I became the villain in Romance Fantasy Novel!

(???'s PoV)

The world was cold. Colder than anything he had ever experienced.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was the biting chill that clung to his skin, making him instinctively pull the thick blanket closer. His mind was sluggish, hazy, like he had just woken from a long dream. Yet, when he tried to recall where he was or how he got there, his thoughts stumbled, leaving him with an overwhelming sense of confusion.

Where am I?

The bed beneath him was too soft, the room too grand. The walls were decorated with lavish tapestries and grand paintings, the air scented with the faintest hint of incense. The ceiling stretched high above, adorned with a massive chandelier that glittered like stars. This wasn't his room. This wasn't his life.

He shot up, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath fogged in the freezing air, the cold seeping into his bones despite the thick covers. His hands trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer unfamiliarity of everything around him.

"What is this place?" he muttered, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. The voice that escaped his lips was deeper, more mature. Panic surged through him as he stumbled out of the bed, rushing toward a large mirror in the corner of the room.

The face that stared back at him wasn't his own.

He froze, unable to comprehend the reflection. His hair, which had once been plain, was now a striking shade of red, falling in messy waves over his forehead. His eyes, once dark, were now an eerie shade of grey, glinting like polished steel. The face that gazed back at him was impossibly handsome—sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and features that looked as though they had been carved from marble. 

There was a regal air to him now, a sense of power that radiated from his appearance alone. But it wasn't just the face—it was the body, too. He was taller, broader, his posture naturally commanding.

This… this can't be real. 

He stumbled back, his breath quickening. It felt like he was suffocating, trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake from. This wasn't him. This couldn't be him. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, fragments of his old life and this new, unfamiliar one colliding in his mind, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

He tried to reach for something familiar, something to ground him, but all he could feel was the weight of this new reality pressing down on him. His mind screamed at him to reject it, to deny what his eyes were seeing. **This is impossible.**

Who... am I?

He backed away from the mirror, panic surging through him. His reflection felt like a stranger, a hollow version of himself. And yet, as the panic rose, so did fragments of memories that weren't his own,  Marcus Aurelius. That name echoed in his mind, but it didn't belong to him—or at least, it didn't feel like it did.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake off the disorienting images that bombarded him. His breathing grew ragged, his chest tightening. This can't be real. I can't be here. 

Just yesterday—had it been yesterday?—he had been… somewhere else. Someone else. **What happened?** How had he come to be in this body, this world?

Before he could collect his thoughts, a sudden knock at the door startled him. He jumped, his heart racing even faster. 

The door creaked open, and a maid stepped inside, her polite smile faltering when she saw the expression on his face.

"Your Grace," she said softly, bowing deeply. "It is time for your morning briefing."

Your Grace? No… no, this can't be…

Marcus's mind spun. His skin felt like it was crawling, the suffocating weight of the situation closing in on him. He wasn't a noble. He wasn't a Grand Duke. He couldn't be. The title sounded alien to him, like it belonged to someone else. This had to be a dream—some twisted nightmare that he just hadn't woken up from.

The maid's concerned gaze lingered on him. "Are you alright, Your Grace? Should I summon a doctor?"

Marcus opened his mouth to respond but found his voice stuck in his throat. His heart pounded painfully against his chest, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. He wanted to scream, to demand answers from her, but all he could manage was a curt nod. "I-I'm fine," he muttered, his voice shaking slightly.

The maid hesitated, then bowed once more. "Very well, Your Grace. I shall return shortly."

As she left the room, Marcus collapsed back onto the bed, his head in his hands. His breathing was shallow, and he could feel the panic clawing at him again. This isn't real. This isn't real.

But no matter how hard he tried to deny it, the truth was sinking in. He wasn't in his world anymore. He was Marcus Aurelius, Grand Duke of the Solstern Empire, and everything about this new identity felt too real to ignore.

The panic surged again, and for a long moment, he just sat there, trembling as the reality of his situation crashed over him like a tidal wave. He needed time. Time to think, time to breathe. But time wasn't something he had.

There was another knock at the door—louder this time. The sudden noise jolted him out of his thoughts, and he wiped a hand across his face, trying to steady himself. He had to face this, even if every instinct screamed at him to hide.

The door opened, and a tall man with a stern expression strode in without waiting for permission. His presence filled the room, commanding attention as he bowed sharply. "Your Grace," he said, his voice firm. "I'm Captain Armand, your chief knight. We've just received word that a new wave of monsters has breached the northern borders. We require your orders immediately."

Marcus stared at him, unable to comprehend what was happening. Monsters? Orders? His mind was still trying to process the fact that he was a Grand Duke in a strange new world, and now he was expected to lead? 

Lead what? Fight monsters?

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to regain control. This was too much. He wasn't ready for this. How could they expect him to command armies, to defend territories, when he didn't even know who he was anymore?

But as the captain's sharp gaze remained fixed on him, waiting for instructions, Marcus felt the crushing weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. The pressure was unbearable, and for a moment, he thought he might break under it.

"I… I need time," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Captain Armand raised an eyebrow, clearly confused by the response. "Time, Your Grace? The situation is urgent. We need to act—"

"I said I need time," Marcus interrupted, his voice more forceful this time, though still shaking. "Just… give me a moment."

The captain hesitated, clearly unsure how to respond, but eventually gave a respectful nod. "Very well, Your Grace. I shall return shortly."

As the captain left, Marcus stood frozen in place, feeling the weight of the world bearing down on him. His chest felt tight, and for the first time since waking in this strange body, he truly understood the gravity of his situation.

His people were in danger. His land was crumbling. And he was expected to fix it all. 

But how could he? He wasn't a ruler. He wasn't a warrior. He was just… Marcus, a stranger in a strange body, thrust into a life he didn't understand.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Marcus sat back on the bed and stared out the window at the snow-covered landscape beyond. He needed time. Time to think, time to breathe. Time to figure out what to do next.

But time was running out.