The chandelier above my head swayed gently, its crystals shimmering like frozen stars. I was lying in a bed I didn't recognize, wrapped in sheets so soft they felt like clouds. The walls of the room, adorned with richly embroidered tapestries, depicted scenes of war and conquest. Every detail exuded power and privilege, but nothing made sense.
A pang of discomfort crossed my mind. Then, like a blade cutting through the fog, the memory came: I died.
I closed my eyes, trying to piece together what had happened. It was supposed to be an ordinary day. A silly argument with my sister over who would make dinner, followed by a stupid accident. A blinding light, a deafening sound, and then... darkness. Now, here I was, in a place that seemed straight out of a Renaissance painting.
Before I could process it all, the door to the room burst open. A man hurried in, wearing a pristine military uniform. His rigid posture suggested authority, but the expression on his face was one of nervousness.
— Sir, the master wants to see you immediately and is very angry for not having found you — he announced, with a slight bow.
I raised an eyebrow, confused. — Who are you? — I asked, my voice coming out hoarse. — No, better yet, who am I?
The man froze, his eyes widened in surprise. — What? I mean... you are Zephyr Delacroix, the eldest son of the Master of War.
Zephyr Delacroix. The name echoed in my mind like an echo. Familiar, but not because I knew it. No, he was a character from a novel my sister hated. A villain. The cruel antagonist who made the protagonist's life hell before meeting a tragic end.
I murmured, more to myself than to him: — Well, if I'm not mistaken, Zephyr Delacroix, 22 years old, the ruthless and merciless villain of a romance. He was the heir of the Master of War, one of the greatest powers in the empire. Known both for his beauty — dark blue hair like a starless night and sky-blue eyes like a sunny day — as well as for his cruelty. He drove almost all the ladies of the empire mad, except for the female protagonist, who only had eyes for the male protagonist.
The soldier looked at me, confused, but I continued, ignoring him. — He was the antagonist who made the crown prince's life a living hell. In the end, Zephyr was tragically defeated with a blunt blade. The prince cut him several times, but the blade wasn't sharp. He died slowly, his neck destroyed, while he writhed in pain.
The memory of what my sister used to say was so clear that I almost heard her voice narrating the scene. My death. That's what awaited me in this world if I wasn't careful.
— Sir? — the soldier's voice interrupted my thoughts. He was looking at me, hesitant. — What's up there?
I realized I was staring at the chandelier. — Nothing. — I shook my head, trying to regain control. — You said my father wants to see me?
— Yes, sir. Please accompany me — he replied, standing straight.
I looked at my clothes. The fabric was worn, and the smell was... peculiar. I grimaced. — First, I think I need a bath. — I lifted my arm, confirming my suspicion with a light sniff. — Good grief, did men used to smell this bad?
The soldier seemed surprised but maintained his composure. — Yes, sir. I'll be waiting outside. — He bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
Alone again, I sighed and looked around the room. I had reincarnated in the body of Zephyr Delacroix. It was an absurd thought, but the evidence was right in front of me. No cell phone, no Wi-Fi, and trapped in a world where my death was almost guaranteed.
I went to the bathroom, where a copper tub gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the window. I touched the cold edge, trying to understand how it worked. Before I could figure it out, someone knocked on the door.
— Come in — I said, a bit impatient.
A young woman entered, carrying buckets of hot water. Her eyes avoided mine, but I noticed her hands trembling slightly.
— Sir, Mateus sent me to prepare your bath — she said, her voice low and hesitant.
I watched as she poured the water into the tub. Her movements were precise, but her face was flushed. She was young, maybe 18 or 19 years old, and clearly uncomfortable with my presence.
— Excuse me — she murmured, bowing slightly before turning to leave.
— Wait a moment — I called, taking a few steps toward her. She stopped, tense, and looked at me over her shoulder.
I gently took her chin, lifting her face to meet my eyes. — Thank you very much, miss. Every time I see you, my day gets much better. — I smiled, noticing how her cheeks became even redder.
She stammered something incomprehensible before running out of the room. I chuckled softly, shaking my head. At least this will be amusing.
The hot water rose up the bathtub, steam filling the bathroom with a comforting warmth. I sighed, letting my tense muscles relax. Perhaps this was the only moment of peace I would have before facing the chaos that seemed inevitable.
The cold touch of the marble against my hands brought me back to reality. Zephyr Delacroix. That was the name I now carried, but it was also a burden. A cruel villain, hated by almost everyone and destined for a humiliating death. I knew how this story ended, and I needed to find a way to change the course.
After finishing the bath, I stood up and wrapped a towel around me. The fabric was thick and soft, but none of it seemed to matter. I walked to the polished mahogany wardrobe, where I found a military uniform reinforced with precision. It was dark, with golden accents and the crest of the Master of War embroidered on the chest. I dressed in each piece carefully, adjusting the sleeves and fastening the belt firmly.
On the white marble countertop, a perfume bottle was strategically positioned. I picked it up, hesitant, and sprayed a bit into the air before smelling it. Discreetly, I wrinkled my nose.
— What a horrible smell is this? — I murmured, pushing the bottle away as if it were poison.
I called the soldier, who entered almost immediately.
— Servant, what is this? — I asked, holding up the bottle with distrust.
— It's your perfume, sir — he replied, trying not to show his surprise.
— Perfume? This seems more like a chemical weapon — I shook my head. — Don't you have rose or lavender perfume?
He hesitated for a moment, clearly surprised.
— Sir, those are feminine fragrances.
— I've heard that before. It's not my fault they smell better — I shrugged, putting the bottle back in its place.
Mateus maintained his correct posture, but there was a slight curiosity in his eyes.
— Shall I call the perfumer tomorrow, sir? — he asked.
— Yes, do that. And take the opportunity to explain something to me: how does someone bear to use this every day? — I demanded, while adjusting the collar of the uniform.
He didn't respond, but his expression seemed to say he wouldn't dare comment.
Before leaving, I turned to him.
— Your name is Mateus, right? —
— Yes, sir.
— Great. Let's go see my father before he has a heart attack — I said, walking past him, adjusting my posture.
The hallway was silent, but each step echoed like a drum. Tapestries adorned the walls, depicting grand battles and bloody victories. It was obvious this was a warrior's home, but now I needed to be more than that. I needed to be smart, or this place would become my tomb.
— Mateus, what exactly does my father want with me? — I asked, breaking the silence.
— The Master of War is dissatisfied with your absence at this morning's meeting, sir. He said it was unforgivable — Mateus seemed uncomfortable repeating the words.
I sighed, rubbing my temples.
— Of course, he said that.
Mateus hesitated for a moment before continuing.
— Shall I prepare you to face the master, sir?
— What do you suggest, that I kneel and beg for forgiveness? — I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
— No, sir. I just recommend you choose your words carefully.
I smiled, but there was no humor in the gesture.
— Well, Mateus, let's improvise. That never goes wrong, right? — I said, heading towards the Master's chamber.