Chapter 69: Steel Beneath the Moonlight
Seraphina's Point of View
No one asked how it changed her.
Perhaps because she never said anything aloud.
Not to Aunt Vivienne, not to Uncle Reginald, not even to Aunt Evelyn.
But something had shifted in Seraphina. Quietly. Permanently.
She could trace it to the exact moment—the image burned into her like a wound that refused to scar: Eva, running, dress flaring behind her like the wings of a broken bird, and then that look over her shoulder—those eyes pleading, terrified, trusting.
She had failed.
It didn't matter that it wasn't her fault.
It didn't matter that the men were trained, armed, merciless.
It only mattered that Eva could have been taken.
That possibility haunted her. Still did.
And so Seraphina changed. Not outwardly—not in ways anyone could accuse of hysteria or sentiment—but within.
She began to see the world differently.
Every corridor was a trap waiting to happen.
Every adult was a potential enemy.
Every exit, a lifeline.
She learned to watch hands, not eyes. To gauge height, strength, reaction time. To imagine scenarios. To respond before they bloomed.
But it wasn't paranoia. It was resolve.
Because she would never allow Eva to look over her shoulder in fear again.
Not if she could help it.
Not if she became steel.
*****
When Eva was at fencing or learning footwork with Reginald's instructors, Seraphina would vanish from the estate—silently and with purpose.
She took up sanda. Kickboxing. Boxing.
Private lessons with merciless tutors.
Brutal sparring beneath the discipline of blood and bruises.
Every week was mapped. Every hour calculated.
Swimming three days a week—she would not allow herself to drown when Eva might need her most.
Parkour practice twice weekly—so no wall, no rooftop, no distance could divide them.
Weapons training, in secret.
Disarming. Grappling. Tactical defense.
She trained in silence. She carried the weight alone.
No one questioned her, and she liked it that way.
Because this was hers. This was her promise.
To her little moonlight.
To the only person who had ever made her feel—without asking for anything in return.
*****
Eva noticed, of course.
Not the bruises hidden beneath Seraphina's sleeves.
Not the tight ache in her limbs.
Not the exhaustion behind her careful eyes.
But the time.
Seraphina was often late to afternoon tea now. Or missed it entirely.
She no longer walked Eva to her music lessons each week.
Sometimes she arrived at the greenhouse with her hair damp from sweat, breathing slower than usual.
And Eva—Eva responded with a kind of quiet, unspoken desperation.
She clung to Seraphina. Always.
She wouldn't let go when she was picked up.
She'd crawl into her lap uninvited, tuck herself under her chin like a kitten seeking warmth.
She nuzzled her neck without shame, whispering, "I missed you, Ina."
She began asking to be carried more.
She demanded kisses. Everywhere.
On the cheek. On the forehead. On the eyelid.
On the lips, too—when they were alone and she could pretend they were the only ones who existed.
It became a habit—one Seraphina never corrected.
Because how could she?
When Eva pressed soft kisses to her cheek and curled up like she belonged on her lap, when she wrapped her arms around her neck like vines of longing and love—how could she ever say no to that?
Seraphina didn't know what to name the ache inside her chest, only that it grew stronger every time Eva looked at her with those eyes—full of adoration and the kind of trust that could bring down kingdoms.
"Ina, why do you smell like outside?" Eva would ask, her head nestled beneath Seraphina's jaw.
"I was running," she would answer truthfully.
"From what?"
Seraphina never answered.
Not out of cruelty.
But because she didn't have the heart to say:
I'm running toward the version of myself who could protect you. The one who will never let them take you again.
*****
One afternoon, after fencing, Eva ran into her arms the moment she entered the garden.
"Where were you?" she demanded, fingers tangling into Seraphina's coat. "You didn't come yesterday."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Eva didn't let go.
"I needed you," she whispered. "And I hate when you're not here. Even if I'm being good."
Seraphina held her close, lowering herself into the swing beneath the wisteria.
Eva climbed onto her lap without needing to be asked.
"Ina," she said again, voice soft. "Spoil me."
Seraphina kissed her brow. "How?"
Eva pointed to her cheek. "Here."
Then her other cheek. "Here."
Then her lips. "And here."
Seraphina obeyed.
Because how could she not?
Eva's body melted into hers, little hands resting on her shoulders, bare feet swinging above the grass.
"This is where I belong," Eva murmured. "Right here. In your lap."
Seraphina said nothing. She only held her tighter.
And somewhere, deep beneath her ribs, a quiet truth bloomed:
She could train every hour of every day.
She could become a weapon forged from guilt and devotion.
But none of it would mean anything if she didn't also remain soft enough to catch Eva when she fell.
Strong enough to carry her.
Gentle enough to be kissed.
Because Eva didn't need a warrior.
She needed her Ina.
And Seraphina would be both.
*****
The days blurred—lessons, bruises, kisses.
Sometimes Eva would fall asleep in her arms, mouth slightly parted, breath warm against her collarbone.
And Seraphina would sit there for hours, unmoving.
Because no matter how strong she became—
This was still the softest, most terrifying place to exist:
Letting herself love her.
Letting herself be loved by her.
Without armor.
Without escape.
Without the safety of stillness.
And still, she would choose it.
Again.
And again.