made sense, after all. He had enemies—plenty of them. People he'd stepped on to climb higher, people who'd love nothing more than to see him grovel. But Nathan wasn't the kind of man to grovel.

He smirked, a sliver of confidence slicing through the tension. "Luckily, I've prepared for this." Straightening his posture, he ran a hand through his hair—and froze. A cascade of silky strands fell past his shoulders and down to his waist. His eyes widened as he grabbed fistfuls of the long hair.

"What the—how long was I out?!" he yelped, his voice rising in pitch. Panic bubbled in his chest. His hair… it couldn't have grown this long unless he'd been unconscious for years.

"Okay. Okay, stay calm. I've got this," he muttered, though his hands were trembling as he reached for the failsafe—his tracking chip. His fingers brushed the spot behind his ear where the implant had been embedded, but there was nothing. His stomach dropped.

"They removed it?!"

His voice cracked, but he didn't have time to spiral. Swallowing hard, he darted to the door, tugging at the knob with all his might. It didn't budge. He shoved, kicked, cursed under his breath, but it was locked tight. The sound of faint footsteps approaching froze him in his tracks.

Nathan's breath hitched as he turned toward the door. The footsteps were deliberate, slow, and growing louder. His mind raced, dread curling in his gut. "Shit," he hissed, his instincts kicking in. His eyes darted around the room, landing on the chair.

Without hesitation, he grabbed it, gripping it like a makeshift weapon. His muscles screamed in protest—why was he so weak?—but he ignored the ache, positioning himself by the door.

The footsteps stopped. The lock clicked. Nathan's heartbeat thundered in his ears as the handle turned. A shadow shifted beneath the crack of the door, long and imposing.

The door swung open, and he launched the chair with every ounce of strength he could muster. The impact jolted his arms, and the chair clattered to the floor.

Nathan froze.

His body ached from the exertion, his weakness more evident now, but that wasn't what left him paralyzed. Standing in the doorway wasn't some thug or masked kidnapper.

It was… a lion.

A goddamn lion.

The creature towered over him, its golden mane shimmering unnaturally, its deep, intelligent eyes boring into his soul. Nathan's jaw worked soundlessly as his brain struggled to process what he was seeing. The faint light caught the lion's robes, making the ornate stitching shimmer.

"Uh… what?" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

The lion didn't answer. It just stood there, regal and imposing, as if it had every right to be in a shoddy wooden room with a panicked man holding a chair like a lunatic.

"What kind of LSD trip is this?" Nathan muttered, his grip on the chair slackening.

The lion took a step forward, its massive paw padding silently against the wooden floor. Nathan stumbled back, his instincts screaming at him to run, but his legs refused to move. For once in his life, Nathan Ellis was at a complete loss for words.

As the lion stepped forward, it did something that made Nathan nearly shriek—it knelt.

The enormous creature dropped gracefully onto one knee, bowing its massive head in a display of deference that sent Nathan's mind reeling. "What is going on?" he whispered under his breath, his heart hammering.

Nathan hesitated, forcing himself to take a closer look. The lion wasn't just an animal—it was something else entirely. Its mane was impeccably groomed, and its fur, marked with bold stripes, carried an air of authority. But what struck Nathan most was its attire.

The lion was clad in an elaborate military uniform, its design steeped in an Eastern aesthetic. Layered robes of fine, earthy-colored fabric were cinched by a leather sash, and golden pauldrons adorned its broad shoulders, gleaming faintly in the dim light. Every detail, from the ornate stitching to the polished brass buttons, screamed both discipline and tradition. The creature's upright posture and measured movements were unnervingly human.

This is more bizarre than I thought, Nathan mused, his lips parting in disbelief. It walks like a human, dresses like a human—maybe it can talk like one too.

If it could, Nathan reasoned, he could negotiate his way out of this. Who better than him, a man with a silver tongue and an unparalleled ability to charm his way out of any situation? Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to project calm, even as his legs quivered.

"Hello… Mr. Lion," he ventured, his voice betraying only the faintest tremor.

The lion's head lifted slightly, its deep, resonant voice booming with startling clarity. "Permission to speak, sire."

Nathan jumped, his back slamming against the wall as he clutched it for balance. "Ye-yes, you may…" he stammered, blinking rapidly.

The lion's expression softened as it lowered its head again, speaking with a tone full of guilt and regret. "My prince, this subject has failed in protecting you. Please punish me as you see fit."

"Prince? Me?" Nathan blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. He stared at the creature, his confusion deepening by the second. What the hell is this thing talking about?

The lion finally raised its head, its piercing amber eyes locking with Nathan's. The weight of its gaze was almost suffocating, filled with sorrow and what Nathan could only describe as reverence. "Prince?" Nathan repeated, his tone growing skeptical. "That's not me. I think you've got the wrong guy."

The lion's expression crumbled, its ears flattening against its mane as it let out a soft, heart-wrenching whine. Tears gathered in the corners of its eyes, glistening like tiny jewels. "My prince…" the creature whimpered, its voice cracking with emotion. "I have truly failed you. But please, don't act this way…"

Nathan stared in stunned silence, his brain scrambling to process the surreal scene before him. Did… did this lion just whine? And are those… tears?!

He opened his mouth to reply but found himself at a rare loss for words. This was shaping up to be the weirdest, most disorienting moment of his life, and considering the life he'd led, that was saying something.