"Henry!" A familiar voice said, "Henry, come on! It's time to get up!"
Henry rolled over and sprawled out one arm in the direction of the boy try to wake him up. He couldn't get up just yet today. He was exhausted, although he couldn't quite place why."
Then the other boy yanked his hair and screamed, "GET! UP!" directly into his ear.
Henry's eyes shot open and he clasped his hands to his head as he screamed in pain. "Alright!" he said, "Alright, I'll... I'll get up!"
"Good," the other boy said, "Mister Winters wants you downstairs in ten minutes!"
There was a strange... clacking sound, and then a door slammed shut.
...who in the name of all that was good and holy was Mister Winters?
Henry wasn't sure what was going on, but he WAS sure that he was no longer in the Tower of Lights, and he was quite happy about that - if a little embarrassed that he must have passed out from fear. Prince Edward must have dragged him back to an inn to recover. Henry wasn't sure he'd ever be able to repay the prince for all the kindnesses he had done.
Still, now that he was awake and alert, it was time to get up. Henry pushed himself up into a sitting position, yawned, and stretched. As he did, his hair shifted, and long golden locks fell across his eyes.
...that couldn't be right, could it? His hair wasn't THAT long. Suddenly aware that he could feel hair resting on his shoulders and running down his back, too, he reached up to brush the fallen locks out of the way, and nearly had a heart attack when he saw his hand.
Gone were all the calluses and bruises he'd gained working the streets as a pickpocket and learning the sword under Prince Edward. His hand was as smooth as the day he was born, and his fingernails were long and dyed.
In a panic, he looked down at his body. He'd always been a bit on the skinny side, but now his muscles were gone entirely, replaced with just enough baby fat to round out any sharp edges in his lithe, slender body. His skin was smooth, pale, and completely bare of hair. It was like a girl's skin, although fortunately, he was most definitely still a boy.
He looked around the room, panicked. The walls and floor were all made of wood, save for a window behind his bed, with the curtains drawn. He could tell that night was already beginning to fall, and the only light in the small room came from a candle, sitting on a dressing table.
What really terrified Henry, however, was the clothes he saw tossed atop a stool someone had dragged into the middle of the room. He had a sinking suspicion he was supposed to WEAR these.