As Alexandre emerged from the bath, water cascading down his body in long rivulets, he caught the towel silently handed to him by a servant. Wrapping himself slowly, Alexandre turned his gaze toward the women who remained kneeling, awaiting his approval.
"What's next?"
One of the servants, older and more composed than the others, stepped forward with measured grace. It was the same woman who had spoken earlier during their introduction. She lowered her head slightly, as if to hide a hint of nervousness, though her voice betrayed nothing but steadiness.
"Young master, if you permit, we will now prepare your attire."
Alexandre raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the boldness in her demeanor amidst the deference of the others. Taking a deliberate step closer, he reduced the space between them. His hand, still damp, moved with languid precision to graze her chin. With a light touch, he lifted her face, revealing her delicate features.
She didn't flinch, but he noticed her gaze waver for the briefest of moments before locking onto his with an almost defiant steadiness.
"Do as you've said."
At once, the servants, who had been as still as statues, sprang into action. The leader inclined her head slightly, her lips murmuring words that seemed to straddle a line between gratitude and a silent prayer.
They guided him to his bedroom, where the butler waited, as composed as ever. With precise, practiced gestures, the head servant signaled two younger attendants forward. One knelt, presenting an ornate outfit, while the other unveiled a grand jewelry chest.
Alexandre observed the choreographed movements with mild amusement. The younger women moved with swift efficiency, while the head servant personally selected each piece, meticulously arranging them on a mannequin before passing them to the others. There was an elegance in their process that, against his better judgment, began to captivate him.
When the first garment—a finely embroidered white shirt—was handed to him, Alexandre humored the servants, lifting his arms to be dressed.
"Does this suffice for a young master?" he asked, his voice tinged with mockery and a hint of mischief.
The head servant met his eyes with a polite yet resolute smile. "Not yet, sir."
Alexandre chuckled, a genuine laugh this time, and let the moment pass. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt an odd sense of satisfaction in being treated as someone truly important.
The servants worked meticulously, dressing him in a luxurious ensemble of black velvet adorned with intricate golden embroidery.
Once fully dressed, Alexandre turned to face the mirror, momentarily taken aback by the reflection staring back at him. The transformation was undeniable—a man of nobility, authority, and undeniable elegance.
The butler stepped forward then, a hint of approval in his carefully measured smile.
"Shall we proceed, young master?"
Alexandre straightened his posture, this time feeling a flicker of confidence. Though he understood little about the situation he found himself in, the allure of this world—the boundless possibilities it seemed to offer—sparked something deep within him. Perhaps this was what he had always dreamed of: a life of grandeur.
"Yes. Let's go."
The old man bowed once more and turned to leave the room. Alexandre followed him.
They descended a grand spiraling staircase, passed through an enormous set of double doors, and entered an opulent dining hall. A long table, laden with an array of sumptuous dishes, stretched before him. Alexandre, slightly overwhelmed, allowed his gaze to wander around the room. A massive crystal chandelier dominated the ceiling, casting shimmering light onto silverware and crystal goblets.
The butler smoothly pulled out a chair for him, and Alexandre hesitantly took a seat.
"What am I supposed to do now?" he murmured under his breath, staring at the mountain of food before him. The sheer extravagance was alien to him—this was a far cry from pizza in front of a screen in his previous life.
As he timidly reached for a piece of bread, a voice sliced through the air, sharp and unmistakable.
"Well, I trust the little pup slept well?"
Startled, Alexandre turned to see a woman standing in the doorway. She was older but exuded an aura of power and grace. Clad in an elegant dark gown, her mere presence was commanding.
"Uh..."
The corners of her lips curved into a faint smile, but her eyes betrayed none of the warmth he'd sensed from the butler—or the fear he'd noticed in the servants.
Her piercing gaze bore into him, and Alexandre's nascent confidence crumbled instantly under its weight. Who was she? A relative? A figure connected to the owner of this body? He swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes but striving not to appear weak.
His mind raced. Why didn't he have access to this body's memories? It was a glaring handicap, and without answers, survival in this strange world would be impossible.
The woman took several graceful steps into the dining hall, her smile widening ever so slightly—but it was far from reassuring.
Raising an eyebrow, she tilted her head as though amused by his silence. "Could it be that our dear little pup woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? Or should I say this afternoon, judging by the time?"
Her words struck Alexandre like an invisible slap. He struggled to piece together anything he'd learned so far about this unfamiliar household, but his thoughts came up empty.
Why don't I remember anything?
"Uh, I..." he stammered, grasping desperately for words that wouldn't come.
The woman laughed, a sharp sound that filled the room as she gracefully took a seat across the long table. Her movements were precise, her hands resting elegantly on the pristine tablecloth. "Save your awkwardness for another time, please. Let's not ruin this perfectly fine meal with such dreary vibes. The food here is far too exquisite for that."
Alexandre felt heat rise in his cheeks, humiliation creeping in. He wanted to respond, to retake control of the moment, but fear of saying the wrong thing kept him rooted.
What does she expect from me?
A servant approached silently and filled his glass with water, granting Alexandre a brief moment to compose himself. He took a deep breath and tentatively placed his hands on the table. Perhaps he didn't need to reply just yet. Perhaps observation and playing the "young master" role would suffice, at least for now.
"So, little pup," she taunted, her voice laced with amusement. "Will you sit there in silence, eat, or continue staring at me?"
Summoning a strained smile, Alexandre finally met her gaze.
It's all just an act... a performance.
"I suppose you could say I'm not quite myself today," he replied with a thin smile.
She arched an eyebrow, leaning forward ever so slightly, intrigue flickering in her eyes. "Interesting. Very interesting. Now eat before my patience wears thin."
Alexandre obliged, picking up a piece of bread and forcing a smile, though his mind was a maelstrom of questions. If this woman was an adversary, he needed to figure out her role in the household—and in the life he now occupied—before it was too late.
But no sooner had he taken a bite than a searing pain exploded in his head.
The fork slipped from his hand, clattering loudly against the plate and echoing through the hall.
Alexandre squeezed his eyes shut, clutching his temples as a guttural groan escaped his lips.
"Agh..."
The pain was overwhelming, like his skull was about to split open. A servant, alarmed by the noise, rushed to his side, her face etched with concern.
"Young master, are you all right?"
The woman across from him set down her utensils, her amused smile playing at the corners of her lips.
"Are you sure you woke up on the right side of the bed this morning? You seem… distracted," she said, her tone almost teasing.
Alexandre drew a deep breath, struggling to steady himself against the lingering pain in his head. A servant handed him a glass of water, which he accepted with a nod of gratitude before dismissing her with a subtle wave.
Then it hit him.
Like an overwhelming wave crashing over his mind, memories erupted, flooding his consciousness with a dizzying intensity.
Alexandre ran a hand over his face, still reeling. The searing pain in his skull was gradually ebbing away, but the memories remained vivid, etched into his thoughts as if they had been there all along.
Azarel Valcis.
That was his name now.