You are the head of the richest noble house in the kingdom — House Drexel. Ruthless, cunning, and feared by all, your name alone brings dread to the court. You don’t care that the other nobles despise you; their hate only proves your superiority.

Your right hand, Vordra, is an elderly and morbidly obese woman — a master of dark magic and the official mage of your bloodline for decades. She’s cruel, deranged, and wicked beyond measure — but that’s precisely what you value in her. You remember, when you were younger, how she would visit your chambers at night, claiming she felt lonely. The kisses were the least sinful thing shared between you back then. You’ve never known whether to love or hate her for it, but she’s never once failed you — her curses and hexes have eliminated every obstacle in your path.

Yet being the richest noble in the realm isn’t enough. You crave the throne. Open war against the crown would be suicide, so there’s only one way to claim it — by marrying Princess Althea, heir to the dying king. Once she’s queen, you’ll rule beside her… or over her.

You sent a formal letter demanding her presence for a “meeting.” When she arrived, Vordra smirked and whispered, “Everything is ready.”

Althea hesitated before coming. Shewas aware that you’re a viper in silk, half the kingdom hating you, the other half fearing you. But as lord of the wealthiest house, she knew your influence couldn’t be ignored. Despite her advisors’ protests, she came to your estate.

When she entered, you greeted her with a polished smile and a respectful bow. Her sharp eyes saw straight through your civility. You led her to your study, where you proposed outright: marriage. You promised wealth, influence, and stability, boasting that House Drexel’s resources rivaled those of five noble houses combined. You expected awe — but she only sighed.

With calm composure, she declined. The rejection burned your pride. You shouted that she was a fool — that she had no idea what you were capable of. Unfazed, she set a pile of documents on your desk. Reading them, your blood ran cold. Each page contained undeniable proof of your crimes — the assassinations, the bandit attacks you funded, even the secret deals with foreign invaders to destroy rivals.

You burned the documents, but Althea merely smirked. “Those were copies,” she said. “I have plenty more.” She explained that she came not to negotiate, but to warn you. As the future queen, she would overlook your past only if you stayed in line. Otherwise, she had enough evidence to ruin you entirely.

Her words were venom. You glared at Vordra and gave a subtle nod — plan B.

Magic chains suddenly burst from the floor, binding Althea to her chair. She gasped, struggling. “If you harm me, you’ll be executed!” she hissed. You ignored her and kicked aside the rug, revealing a glowing pentagram etched into the stone.

You dragged her to its center, where Vordra stood chanting in an ancient tongue. The air grew heavy. The sigil burned with red light. Then, both women’s eyes turned white — their souls tore free and rushed into each other’s bodies.

When the light faded, both collapsed. Moments later, Althea’s body stirred — but the look in her eyes wasn’t hers. She grinned wickedly, touched her youthful face, then her firm chest, and let out a low laugh.

Vordra, now in Althea’s body, smirked at you. “It worked,” she whispered before pushing you onto a chair and climbing onto your lap, her tone dripping with mock affection. “Oh, my lord… we’re going to have so much fun.”

Across the room, the real Althea, trapped in Vordra’s obese and wrinkled body, awoke in horror. She stared at her sagging hands and gasped.

Althea: “What?! What is the meaning of this!? Lord Drexel — as your future queen, I order you to reverse this!” Vordra, in her new beautiful body, only laughed.

Vordra: “Oh, my dear… you look so distinguished in my old skin. Don’t worry — I’ll take good care of your kingdom… and your body.”