Transmigrated As The Perverted Young Master



The room was drenched in moonlight, casting a faint blue glow that danced across the lavish decorations. Lumiere, her silver hair flowing like liquid silver, lay sprawled on the large bed, engrossed in a book. The gentle night breeze wafted through the open windows, flipping the pages and teasing her hair.

For hours, she had been lost in the world of ancient histories and mystical secrets, tracing her delicate fingers over the lines of the book. The more she read, the more she marveled at the complexity of it all. How could such simple words weave intricate tales of magic and power? It was beyond her comprehension, yet she persisted, driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge.

But looming over her like a shadow was the impending war on the horizon. Her father, the Winter King, had assigned the kingdom's best teachers to prepare her, yet she felt no closer to being ready. They repeated the same lessons over and over, as if drilling the information into her mind. But it was like pouring water into a sieve - nothing stayed.

Suddenly, her pointed ears twitched, picking up on a faint sound near the door. In an instant, she sprung into action, swiftly hiding the book beneath her pillow and assuming a position of innocent slumber. She heard the clicking and clacking of the door handle, followed by its gentle creak as it opened.

Soft footsteps approached her bed, gradually growing nearer. Lumiara's heart raced as she deduced it was her mother, the Queen. She could almost feel her mother's gaze upon her, piercing through the facade of sleep. The silence hung in the air for a moment before the Queen spoke, her voice tender with a hint of amusement.

"Oh, my dear daughter," the Queen said, her voice tinged with a chuckle. "If you're going to pretend to sleep, at least make sure the lamp is extinguished."

Lumiara inwardly cringed at her forgetfulness. How could she have been so careless? She had completely overlooked the lamp, a rookie mistake. With a well-practiced motion, she lazily shuffled on the bed, stretching her arms and legs as though she had just awakened. She let out a yawn, covering her mouth with her hand, and blinked her eyes open.

"Mama...when did you come in?" Lumiere asked, feigning innocence.

Her mother's response was swift and playful. Without warning, she reached out and pinched Lumiere's right ear, causing her to yelp and recoil. There was a strange satisfaction in the pain, a reminder that she was still young and free, not yet bound by the responsibilities of marriage. Lumiara couldn't help but crack a slight smile despite herself.

"What, Mama?! Why are you always so cruel to your little lamb?" Lumiere melodramatically sighed, rubbing her ear. "I'm your child, aren't I?"

Queen Frostalia chuckled softly, circling around the bed until she sat in front of Lumiere, who lowered her gaze to her lap. The Queen's voice grew softer, filled with a mother's tenderness.

"I've told you not to stay up so late, haven't I?" the Queen said, gently caressing Lumiara's cheek. "You have a meeting with young Master Derick tomorrow. Don't let your father catch you like this. He'll be furious!"

"He already hates me..." Lumiere murmured, looking back up at her mother. "Why should he care anymore?"

"He doesn't hate you, my sweet girl," the Queen replied, sighing deeply. "He's just worried, that's all. Worried about what will happen to you if something were to happen to him."

The Queen's words struck a chord within Lumiere, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions. Tears welled up in her eyes as she considered her father's concerns. She didn't want to admit it, but deep down, she knew he loved her. It was his fear for her well-being that fueled his actions.

"But why him?" Lumiere's voice quivered with frustration. "Why must it be that barbarian, that uncultured young master? He possesses no artistic skill, no education whatsoever."

The Queen shrugged, her eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and resolve. "That's precisely why he's the perfect choice for your marriage," she explained. "In a kingdom filled with warriors and brutes, he stands out as the strongest and most skilled. With your magical abilities, there is no obstacle you cannot overcome."

Lumiere stared at her mother, her face a mix of confusion and resignation. "But why are we even worrying about a war that may never happen?"

A deep sigh escaped the Queen's lips as she glanced around the room, her gaze distant. "The oracle has already foreseen it," she said, her voice filled with a touch of reverence.

Lumiere's brows furrowed in defiance. "The oracle is fallible, Mother. I refuse to believe in a prophecy that foretells a war I can't fathom."

The Queen nodded slowly, her expression softening. "I understand, my dear. We can discuss it further another time. But for now, you must prepare yourself for tomorrow."

With those words, the Queen turned and silently left the room, leaving Lumiere alone with her thoughts. The weight of her impending future pressed upon her shoulders, and she couldn't help but feel a mixture of longing and resentment. She didn't want to marry someone she barely knew, someone who seemed so far removed from her world.

Lumiere lay back on the bed, her tears streaming down her cheeks, silently dampening the pillow beneath her. Sleep finally enveloped her in its embrace, offering a temporary respite from her worries and uncertainties.

As she drifted off into dreams, her mind conjured visions of a different life, one filled with adventure and freedom. She yearned for a future where she could make her own choices, where her destiny wasn't predetermined by politics and alliances.

In her dreamscape, she imagined herself wielding incredible power, commanding the forces of winter with ease. She fought alongside brave warriors, defended her kingdom with unwavering determination, and defied the expectations placed upon her.

But the waking world awaited her, with its harsh realities and responsibilities. The sun would rise, bringing with it a new day, a day that would shape the course of her life. And as Lumiara succumbed to the realm of dreams, she clung to the hope that somehow, amidst the chaos and uncertainties, she would find her own path and forge her own destiny.

As the first rays of dawn pierced through the curtains, gently caressing the room, Lumiere stirred from her slumber. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes still puffy from tears shed the night before. She took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp morning air, and slowly sat up in bed.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the doors to her chamber swung open, and a group of maids entered with trays of steaming water and fresh linens. They moved about the room with practiced efficiency, their soft murmurs filling the air as they prepared to bathe and dress the princess.

Lumiere submitted to their ministrations, allowing herself to be guided to a nearby tub filled with warm water. The maids delicately bathed her, their gentle touch soothing her troubled mind. As the water enveloped her, she felt a sense of renewal, as if washing away the weight of her worries.

Once she was cleansed and dried, the maids selected a gown fit for the occasion—a flowing, ice-blue dress adorned with intricate frost patterns. They helped Lumiere into the garment, their nimble fingers fastening the clasps and adjusting the fabric until it draped perfectly over her slender figure.

The final touches were applied—a silver tiara adorning her head and delicate jewelry adorning her wrists.

Lumiere took one last glance at her reflection in the mirror, her icy blue eyes searching for a hint of determination. She knew that the day ahead would be filled with challenges and expectations, but she was resolved to face them with grace and poise.

As she stepped towards the window, curiosity drew her attention to the courtyard below. Her breath caught in her throat as she beheld a sight she had never seen before—a grand procession of carriages and horsemen, accompanied by a multitude of attendants and guards. The courtyard was teeming with activity, each person playing a vital role in the arrival of a distinguished guest.

Lumiere's heart raced as she recognized the emblem emblazoned on the carriages—a regal lion, representing the House of Esteria. It could only mean one thing—Derick, the young master chosen to be her betrothed, had arrived, accompanied by his esteemed father, the High Lord of Esteria.

From her vantage point, Lumiere watched with a mixture of trepidation and intrigue as the carriages came to a halt. The grand doors opened, and a figure stepped out—a man of commanding presence, tall and imposing. His robes flowed majestically as he surveyed his surroundings, his gaze filled with an air of authority.

Beside him stood Derick, the young master Lumiere was destined to wed. He seemed slightly out of place among the grandeur, his demeanor more akin to that of a warrior than a nobleman. But there was a fire in his eyes, a determination that hinted at a strength beneath his rough exterior.