A strong hug woke me, squeezing my chest hard, causing a slight asphyxia. It was from a regally-dressed girl in her early twenties. She was a quite a beauty to behold. It was definitely a nice change of pace, having a hug from such a babe. Was she my wife in this dream? That would be really nice, to say goodbye to my bachelorhood. A smile spread across my face.
"I am so worried about you, Sarabeth," she said.
Pushing her aside, I said, "Wh-what did you just call me? Who is Sarabeth?"
"Her Royal Highness is suffering from confusion," a silver-haired man in a blue robe commented, "a likely residual from the head injury. Your Majesty."
"Wait, wait, time out. What are you guys talking about? I am not suffering from confusion. My name is James, James Khoo. I am a doctor and I work in the Singapore General Hospital."
A finger touched my lips. "Shhh ..." The lady smiled. "You are home. Take your time and recover." She gave me another strong hug, leaving me utterly speechless.
When the entourage left, I was still unable to form words. Shock had overwhelmed my neurons. Who was I, really? Was this a dream or was all that I remembered a dream?
Moments passed while I sat on the bed, staring into the emptiness. Two maids remained in the room. They stood at the corner, motionless. "May I have a mirror, please?" The words croaked out from my quivering mouth. I realized with a chill that they were in a voice I did not recognize. One of the maids walked to the dressing table and brought back a mirror.
It was a terrible mistake. The reflection was not the one I'd expected. It was a face I failed to recognise. The image of a blonde teenager with long straight hair like corn silk would have been a pleasing sight before, but not right now. Not when it was my own reflection. I threw the mirror to the end of the bed and buried my face in the pillow. Tears of confusion and fear flowed uncontrollably; emotions overwhelmed me.
I stayed like that, sobbing in bed, for what seemed like ages, until the pressure in my bladder grew too great to be ignored. Then, at last, I ventured to look up where the maids had stood. Only one of them was still there-a mousy girl of about twenty.
"Um, hi," I said.
She curtsied.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Cateline, Your Highness."
"Did I know you before, Cateline?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"I'm afraid I really don't remember anything," I said. "Not even-look, where's the bathroom?"
"I can run a bath for you, Your Highness," Cateline said shyly. "Only, I'm not sure the Royal Physician would like it. He said you should stay in bed."
"I mean a toilet," I clarified. "A loo. A men's-I mean, a ladies' room."
Cateline only looked at me blankly.
"I have to pee," I said bluntly. "No? Urinate? Piss? Look, you know what happens when you drink a lot of liquid and have to expel it?"
I could see the light dawning on Cateline's face. "The chamber pot is under your bed, Your Highness. Let me assist you-"
"No," I said quickly. "No, that's all right. I'd like some privacy, actually."
"I don't wish you to be injured-"
"Out," I ordered firmly. "And close the door. Don't let anyone in until I call you back."
Chamber pot. I could see I was going to love this place.
I slid out of bed and carefully to the floor, unable to trust my legs. All I was wearing was a long shirt or short nightgown, white and embroidered with tiny flowers. A shift, some corner of my mind supplied. I vaguely remembered reading in a novel somewhere about old-fashioned women wearing shifts under their clothes, but had never expected to need the word.
The chamber pot was where Cateline had said. I pulled it out with some difficulty. I was weak from my illness, and Sarabeth's arms hadn't been particularly buff to begin with, although there was some definite hint of muscle beneath the soft flesh.
The chamber pot was heavy and for some reason also decorated in flowers. Some sort of potpourri sat at the bottom, but neither design nor perfume was going to make this thing smell like roses when I was done with it.
Struck with sudden horrific embarrassment, I positioned myself over the chamber pot and did what I needed to without looking.
I shoved the chamber pot back under the bed when I was done and hauled myself back into bed, wishing that if these people didn't believe in underwear, they'd at least believe in toilet paper.
Ugh.
Once back in bed, I opened my mouth and called Cateline back. I didn't envy her the job of emptying the chamber pot-but frankly, it was better than doing it myself.
Cateline came in, curtsied, and immediately retrieved the chamber pot from under the bed. I had to resist the urge to apologise.
Once she was out of the room again, another thought occurred to me. You see ... all right, I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed to be in this body, I was embarrassed to look ... but I was also curious.
I had breasts.
The moment I thought it, I bent over in bed, overcome with sudden giggles.
I could also giggle. That was ... new.
I was still sort of giggly and punch drunk when someone knocked on the door. Expecting it to be Cateline I arranged myself in bed and called, "Come in!"
It wasn't Cateline. It was a man about my own age-or the age I was in my real body; Princess Sarabeth was probably only sixteen or seventeen.
The man's hair was silvery despite his youth, and he wore a long blue robe. He looked familiar but I just couldn't place a name to the face. As was the case when I passed him in the hospital, this time he carried a bag at his side. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Ah," I said, "you're the Royal Physician, right? It's always nice to meet a fellow doctor."
The Royal Physician blinked at me. "You remember me?"
"No," I said. "What's your name?"
"Hamon," he said. "Now, why don't you tell me your symptoms?"
"Gladly," I said, and grinned brightly at him. To my astonishment, he blushed red and grinned back. It was the way I'd responded more than once when a pretty girl had smiled at me. I had to resist the urge to burst into giggles again.
This dream might be more fun than I'd expected.

***

As time passed and the dream failed to fade, I became considerably less amused. In the days that followed that fateful day of awakening, my hope of returning to my old life diminished rapidly. Most of my time was spent wallowing in self-pity, with occasional visits from Queen Annabeth and the Royal Physician, who prescribed extra-bitter medicine with weird names. I began to appreciate the bitter tinge of paracetamol. Making a conscious effort to shed the self-pity, I embarked on a journey to discover more about my new body and the background of the person within whom my mind had apparently taken up residence. After all, there seemed no way home from here.
Food in this place was good; I had nothing to complain about. It tasted like decadent French food, but this country was no France. It was known as the Farnorian Kingdom in the world they called Edonia. Information I collated from speaking with Cateline and the other maids revealed that Queen Annabeth, my elder sister, had recently ascended to the throne after King Alfrendo's assassination. The politics of this foreign place were definitely not worth messing with.
After breakfast, it was decided that I should take a breather in the garden. The maids prepared a set of dress and accessories to be worn. Wow, I could now fully understand why women needed so long to prepare. A mere walk in the park required such detailed preparation, from putting on a dress to combing my hair. It was so uncomfortable to be dressed by others. Having them stare at my naked body, even though it wasn't technically mine, was embarrassing at first.
Now, it meant nothing; I had grown accustomed to the body I had inherited. Rather, it was the elaborate dressing sessions that were an issue for me; however it dawned upon me that there was no point in arguing with the maids about dressing up. I simply stood there like a doll while they fussed with my hair and gown. Gone were the days where I could be out and presentable in five minutes. I had to be dolled up for at least an hour before I could take the first step out of the room
One of the best parts of those first few days of adjusting were my frequent conversations with my new sister, Queen Annabeth. Annabeth refused to tell me much about myself (Hamon, the Royal Physician, had apparently warned her that my memories would be more likely to come back on their own. I hadn't the heart to tell them that my memories were fine-they were just the memories of Dr. James, not Princess Sarabeth), but we spoke of everything else under the sun. Mainly, though, she told me about the kingdom, until I loved it almost as much as she did.
Part of me half-wished this weren't only a dream. Queen Annabeth was exactly the kind of woman I would have liked to have known in real life.
"Do you see this brooch?" she asked me, after I had been there for four days.
"What about it?" I asked. It was about the length of her little finger, an emerald in the centre of intricate gold filigree. It was nice enough, I supposed-but no prettier than half the jewels Cateline insisted on draping over me each morning.
"It belonged to our mother," Annabeth told me. "Our father gave it to her the first time they met. Listen." Then she told me a story of three tasks which could have come directly out of a fairy tale.
On the sixth day, I asked Cateline to take me on a tour of the palace. I was feeling much stronger by then, and admired the armoury, library, study rooms, and the main court room as thoroughly as could be wished.
We went through a passageway leading to the training square, where men in leather armour were undergoing training with wooden weapons. Nostalgia washed through my being as I stood there watching, reminiscing about my childhood sparring with plastic toy swords with my brother.
Lost in my reverie, I exited the passageway and walked towards the group.
"Attention!" A sudden loud bellow pulled me out of my abstraction. The whole contingent of guards stood at attention immediately in perfect sync. A burly man, who appeared to be the instructor, marched towards us and bowed deeply. "Good morning, Princess Sarabeth."
"Good morning." Hearing the honorific took some getting used to, including my new name. "May I join in?" Although they tried to keep it discreet, Cateline and the other maid, Millicent, appeared to be distressed by the request.
My request seemed to stun the otherwise stoic instructor, who struggled to rearrange his uncertain expression into his composed mask. "You are welcome to join us."
I broke into a triumphant and exuberant smile. Finally, a chance to play with swords again. The exhilaration that came with the thought of having some sort of fun again in this strange place coursed through my veins.
"Aron, you are paired with the princess."
"Yes, sir," came the reply. A short guy broke rank to stand beside me. A wave of displeasure washed over me at the thought of the instructor belittling me. Never mind, I would prove him wrong with the skills I'd picked up from attending fencing classes. I seethed, as dogged determination replaced my initial excitement.
Removing the cloak with exaggerated force, I walked towards the weapon stand. After scanning the available choices, I picked up a wooden sword. Wow, it was heavier than I'd expected. It was nearly impossible to raise it with just one hand; the slender arm of this body was not strong enough. Suppressed laughter filled the courtyard but cut short when the instructor coughed. Deciding not to embarrass myself, I picked up the thinnest weapon available, a wooden rapier. It had a nice balance.
After some demonstration by the instructor, each pair was split up for sparring practice. Aron bowed and I returned a curtsy. We moved into our sparring stances and stared into each other's eyes, anticipating the imminent clash of swords. Hmmm, he must be giving in to me, I thought, as I saw no attempt on his part to enter the deadly dance.
The rapier moved smoothly through the air, making a feint. He tried to parry it, falling for my trap. The rapier was swiftly turned towards his exposed neck. But he was quick; side-stepping from the attempted kill, he brought up his weapon in defence. I tripped on my skirt and stumbled. Aron watched me, amused.
"You try to fight in a skirt," I told him, and he looked thoroughly taken aback.
I soon found that, despite the disadvantages of wearing a skirt while fighting, there was one major advantage: the skirt hid my footwork. After a few rounds of attacking, the feel of the rapier was becoming familiar and it seemed to become an extension of me. My body moved as if it had a mind of its own and attacked several times in quick succession. My legs automatically circumvented the skirt problem, as if used to it.
Aron was forced backward and finally began to take his opponent more seriously, but it was too late. A swift parry unbalanced him and the next moment the point of the rapier was grazing the skin of his neck. I withdrew from my offensive stance with an undisguised smirk. "Thank you," I said, as I bowed to my defeated opponent. The two maids by the sidelines rushed forward to take the rapier and replace the cloak. The look of pure admiration on the guard's face was definitely worth the strenuous workout.
I stared at my aching hand; this body must have known sword fighting. Muscle memory had returned in the nick of time, earning me a well-deserved victory.
If the instructor hadn't known I could fight, that raised the question-who had taught me?
If he had been the one to teach me, why had he been so displeased that I wanted to fight?
I shook my head and put the questions out of my mind. It didn't matter. I wasn't about to stop training because of some old grouch.
I went back every day to train with them in an attempt to distract myself, hoping that my old life as James would be buried with each passing day.
One day, after the usual practice, I was about to return to my quarters.
"Princess Sarabeth! The Queen has requested your audience," a maid shouted urgently from across the courtyard. I immediately picked up my skirts and headed her way.

*****