I woke up as a King in a Fantasy World

As they finally reached the grand dining hall, Jareth swiftly cast aside his lingering thoughts, deciding to set them aside for contemplation at a later time. 

The moment he stepped inside, his attention was immediately seized by the sheer opulence of the space before him. 

Towering marble pillars stretched toward the high-vaulted ceiling, adorned with intricate gold filigree that shimmered under the glow of a magnificent chandelier. The polished floors gleamed like a mirror, reflecting the flickering light of ornate candelabras lining the walls. Rich tapestries depicting legendary battles and grand hunts draped elegantly between tall, arched windows, through which the soft hues of the morning sun streamed in. The air carried a subtle fragrance of exotic spices and freshly baked bread, hinting at the lavish feast that awaited. 

For a brief moment, Jareth found himself momentarily entranced, absorbing the breathtaking grandeur of the hall before reminding himself of the role he now had to play.

Then, standing gracefully beside the head chair, he noticed a woman maintaining a composed and dignified posture.

Who was she? From her poised demeanor and the way others subtly acknowledged her presence, it was clear that she held a significant position within the palace.

Jareth studied her carefully, noting the refined elegance in her posture and the quiet authority in her gaze. She was petite, with long black hair, and a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles resting on her nose. Her composed posture and professional air immediately made Jareth take notice.

The moment their eyes met, she offered a polite bow. "Good morning, Your Majesty."

Jareth found himself relaxing slightly. There was something about this woman that put him at ease. Unlike the two people beside him, her expression was calm and composed, with warm brown eyes that held neither deception nor hidden motives—just quiet efficiency.

"My King," Roderic said, stepping forward. "I already informed Lilliene that you will be taking a short rest from court matters for the next few days."

Jareth nodded, glancing at the woman again. So this woman is Lilliene… But what is she to the king?

As if sensing his unspoken thoughts, Lilliene adjusted her glasses and spoke. "I have made the necessary arrangements to ensure that the court proceedings continue smoothly in your absence. Any urgent matters will be documented and brought to your attention at your convenience, Your Majesty."

Oh?

A secretary, then? Jareth mused. Her demeanor and efficiency certainly fit the role.

"You seem well-prepared," he said, taking his seat at the head of the table.

"It is my duty, Your Majesty," Lilliene replied with a faint smile. "Would you like me to go over any pressing matters before you dine?"

Jareth waved a hand dismissively. "Later. Breakfast first."

"As you wish," she said, stepping back to her usual place.

As Jareth took in the sight of the beautifully arranged dishes before him, his stomach growled softly, a reminder that he hadn't eaten anything since waking up.

He hoped the food would satisfy his taste buds. After all, he was quite the food enthusiast himself.

He ate carefully, maintaining a composed and refined demeanor, though, in truth, he wanted nothing more than to devour the delicious spread before him. The aroma alone was enough to make his mouth water, and every bite exceeded his expectations.

It was so delicious.

He had initially assumed that the food of this world might not suit his tastes, but it seemed that the palace's meals were meticulously prepared. The flavors were rich, the textures perfect—clearly, only the finest ingredients and the most skilled hands had crafted this feast.

It's as if it had been crafted by a Michelin-starred chef.

Still, he forced himself to remain measured in his movements, mindful of the three people around him. He didn't want to draw unnecessary attention by appearing too eager. Even as he savored the food, he upheld the regal poise expected of a king, occasionally nodding to Lilliene when she served more tea or giving a subtle hum of approval at particularly delicious dishes.

But in his mind, Jareth felt as if he were floating with every bite, each flavor sending him into a state of pure bliss.

It's heaven. My first meal in this world.

Just as they were finishing the meal, Lilliene, who had been quietly observing him, finally spoke.

"Your Majesty," she began, adjusting her spectacles, "considering your need for rest, should we also reschedule the upcoming Vaelcrest Ritual?"

Jareth froze, his fork pausing just before his lips. His heartbeat quickened.

Vaelcrest Ritual? His mind raced.

What is that?

He forced himself to remain composed, lowering his fork gracefully and dabbing his lips with a napkin. "The Vaelcrest Ritual…" he echoed slowly, as if carefully considering her words. 

How was he even supposed to respond to that? 

He had absolutely no knowledge about this so-called ritual. The word itself only brought to mind vague images of eerie cult gatherings, dimly lit rooms filled with hooded figures chanting in unison. Rituals belonged to old legends, superstitions, and strange, secretive sects—things that felt outdated and almost absurd in a modern world.

Wait… were the people here part of some cult? Or was this ritual connected to a religious practice? Perhaps something to do with a church? 

The name Vaelcrest had been mentioned before, and from the way they spoke of it, it seemed to hold significant importance. 

Was Vaelcrest the name of a god they worshiped? 

He swallowed his growing unease, keeping his expression neutral. First, he needed to respond to the question. He couldn't afford to say anything reckless or unfounded—choosing his words carefully was crucial. For now, keeping his answer vague should be the safest approach.

"I suppose delaying it would be… inconvenient," he said slowly, testing the waters.

Atticus, who had been listening with a small, knowing smile, finally spoke. "Indeed, Your Majesty. With so many children participating this year, a delay may cause unrest." His voice was pleasant.

So postponing it would draw unwanted attention? Thank goodness that he was able to respond to that correctly.

Jareth forced a small smile. "Then we must make sure everything proceeds as planned."

Lilliene gave a satisfied nod. "Understood, Your Majesty. Preparations have already begun."

Jareth took a slow sip of his tea, using it as a cover to mask the tension tightening his jaw. 

The lack of crucial information was proving to be a serious problem. 

He had initially hoped to have a few peaceful days to adjust before being burdened with the full weight of the king's responsibilities. However, reality had quickly shattered that expectation. From the moment he woke up in this unfamiliar body, he had been thrust into a situation where every conversation carried hidden meanings, and every action seemed to hold weight.

But how was he supposed to gather the information he needed without raising suspicion? 

Feigning forgetfulness could work to some extent, but outright ignorance of matters as important as this would surely draw unwanted attention. A ruler suddenly appearing clueless about critical affairs would be alarming to those around him, and that could lead to dangerous consequences.

Should he visit the library? 

The thought was tempting, but the risks were too great. As the king, his every move was likely being watched, scrutinized by both allies and potential enemies. If he were caught searching for basic knowledge about this world, this kingdom, or even his own subordinates, those observing him would undoubtedly overthink his actions. They might see it as something suspicious—perhaps a sign of weakness or even a sign that something was wrong with him. And if that happened, it could easily backfire.

Another option was to pretend he had amnesia, but that also had its flaws. From what he could tell, there was no indication that the previous king had suffered any kind of injury or trauma before he woke up in this body. He had seemingly woken up naturally, without any signs of foul play. If he suddenly claimed memory loss, people would demand explanations—ones he wouldn't be able to provide.

No, there had to be a better way.

A king should have his own study, right? 

That would be the most logical place to start. He needed to check it out as soon as possible. In fact, he hadn't even properly explored his own chambers yet. His bedroom alone was massive, with multiple doors leading to who-knows-where. There was a high chance that one of them led to a private study, or perhaps even a secret chamber filled with personal records and documents.

Yes, that was his best course of action. He would thoroughly investigate his own quarters first. If he was lucky, he might uncover something useful—something that could provide him with the knowledge he desperately needed.

Especially that so-called Vaelcrest Ritual—whatever it was. From what he had gathered, it was an important event that was going to happen soon.

Jareth felt a growing unease. 

What exactly did this ritual entail? And more importantly, what role did the king play in it? Was he supposed to offer something? Blood? A sacrifice?

His mind immediately conjured up an absurd scene: himself dressed in flowing black clergy robes, kneeling solemnly before an altar, hands clasped in devotion as he chanted praises in some ancient, cryptic language. Maybe he would have to raise a dagger dramatically, the candlelight flickering ominously around him, before plunging it into a ceremonial offering—or worse, himself.

A shiver ran down his spine. 

Surely, they wouldn't expect something like that… right? 

But with this so-called ritual looming ahead, a thought suddenly struck Jareth.

That strange dream—the one that had been haunting him since he woke up in this world—suddenly felt eerily relevant. 

In it, a man had been standing in a dimly lit chamber, whispering incantations to a sword. 

Could that have been a ritual? Was the dream trying to educate him? Some kind of supernatural tutorial on how rituals worked?

If so, it had done a terrible job.

Jareth scowled. 

So what?

Was he supposed to do the same thing—stand in front of a sword and start murmuring mysterious words like a possessed prophet? Was that what the Vaelcrest Ritual required of him? Or worse—was he supposed to offer something?

His gaze flickered to his hands instinctively. 

Blood sacrifices were a common trope in rituals, weren't they? Did this mean he had to cut himself with the sword? Drip some royal blood for whatever magic was involved? Maybe slice his palm open in some grand symbolic gesture?

He paled.

What if the sword was the type that demanded blood? What if it was the kind that refused to stop once it started? Was he going to stand there dramatically, only to suddenly realize he had stabbed himself too deeply, then collapse while everyone clapped, thinking it was part of the show?

Jareth sighed heavily.

"Alright, new goal," he muttered under his breath. "Before this ritual happens, I need to figure out what exactly I'm supposed to do. I just hope it's nothing that requires me to bleed out dramatically in front of an audience."

Otherwise, he'd have no choice but to start planning his grand escape from this palace—because there was no way he was going to stand there like some sacrificial lamb, bleeding out for the sake of tradition.