Chapter 162: A Constant Orbit
From the moment dawn spilled like honey through the tall windows of Ainsleys estate. Seraphina was already in motion — long before the rest of the house stirred. The cooks knew to keep Eva's favorite breakfast pastries warm just a little longer, and the maids had learned not to disturb the schedule Seraphina crafted with quiet meticulousness. Every morning had a rhythm, and Seraphina ensured it was always in harmony with Eva's presence — her moonbeam.
She never let anyone else wake her.
"Good morning, starlight," she would whisper, brushing silken hair from Eva's forehead as the child blinked sleepily up at her. Seraphina smiled, always patient, always soft. "You dreamed of me again, didn't you?"
Eva would nod, voice still thick with sleep. "You were in the clouds this time. You were laughing."
"Of course I was," Seraphina murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I always laugh when I'm with you."
She never missed breakfast. Not for meetings, not for storms, not for the whispers of Briony's wandering hands or her infernal curiosity. Seraphina made sure they sat beside one another — always beside, never across — so she could butter Eva's toast for her, tuck a napkin gently at her collar, correct her posture with a guiding hand on her back. It wasn't just care; it was geography. Eva's world needed to revolve close to her, not stray.
When Vivienne passed through — always with her phone angled just so — Seraphina would give her a polite smile. The older woman was worse than the estate cats when she smelled something soft and sentimental.
"Your sweetheart will be very pleased Eva," Seraphina murmured once as Vivienne zoomed in on Eva, who was chewing carefully on a cherry brioche. "I'll remind you I'm still the moonbeam's gravity."
Vivienne didn't look up. "Darling, your Maman already knows you've been claimed."
Seraphina's fingers tightened momentarily on her teacup. "Good."
The days were carved meticulously, not in stone but in the pliable flesh of habit. Mid - morning meant snacks and study. When Eva sat with a book, Seraphina sat close enough to feel the warmth of her shoulder. Sometimes their knees would touch, and Eva would glance up and beam at her, that tiny dimple forming like a gift only Seraphina deserved.
"Read it to me?" Seraphina would ask, even if she'd read it herself the night before.
Eva always did. She liked to perform — for Seraphina alone.
Lunch came with garden walks or quiet meals in the solarium. If Briony joined, Seraphina never objected. She had long ago perfected the art of smiling with her mouth while her eyes warned.
"Isn't Briony lovely?" Eva once asked innocently.
"She's very clever," Seraphina replied smoothly. "But not as clever as you."
Eva had tilted her head then, clearly delighted. "I'm your favorite, right?"
Seraphina leaned in and kissed her cheek — just barely grazing the corner of her mouth. "You're my only."
Every fencing session followed the same pattern. Reginald had taught Eva well — she was fast, cunning, and relentless. But Seraphina was faster. She let Eva lose every time, precisely, exquisitely.
"I almost had you," Eva pouted one afternoon, lower lip jutting just so.
Seraphina unpinned her own hair with a languid flick, shaking it out like she hadn't broken a sweat. "Almost, my little moonbeam."
"Do I get a kiss anyway?" Eva asked, already expectant.
Seraphina sighed theatrically. "Well, if you insist."
She leaned in, brushing her lips against Eva's cheek with studied tenderness. Eva giggled, curling close like she always did, content in the choreography Seraphina had perfected: win just enough to be admired, lose just enough to be adored.
Briony watched once. Seraphina caught the flicker of something in her gaze — jealousy, maybe. Curiosity. Hunger. But she didn't let it show in front of Eva.
"You should try fencing with Briony," Eva suggested that evening.
Seraphina smiled, brushing Eva's damp hair after her bath. "I think I like sparring with you best."
"But she might be better," Eva teased.
"Maybe," Seraphina said, lowering her voice. "But she won't kiss you when she wins."
Eva's cheeks turned pink. She looked down, twisting a lock of Seraphina's hair around her fingers. "Only you do that."
"Exactly."
Training with the instructor had become brutal. The hidden room beneath the study — lined with thick stone, silent as a tomb — became Eva's crucible. Hours of physical drills, riddles barked under pressure, impossible puzzles while her muscles trembled and her mind fogged.
Seraphina never stopped it.
But she was always there after.
When Eva emerged, spent and trembling, she didn't go to Vivienne or Evelyn. She went to Seraphina, crawling into her arms like a starved thing.
"It hurts," she murmured once, her voice muffled in Seraphina's chest. "He makes it hurt, Ina."
Seraphina rocked her gently. "That means you're becoming strong. But only I get to soothe you, my heart."
Eva would blink up at her, lashes wet. "I love you so much. It's stupid. It's like I'm going to explode."
Seraphina brushed her thumb along Eva's cheek. "Then explode. I'll collect every piece."
Eva pouted, dramatic as ever. "You better."
"I always do."
Nighttime was sacred. Bath time was longer when Seraphina ran it. She would warm the towel by the fire first, pour lavender oil in the water, and sit nearby, eyes soft and hands ready when Eva called out for help drying her hair.
Sometimes Eva hummed. Sometimes she spoke in nonsense — little stories about the stars and the moon and how they were in love. Always, Seraphina listened.
Afterward, Eva would climb into bed, waiting.
"Can I have my kiss now?" she whispered once.
Seraphina leaned down. "Where?"
Eva hesitated, then pointed to her nose. Seraphina complied, the barest press of lips.
"Do you want to kiss me back?" Seraphina asked.
Eva shook her head. "Not tonight. I'm sleepy."
"That's fine." Seraphina pulled the covers up around her chin. "You'll dream of me anyway."
She didn't need Eva to kiss her. Not yet. What she needed was this closeness — this tether. Eva clung to her like orbit to planet, like shadow to flame. And Seraphina reinforced it each day with a dozen small, invisible threads. Care. Encouragement. Praise. Jealousy folded neat beneath layers of patience. Manipulation disguised as kindness.
No one questioned her.
Vivienne was too busy filming. Evelyn was too far. Reginald didn't care — he only saw outcome, not nuance.
Briony, though. Briony asked too many questions. She lingered too long. She tried too hard.
Seraphina would smile at her. Always polite. Always warm. She would recommend books, share biscuits, even laugh when appropriate.
But never in front of Eva.
In front of Eva, Seraphina was untouchable.
"Ina?" Eva whispered one night, already half - asleep.
"Yes, little moonbeam?"
"You won't leave me, right?"
Seraphina curled closer, brushing hair from her brow. "I'll be the last one to leave. Even when you don't want me."
Eva's eyes fluttered shut. "I'll always want you."
"I know."
And Seraphina smiled.
She watched as Eva's breathing slowed, her small chest rising and falling under the covers. She traced her name silently on the pillowcase. Her moonbeam, her treasure, her obsession. So small, so fierce, so entirely hers.
It would never be enough, not really.
But every kiss won, every sigh coaxed from those soft lips, every murmur of "Ina, I love you so much" was another thread tightened, another loop of silk around the child's heart.
Love, after all, was a language.
And Seraphina had taught Eva how to speak it.