I stood before the mirror, meticulously adjusting the cuffs of the suit Mayer had prepared for me. It was tailored—well-tailored—to fit the style of the medieval era we lived in. The dark fabric was rich, a deep navy that absorbed the dim light in the room, yet somehow reflected an air of quiet authority. A doublet, finely stitched along the edges with intricate gold embroidery, hugged my torso perfectly, emphasizing the sharp lines of my shoulders and tapering down to a fitted waist. Beneath it, a white linen shirt, pressed and pristine, peeked through the slashed sleeves of the doublet, its texture soft against my skin. The trousers, made of supple leather, clung to my legs comfortably without restricting movement. And the boots—ah, the boots. Polished, knee-high, and made of the finest black leather I'd seen in a long time. Not overly ornate, but just enough to signal wealth without drawing too much attention.
I liked that balance—elegant, without being gaudy. A man of class beneath the cold surface.
As I stood there, pulling the belt tight around my waist and ensuring the buckle sat squarely in place, I couldn't help but think about the irony of it all. I was about to attend a meeting in place of Aunt Margot—an introduction, if you will, to the inner workings of Ravenhood. By all accounts, Eliot had rarely ever been outside the estate. Margot made sure of that, keeping him hidden away for her own schemes, keeping him ignorant and isolated.
But now, it was me—Leon Winter—in this body. And I had no intention of playing the fool.
I straightened my collar, giving myself one last look in the mirror. The reflection stared back with sharp, calculating eyes. I had to make an impression, a strong one. The kind that would remind people of what power felt like, even if they didn't know who I truly was.
"Are you sure about going alone?" Mayer's voice interrupted my thoughts, his reflection appearing just behind mine in the mirror. He looked concerned, his brow furrowed slightly. "It's going to be a bad idea—"
I cut him off, smoothing the front of my doublet and adjusting the hem. "I'm sure," I said flatly, eyes not leaving the reflection. "You need to stay here and keep an eye on Margot."
Mayer paused, then nodded, knowing better than to argue. "There's a carriage waiting outside," he said, stepping aside as I turned from the mirror.
"Good."
As I made my way through the estate's halls, the sound of my boots clicking against the stone echoed. The manor felt hollow, empty in more ways than one. But that didn't bother me. I thrived in silence.
When I stepped outside, the cool air brushed against my face, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the bath from earlier. The carriage waiting for me was modest—too modest for my taste, but it would do. An old man stood by it, commanding a few tired-looking horses. His posture was bent, his face weathered, but there was something in his eyes—something akin to respect.
"Master Eliot," he greeted with a bow, his voice raspy but earnest. There was an unmistakable glint of hope behind those eyes. I had seen it before—on faces that had once looked at Sebastian the same way. Even in death, my father's presence clung to people, like a shadow they could never shake off. They didn't see me; they saw him. They still remembered Elias Blackthorn.
Of course they did.
As I approached the carriage, the old man's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, perhaps searching for some trace of Sebastian in my features. I gave him none. Mayer opened the carriage door for me, and I slid inside, settling into the worn leather seat.
The inside was as modest as the exterior—hardly fitting for someone of my standing, but I supposed Eliot Blackthorn had yet to make a name for himself. That would change soon enough.
I gazed out the window as the carriage began to move, the estate slowly disappearing behind us. The horses clopped rhythmically against the dirt road, the sway of the carriage a gentle, almost soothing motion. Trees lined the path, their branches heavy with leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The occasional gust of wind rustled the leaves, and I could hear the faint chirping of birds in the distance.
I wasn't worried about Margot. The look she had given me back in that room—the terror that had overtaken her face—was one I had seen countless times in my past life. It was the look of submission, of someone who knew they were no longer in control. I knew she wouldn't dare defy me now.
The real question, however, lingered in my mind as the carriage rolled on.
That power I once held—the essence of the name Leon Winter—did it follow me into this life? It was difficult to say. I had yet to fully understand the extent of this body's capabilities, the potential lying dormant beneath its soft skin. But one thing was certain: the name I carried now—Eliot Blackthorn—was about to become something far more formidable.
As I leaned back in the carriage, arms folded, I smirked to myself. I may not have had the raw strength I once possessed, but that didn't matter.
Power was power, no matter the form it took.
And I would reclaim mine.