He wakes up.
He looks at the data panel beside the bed, and sees that it is morning. The panel is his only indicator of time. There are no windows in this room.
He rises, and dresses before pressing the touch pad that turns on the lights. At any time they might be watching, and he retains some sense of modesty.
The one in green brings his breakfast on a tray. A meal fit for a king; in fact, it is likely the king himself consumed the same meal, as did the woman now serving it. The man in this room is provided with all the elegant comforts the other residents of the palace enjoy. He is not, however, permitted to share their table.
The soldier in green stays for a while and talks with him. Her voice is pleasant and friendly, but the careful distance she keeps from him is all too obvious. He knows there are plenty of servants in the palace, but it is always one of the soldiers that brings his meals. Sometimes it is this one, and sometimes the one in orange. He never sees the other three, not in this room.
Correction: the other two. The third soldier he once knew is no longer like the others. Queen of the world... He still laughs when he thinks on this. He never would have guessed that outcome in another thousand years.
Between meals, he is most often alone, passing the time reading or practicing a new skill. He is allowed out, of course, but never into the city, and always in the company of at least two soldiers and a rather large entourage. They try to keep it casual, but it only seems to make it more obvious what he is. A prisoner. He prefers feeling like a prisoner in solitude to looking like one in public.
He is a prisoner of life as much as he is of this room. He never asked to be revived. From what he has been able to find out, his revival seems to have been a mistake. A heart too trusting wished too big and awoke an ancient enemy along with the innocent people of this world. The heart of the queen is truly bigger than any other. She forgave his sins, when he found his way into her kingdom.
But she has not forgotten.
Neither have the two other soldiers he knew. Although he has been pardoned, they will never trust him. It is obvious in their eyes, their words, their postures as they stand to attention around him whenever a true innocent is nearby. They suspect him, despite his heartfelt oaths and devoted gestures. They are constantly preparing for a dagger in their backs.
He tries not to be bitter. He is as warm and friendly with the soldiers and their queen and king as he can be. It is the only possible road toward earning their trust. It is his only chance at being truly forgiven. It is his only hope of someday winning the freedom the rest of this utopia enjoys.
Each night Jadeite falls asleep and dreams of crouching in the filthy darkness of a cold cell, his wrists and ankles in shackles, the same from one lifetime to the next.