Chapter 163: What Belongs to Me
Seraphina always woke first.
Before the sun had time to kiss the windowpanes or the birds had begun their morning chatter, she was already sitting up, braid neat even in sleep, pale red eyes watching the bundle in the bed beside her. Her little moonbeam, Eva, still tangled in dreams, was all soft breathing and delicate limbs, a whisper of warmth curled in white sheets.
Eva murmured something in M•••••••, rolling closer. A hand sought Seraphina in sleep, as if her small body knew where it belonged even before her mind had woken. Seraphina caught the reaching fingers and kissed them lightly, possessively, before easing herself out of bed.
The day always began the same.
She would prepare breakfast — simple things, fruits sliced with obsessive precision, yogurt in a crystal cup, drizzled with a touch of honey. She timed it so that Eva would wake just as the tea began to steam. It was always the same teacup for Eva, always the blue one with the silver rim. She'd once said it made her feel like royalty.
"Morning, Ina," came the sleepy voice behind her.
Seraphina turned, smile blooming. "Good morning, little moonbeam."
Eva padded barefoot into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Her curls were a cloud of chaos, and her nightgown slipped slightly off one shoulder. She looked as soft and precious as the first morning of spring.
Seraphina pulled her into a hug, inhaling the scent of lavender and dreams.
"Hungry?" she murmured against Eva's hair.
"Mmm." Eva nodded, melting into her arms like sugar in warm milk. "But only if you feed me."
Seraphina chuckled, leading her to the table. "Demanding this early?"
Eva gave her a sly grin. "I'm your spoiled moonbeam, remember?"
Indeed. And Seraphina wouldn't have it any other way.
Meals were a ritual, meticulously structured by Seraphina's quiet hands. Breakfast together. Morning snack right after training. Lunch together, no matter how many guests lingered at the estate. Afternoon snack — only if Eva asked with a kiss. Dinner, of course, was a shared ceremony, one where Seraphina always ensured they sat side - by - side, even if others tried to wedge themselves in.
Briony had tried. Once.
Seraphina had smiled, politely, and nudged Eva's chair an inch closer to hers.
"Oh, I didn't realize you liked her on your right," Briony had said lightly.
Seraphina had tilted her head. "You know how she prefers my hand when she cuts her meat."
Eva had looked up then, beaming. "Ina always does it best."
Of course she did.
Fencing was supposed to be a form of discipline. Training. A test of grace, precision, speed.
But to Seraphina, it was also strategy.
She never let Eva win. Not even once.
Victory, after all, came with rewards.
A kiss on the cheeks and lips, sometimes the forehead. If the match was particularly close, Eva would chase her across the mat after the final point, arms thrown around Seraphina's waist, panting with laughter.
"You're too good!" she'd cry.
Seraphina would hum, smug. "That's why I get the prize."
And Eva, always dramatic, would collapse into her arms and press her lips to Seraphina's jaw. "One more?"
Always one more.
Briony sometimes watched, from a corner, arms crossed. Her eyes were curious, analytical. She was older — much older — and Seraphina tolerated her interest in Eva only because Eva seemed to find it harmless.
Still, it irked her.
Briony with her teasing jokes. Briony with her knowing smiles. Briony who wasn't family and certainly wasn't Seraphina. The woman lingered too much, laughed too easily at Eva's cleverness, tried too hard to understand what could never belong to her.
Eva was not some amusing puzzle to unravel.
She was Seraphina's.
Not that Seraphina ever voiced it.
When Eva mentioned Briony, Seraphina would smile with measured indulgence. She encouraged every exploration, every question.
"That's wonderful," she'd say. "I'm glad she's kind to you."
But she'd always be there just before bedtime, braiding Eva's hair with deft fingers, kissing her goodnight with unspoken reassurance. You don't need anyone else.
And Eva, as if reading her heart, would murmur, "I love you so much, Ina," and pout until Seraphina pulled her into one last embrace.
The footage came every week.
Vivienne always had the camera. Always filming. Always archiving.
She'd joke to Evelyn over video: "Our little dove's been claimed already. Look at them. No one else stands a chance."
Evelyn would laugh. Reginald, not so much.
He didn't find Eva's attachments amusing. His training sessions had grown longer, harsher. The hidden room — soundproof, windowless — was now a daily trial.
Mental drills. Logic puzzles. Multilingual dictation. Then hours of physical exertion: strength, agility, memory recall under pressure.
It was brutal.
And Eva never complained.
But Seraphina could always tell. She would see the tightness around Eva's eyes. The slight tremble in her hands. The forced smile when she emerged from that door, flushed and too quiet.
So she'd wait outside. Always. Arms open.
"Come here," she'd whisper.
And Eva would collapse into her, breath hitching, arms clutching Seraphina's waist with quiet desperation.
"I love you so much," Eva would sigh, the words tumbling out like a secret, again and again. "So, so much. You make it better. You always do."
Seraphina would rock her, gently, whispering back in French, in Latin, in any tongue that soothed.
"Tu es à moi," she'd say. You are mine.
Bath time was sacred.
Seraphina prepared everything: the right water temperature, the lavender soap, the comb warmed by the fire. She sat beside the tub, sleeves rolled, humming lullabies.
Eva would stretch her legs in the water and sigh theatrically. "You'd be lost without me, Ina."
Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Would I?"
"Completely," Eva confirmed, flinging a handful of bubbles at her.
"Cheeky."
"Loved."
Yes. That too.
Afterward, she'd towel Eva off, brush her hair with reverence, massage lotion into her skin with gentle care. Every gesture, a silent devotion. She wanted Eva to remember — always — that no one would know her like this. No one could.
Seraphina was careful with her words. With her time. With her presence.
Every moment with Eva was intentional. Constructed. Controlled.
She wasn't jealous. Jealousy was messy, transparent. She was deliberate. Precise.
If Eva wanted to visit Briony, Seraphina would help her dress. She'd even suggest it.
"Maybe Briony would like to see your new poem."
But when Eva returned, Seraphina would already be at the piano, playing softly, letting the music call her back.
Eva always returned sooner than expected. And she always crawled into Seraphina's lap with a tiny sigh.
"She's nice," Eva would say.
"I'm glad," Seraphina would respond.
"But she's not you."
And that was the goal.
One night, Eva brought Seraphina a flower.
"Found it in the greenhouse," she said. "It reminded me of you."
Seraphina took the bloom, inhaling its subtle scent. It was a winter camellia — white, flawless, touched with frost.
"Thank you, moonbeam."
"I wish I could marry you."
Seraphina smiled, heart skipping. "You already have," she whispered.
Eva beamed. "Good. Then no one else can."
Exactly.
Seraphina lay awake that night, watching the ceiling, the flower in a vase beside her.
Eva slept curled into her side, hand tucked against Seraphina's heart. Even in dreams, she clung.
Seraphina thought of the years ahead.
How many ways the world would try to take her little moonbeam. Twist her. Grow her. Change her.
She would not allow it.
No one would shape Eva but her. No one would understand her as she did. No one would love her better.
She is mine.
She closed her eyes.
And with a final kiss to Eva's forehead, Seraphina slept.