Luis was still observing the property through the window when the silence of the room was interrupted.
Knock… knock…
The knock was soft but firm.
Before he could respond, the door slowly opened.
A woman entered first.
Tall, elegant, moving with the natural ease of someone who had always belonged in that environment. Her light-blue dress had subtle embroidery on the sleeves, and her brown hair was arranged in a simple yet refined style.
It was impossible not to notice her beauty.
Helena de Alcântara Bragança e Castro.
Behind her came another woman, a few steps farther back.
Maria.
Miguel's wife and responsible for many of the household routines. Despite her position as a servant, her presence in the family was much closer to that of a trusted friend than someone merely subordinate.
Helena entered the room with restrained urgency.
"Luis!"
She crossed the room in just a few steps.
Her eyes scanned her son from head to toe before she even reached him.
Luis had barely enough time to blink when his mother was already in front of him.
First she touched his forehead.
Then she held his face with both hands.
Then she touched his forehead again.
"You're standing?!"
The sentence came out almost like an accusation.
Luis opened his mouth to respond, but Helena continued examining him.
She touched his neck.
Then his forehead again.
She frowned.
"The fever seems to have gone down…"
Luis raised an eyebrow.
"Seems?"
Helena shot him a stern look.
"Don't joke, my son. Last night you were burning with fever."
Maria had already approached as well.
She observed Luis with the same worried attention.
"Lady Helena hardly slept," Maria said. "She kept coming into the room every half hour."
Helena ignored the comment, but her eyes revealed it was true.
Luis noticed something that made him hesitate.
His mother's eyes were slightly watery.
She seemed irritated.
But there was something else there too.
Genuine concern.
He let out a small mental sigh.
So that's how the night went…
Helena crossed her arms.
"And even so you decide to get up and stand by the window as if nothing had happened?"
Maria nodded immediately.
"Exactly, young master. That is not prudent."
Luis ran a hand through his hair, a little exasperated.
For a moment, the two lives inside his mind seemed to agree on one thing:
mothers were the same in any century.
He raised his hands in a calming gesture.
"I'm already fine."
Helena arched an eyebrow.
"Fine?"
Luis replied calmly.
"The fever is gone. I don't feel any pain. Not even dizziness."
Helena narrowed her eyes.
"Are you sure?"
Luis nodded.
"Absolutely."
Maria stepped a little closer.
"Even so, young master, perhaps it would be better to remain lying down a little longer."
Luis took a deep breath before answering.
"If I stay in that bed any longer, I'll start believing I'm actually sick."
Maria tried to hide a small smile.
Helena was not quite as successful.
She sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"You have always been stubborn…"
Luis smiled faintly.
"I prefer to think I'm persistent."
Helena gave him a reproachful look… but the tension on her face began to fade.
She touched his forehead once more.
This time more calmly.
Then she nodded slowly.
"The fever really has gone."
Luis inclined his head slightly, as if accepting a medical verdict.
"See?"
Helena still seemed hesitant.
Maria then asked:
"Young master, would you like us to bring breakfast to your room?"
Luis thought for a second.
Part of him simply wanted to leave that room.
To feel the air of the house.
To walk.
To move.
"No," he finally replied. "I'll change my clothes and go down to the hall."
Helena opened her mouth to protest… but stopped.
She watched him for a few seconds.
Then sighed again.
"Very well."
Maria nodded.
"Then I will ask them to prepare something light."
Helena walked toward the door, but before leaving she turned back again.
"Luis."
He raised his eyes.
"Yes, mother?"
She watched him for a few seconds.
Her expression softened.
"Take it easy today."
Luis nodded.
"I will."
Helena and Maria left the room.
The door closed with a soft click.
Silence returned.
Luis remained still for a few seconds.
Then he slowly let out the air in his lungs.
"I survived the first medical inspection of the morning…"
He walked toward the wardrobe.
He chose a white shirt, a light vest, and a dark coat.
As he dressed, his mind kept working.
The memories from the other life were still there.
Organized.
Clear.
But now without the initial confusion.
When he finished adjusting his tie, he picked up the pocket watch resting on the table.
He opened it.
Still early.
He slipped the watch into his vest pocket and left the room.
The corridor of the house was silent.
The wooden floor creaked softly under his steps.
Luis walked calmly.
Then his eyes found something that had always been there.
Two large paintings on the wall of the main corridor.
Formal portraits.
Imperial.
Luis slowed his pace.
The first painting showed a man with a firm expression, full beard, and determined gaze.
The second portrait showed an older man.
A long white beard.
A deep gaze.
Serene.
Luis stopped in front of it.
Dom Pedro II.
The second emperor of Brazil.
Throughout his life, that portrait had been nothing more than part of the house's decoration.
A distant reminder of an old family connection.
Nothing more.
But now…
Now his mind carried more history.
More context.
More memory.
Luis observed the portrait for a few seconds.
January, 1890…
The date appeared automatically in his mind.
The monarchy had fallen only a few months earlier, after the Proclamation of the Republic of Brazil.
The emperor was in exile.
In France.
Luis let out a small sigh.
He knew what would happen.
Next year…
The old emperor would die.
Pneumonia.
Complications from diabetes.
Luis rested a hand on the frame of the painting.
For a moment, an absurd idea crossed his mind.
What if…
But the thought died before it could even finish.
Even if he wanted to do something…
There was no way.
To speak with the emperor he would have to go to France.
And even if he managed that…
Why would the emperor listen to him?
Luis let out a small humorless laugh.
"I'm not even close enough for that…"
He really did belong to the family.
But to a distant branch.
Collateral.
His relation to the emperor was something like that of a distant great-uncle.
Family history.
Nothing more.
His grandmother had been none other than
Maria II of Portugal.
But even that position had only guaranteed prestige in Brazil because of the support of the emperor himself.
Without that…
Nothing would have happened.
Luis looked again at the portrait.
Dom Pedro's serene face seemed to observe something beyond time itself.
Luis slowly crossed his arms.
"Even if I could change something…"
He stopped.
Then shook his head.
"No… it doesn't work like that."
History was not a simple game of pieces moved at will.
Especially not at that moment.
Brazil was changing.
The Republic had been proclaimed.
And he…
He was still just an eighteen-year-old walking down the corridor of his own house.
Luis took a deep breath.
Then stepped away from the painting.
"One step at a time…"
he murmured to himself.
The house was beginning to come alive downstairs.
Distant voices.
Cutlery being arranged.
The hurried steps of servants.
Luis began to descend the stairs.
The day was only beginning.
And, despite the memories of another life…
the routine of that house still followed its own rhythm.