I woke up as a King in a Fantasy World

A figure knelt down before him, it was an armored man, his silver armor gleaming under the dim chandelier light. The man's red hair was cropped short, his sharp features set in an expression of concern. Despite his rigid posture, his voice carried genuine worry.

"Your Majesty," the knight said respectfully, bowing his head. "Is everything alright? Why are you out of bed? Do you need anything?"

Jareth barely heard the question. His mind reeled at the words. 

Your Majesty?

Why was he calling him that? That title was reserved for royalty, wasn't it? Only kings and emperors were addressed that way.

His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, he instinctively scrambled backward. His movements were clumsy, hindered by the lingering heaviness in his limbs. 

The knight's brows knitted together in concern as he observed Jareth closely. His sharp eyes didn't miss the faint pallor on his face or the subtle heaviness in his movements. After a brief hesitation, he spoke, his voice laced with worry.

"My King, you don't look well," he remarked, his tone careful yet firm. "Shall I summon the royal physician? You appear quite pale."

There was a slight urgency in his words, as though he was already preparing to call for help if Jareth so much as wavered.

He just called me My King.

The words echoed in Jareth's mind, each syllable sinking in like a heavy stone dropping into deep water. A strange, suffocating weight settled in his chest.

Me? A king?

Jareth swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His thoughts churned in frantic circles, grasping for some kind of logical explanation. This has to be a mistake… a misunderstanding… Maybe this was some elaborate joke, or maybe he was just hallucinating. That would make more sense than whatever this was.

I'm not a king—I'm just…

His breath hitched.

Who is he again?

His mind was still in disarray, and dizziness lingered from his sudden fall. His thoughts felt tangled, his memories jumbled.

He forced himself to focus, trying to sort through the confusion.

Right—his name was Jareth. As far as he remembered, he had been drinking with his friends earlier. But he was certain he had made it home afterward. He had agreed to go out with them in the first place because he was plagued by relentless nightmares every night.

He just wants to get drunk, hoping that he can sleep peacefully afterwards.

But now, he found himself in a strange room with an unfamiliar man clad in armor. Why was he even wearing that? What country was he from? Was it some kind of costume?

And more importantly—he had called him Your Majesty and My King.

Was this some sort of play?

Or... a prank?

He scanned the room, but aside from the imposing knight before him, there was no one else in sight. The unfamiliar surroundings only deepened his confusion, making his head spin even more.

His eyes returned to the armored man standing before him, his bewilderment plain on his face. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice uncertain.

"Uh… who are you?"

The knight's expression shifted from composed to startled, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly regained his demeanor. However, a hint of uncertainty lingered in his voice as he responded.

"I'm Roderic, Your Majesty." His tone carried a mix of confusion and concern, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

A brief silence stretched between them before the knight cautiously added, "Your Majesty… are you feeling unwell? Do you not recognize me?"

"Would I be asking if I knew who you were?" Jareth thought, irritation flickering beneath his confusion. But his frustration was quickly overshadowed by a far greater concern.

Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

His mind struggled to grasp the situation, to piece together some logical explanation for what was happening. He felt strangely disoriented, as if his own body wasn't quite his own. The lingering dizziness from his fall made it even harder to focus, but a growing sense of unease urged him to pay closer attention.

Lowering his gaze, he finally noticed it—something off about his hands.

They looked different.

His fingers were slightly longer and more slender than he remembered, the shape of his knuckles unfamiliar. He turned them over slowly, as if expecting the illusion to break, but the hands remained the same. His chest tightened.

Not just his hands—his entire body felt different. He could sense it now, the subtle yet undeniable changes. He seemed taller, his limbs leaner but stronger. Even the way he moved, the weight of his own body, felt just a little off.

A strange mix of panic and curiosity surged within him. Hesitantly, he reached up and touched his face.

The moment his fingers brushed against his cheek, his breath caught in his throat.

The bone structure was different—his jawline sharper, the shape of his nose unfamiliar. His skin, though smooth, felt subtly foreign under his fingertips. His heart pounded as his hands roamed upward, running through his hair in search of something familiar.

Then he froze.

A lock of thick, curly strands slipped between his fingers, brushing against his shoulders. His stomach twisted.

Curly?

That wasn't right.

I don't have curly hair.

His breathing quickened as his fingers clutched at the strands, as if trying to deny what he was feeling. But no matter how much he willed it otherwise, the curls remained, cascading past his shoulders in soft waves.

Panic clawed at his mind.

What is happening?

His thoughts spun wildly, a storm of fear and disbelief raging within him.

Why does it feel like… I'm in a different body?

As Jareth's mind raced through the chaos of his thoughts, his gaze flickered back to the knight standing before him. The man's expression mirrored his own—bewildered, uncertain, and tinged with concern.

A chilling realization settled in.

Judging by the knight's reaction, this wasn't some elaborate prank or misunderstanding. This body… wasn't his.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

Could it be?

Has his body finally reached its limit? He had been suffering from relentless nightmares for so long, barely getting any rest, his mind and body worn thin from exhaustion. The thought had crossed his mind before—what if one day, his sleep-deprived body simply gave out?

Has that day finally come?

Had he… died?

His throat felt dry, his pulse hammering against his ribs. If he had truly died, then what was this? Was this the afterlife? Some kind of dream? Or—

A far more unsettling possibility took root in his mind.

Had he… transmigrated?

The very idea sounded absurd, something straight out of fiction. And yet, wasn't that the only explanation that made sense? He had woken up in an unfamiliar body, in an unfamiliar place, with an unfamiliar man calling him Your Majesty.

His hands clenched into fists.

No matter how ridiculous it seemed, it was the only answer he had at the moment.

If this was truly happening—if he really had taken over someone else's body—then he couldn't afford to let the knight in front of him realize the truth. If Roderic suspected even for a moment that his king had been replaced by someone else, there was no telling how he would react.

Would he sound the alarm? Call for the royal physician? Or worse… would he assume something unnatural had taken place and summon an exorcist to purge him on the spot?

Jareth suppressed the uneasy shiver crawling up his spine.

No, he couldn't let that happen. 

Forcing a faint, almost sheepish smile, he straightened slightly and let out a small, dismissive laugh. "Right! Roderic, of course I know who you are," he said quickly, waving a hand as if brushing off the earlier confusion. "Don't mind me—I just got a little disoriented for a moment."

His voice was steady, but inwardly, he was holding his breath, hoping his words sounded convincing.

"And there's no need to call the royal physician. I'll be fine. I just need some rest." That part, at least, wasn't a lie. His body still felt heavy, his eyelids fighting to stay open. Whatever had happened to him—whether it was transmigration, a dream, or something else entirely—his exhaustion remained painfully real.

Roderic remained silent for a moment, his sharp gaze studying Jareth intently, as if searching for any sign of deception. The scrutiny made Jareth's skin prickle, but he forced himself to remain composed, meeting the knight's gaze without flinching.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Roderic gave a slow nod.

"I see," he said at last, though a trace of skepticism still lingered in his voice.

Roderic remained silent for a moment longer, his sharp gaze still assessing Jareth with an unreadable expression. Then, as if coming to a decision, he straightened and spoke in a calm, measured tone.

"Then, shall I fetch you some water, Your Majesty? Or is there anything else you require?"

His voice was laced with formality, but there was an unmistakable trace of concern beneath it. Jareth hesitated. The offer was simple enough, and under normal circumstances, he might have accepted. But right now, he needed space—time to process everything without anyone hovering over him.

He let out a quiet breath before shaking his head. "…No," he murmured after a brief pause. "Just… stay back."

There was a beat of silence before Roderic inclined his head in understanding. "As you command, Your Majesty."

With that, the knight stepped away, turning smoothly on his heel before moving back to his previous position. His movements were precise and disciplined, his posture unwavering. Even as he withdrew, Jareth could still feel the weight of his watchful presence.

Though Roderic had accepted his explanation, there was no doubt that the knight was still keeping a close eye on him.

Jareth chose to ignore Roderic's lingering presence and turned away, making his way back to the grand bed at the center of the lavish room. His steps were slow, his body weighed down by exhaustion.

There were countless questions swirling in his mind, each one more urgent than the last. Where was he? How did this happen? Who was the person whose body he now inhabited? But as much as he wanted answers, his body had other plans. A deep, unshakable fatigue clung to him, dragging him down like heavy chains.

I'll think about it tomorrow, he told himself, pushing the troubling thoughts to the back of his mind. Overanalyzing things right now wouldn't do him any good—especially with Roderic watching. If he acted too strangely, the knight might start suspecting something.

Besides… maybe when he woke up, this would all be over.

Maybe I'll open my eyes and find that this was just another strange, vivid dream.

Clinging to that thin thread of hope, he lowered himself onto the massive bed, the plush mattress sinking beneath his weight. The fabric of the silk sheets was cool against his skin, an unfamiliar but oddly soothing sensation.

His heavy eyelids fluttered shut almost instantly. Within moments, the pull of sleep overtook him, swallowing him whole.