Reincarnated! But Why Here?

The candlelight flickered softly, casting golden hues across the grand chamber. Heavy velvet curtains, embroidered with intricate patterns, framed the tall windows, allowing only a sliver of moonlight to seep in. The scent of fresh chamomile lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of aged wood and polished stone.

A beautiful woman rested against the headboard of an ornately carved mahogany bed, her face pale from exhaustion. Despite the fatigue etched in her delicate features, her grey eyes gleamed with warmth and quiet strength.

The chamber was illuminated by golden candlelight, casting flickering shadows across the deep crimson drapes and the intricate embroidery of the silk canopy above the bed. The air carried the faint scent of lavender and myrrh, a soothing blend meant to ease pain and promote rest.

A cluster of attendants stood nearby. Three maids stood quietly by the bedside, their gazes respectfully lowered. But the woman in white—Madame Lennon—hesitated, cradling a red silk bundle in her arms. Her grip was tense, her expression troubled.

"Madame Lennon," the woman on the bed spoke, her voice gentle yet commanding, "let me see my child."

Madame Lennon swallowed and stepped forward, lowering her head as she placed the bundle into the Duchess's waiting arms. "Your Grace, the child—" Her words faltered, uncertainty flashing across her face.

The Duchess looked down, her breath catching at the sight of the tiny form nestled within the folds of silk. The baby was small but healthy, her breathing soft and steady. Yet, the most striking feature was her hair—a full head of silvery strands, glimmering faintly in the candlelight.

A flicker of surprise passed through the Duchess's gaze, but it quickly softened into something else—happiness.

Silence stretched as Madame Lennon awaited any reaction, her shoulders stiff with tension. But when no outburst came, no hint of displeasure, the older woman let out a quiet sigh of relief. The Duchess was beloved, but she was also the wife of one of the most feared men in the land.

In the baby's mind, fragmented awareness slowly knitted itself together. She could see a beautiful woman with long black hair gazing down at her with an expression she couldn't quite understand. Was it… affection?

She tried to shift, but her limbs were weak and unresponsive. A sudden realization struck her. The body she was in—it was not her own.

A baby…?

A startled cry—small and feeble—escaped her lips as she felt herself lifted into the air. The Duchess pressed a kiss to her forehead, murmuring soft words of comfort.

"My lovely baby, you are so adorable," she whispered.

Sabrina—if that was still her name—stared up at the woman, ruby-red eyes meeting stormy grey. The connection between them was undeniable.

She must be my mother…

Before she could process further, a muffled thud came from the door.

Two figures entered—one, a tall man dressed in a formal military uniform, complete with a double-breasted frock coat and a red-lined cape. His dark hair was neatly combed, his sharp features framed by an air of discipline. At his side stood a young boy, no more than five years old, his resemblance to the man undeniable.

The maids and Madame Lennon immediately bowed deeply. "Greetings, Your Grace. Greetings, My Young Lord."

The man's gaze swept the room before landing on the Duchess and the child in her arms. His rigid expression softened slightly, and without a word, he strode forward.

He reached out, cupping the Duchess's cheek with a gloved hand. "Edriesa," he commanded, his voice low and steady, "take Madame Lennon to the study. Call Zoran."

A figure materialized from the shadows—a young woman dressed in a black military uniform embroidered with red sigils. Her expression was unreadable, her presence like a wraith in the dimly lit room.

"Madame, please come with me," she said, her voice devoid of warmth.

Madame Lennon hesitated but obeyed, following the young woman out.

The Duke—Aleksei Siniel Armaturova—turned his attention back to his wife, his eyes briefly searching hers before shifting downward. "Let me hold her, love."

The Duchess smiled and whispered, "Siniel, you have a princess now to shower with love."

As he took the baby into his arms, his hold was careful, as though he feared she might shatter. His crimson eyes softened as he gazed at the tiny face before him.

"My love," he murmured, brushing a finger against her cheek. "She is exquisite. Thank you for this gift."

Sabrina—or whoever she was now—studied the man intently. His red eyes, though striking, held an undeniable warmth. It was an odd contrast to his fearsome aura.

A tug at the Duchess's sleeve made her glance down.

"I want to see her too!" The young boy pouted, his dark brows furrowed.

The Duke shot him a chiding look. "Behave, Caelum. Your mother is tired."

The boy shuffled closer to his mother's side, pressing himself against her in protest.

The Duchess chuckled, running her fingers through his dark curls. "Siniel, don't be so harsh. And Caelum, honey, you're still very young yourself. How will you carry your sister properly?"

Caelum's pout deepened, but he remained silent.

She leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "But I might have a way to help you hold her… if you make me a promise."

His eyes lit up. "What promise?"

"That you will always protect her. That no harm will ever reach her without passing through you first."

The boy didn't hesitate. He straightened his back and declared, "Yes! I promise to protect her. Nothing will ever hurt her!"

The Duke smirked, ruffling his son's hair. "That's a bold vow, Caelum."

A knock at the door interrupted them. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a butler's uniform stepped inside. His usually composed face held a rare trace of joy.

"Your Grace," he said with a bow.

The Duke didn't look away from his daughter. "Watch over Madame Lennon. She is not to leave."

The butler's expression immediately sobered. "As you command, Your Grace."

The Duchess glanced at her husband, concern flickering in her gaze. He bent down, whispering something in her ear before kissing it gently.

"There is nothing to fear as long as I stand here."

She nodded, trust evident in her expression.

As the moment settled, she turned back to her son. "Now then, Caelum, shall we let you hold your sister?"

With his father's help, Caelum cradled the newborn in his arms. He studied her tiny face, utterly enthralled.

"She's so small," he whispered, poking her cheek ever so gently. "So soft… like a little doll."

The Duke swiftly retrieved the baby, wary of his son's curiosity.

The Duchess, watching the exchange, suddenly spoke. "Siniel, what shall we name her?"

Without hesitation, the Duke replied, "That is for you to decide, love. She will carry the duchy's name, but her given name should come from you."

A soft smile played on her lips. "You always say I am your heart. And she… she is its heartbeat." She gazed at the child. "Then, she shall be Cordelia. Cordelia Elysia Armaturova."

A hush fell over the room.

Sabrina—no, Cordelia—let the name settle in her mind.

Yes, she thought. That name would do.