Chapter 170: A Promise in Violet
Late - day light stretched across the wooden floor of the Ainsley estate's south wing, filtering through tall windows and pooling like warm resin along the baseboards. The whole house felt paused — held in a hush broken only by the distant hum of the central air and the slow, deliberate tick of the grandfather clock outside the music room.
Eva sat on the floor with her legs tucked neatly to one side, a book resting open on her lap. She hadn't turned a page in nearly ten minutes.
Seraphina was seated on the divan, brushing out her long hair with slow, methodical strokes, eyes occasionally drifting to the child who seemed weighed down by something unspoken.
Eva had been unusually quiet all morning. Not in the tranquil way that Seraphina often adored, where they would move together in shared silence like a waltz, each aware of the other's rhythm. No — this was a charged silence. A silence that trembled at the edges with the burden of something too heavy for her young frame.
Seraphina set her brush down. "You've hardly looked at that page," she said gently. "Is something the matter, little moonbeam?"
Eva blinked slowly. She didn't answer right away. Instead, she closed the book with care, as if reluctant to disturb the moment. Then, without standing, she turned and crawled onto the divan beside Seraphina, curling into her like a fawn seeking shelter.
Seraphina wrapped an arm around her, waiting.
"I need to tell you something," Eva whispered. "But you mustn't be upset."
The words stabbed at Seraphina in a way she didn't let show. Her voice remained a balm. "I won't be. Tell me."
Eva hesitated, her small fingers tightening on the sleeve of Seraphina's blouse. "Papa told me… that when he returns, we're going to A••••••••. Just us two. For a party."
Seraphina's body stilled, but she didn't tense. Her breath remained even. "A party," she repeated, brushing a hand through Eva's hair. "That sounds… grand."
Eva nodded but did not smile. "After the party, we'll go into the wilderness. Just me and Papa. To train."
Seraphina's chest ached, but she kept her touch light. "Did he tell you to tell anyone?"
"No," Eva said quickly, sitting up now, her face conflicted. "He said not to tell anyone. Not even you. But I couldn't… I can't leave without telling you. That would be wrong. I wouldn't — I wouldn't forgive myself."
Seraphina cupped Eva's cheek. "You did the right thing, my moonbeam. You never have to keep secrets from me."
Tears brimmed in Eva's eyes, though they didn't fall. "Papa said the others think it's just a bonding trip. But it's not, not really. He made me promise I wouldn't say anything. He said if I told you the real reason, I'd be a disappointment."
Seraphina's heart squeezed tight. She leaned forward and kissed Eva's forehead, then her temple, then softly — without hesitation — her lips. "You are never a disappointment to me," she murmured, her voice a breath of warmth. "Never. Do you hear me?"
Eva nodded, eyes wide.
"You don't have to tell me what you can't," Seraphina continued, holding her close. "But I want you to promise me something."
Eva looked up, expectant.
"If things get too hard, if it ever feels like too much… you can tell your Maman. Or Aunt Vivienne. You mustn't carry things that hurt you alone, alright?"
Eva hesitated. "But he said —"
Seraphina placed a finger gently to her lips. "You're allowed to be safe. You're allowed to need help. That doesn't make you weak. It makes you wise. And I trust you to know when it's time."
Eva buried her face in Seraphina's shoulder, letting out a soft breath that was almost a sigh of relief. "I don't want to leave you."
Seraphina cradled her like she was something infinitely precious. "And you won't. Not really. I'll be with you in every note you play, in every poem you write, in every breath of wind. I'll be with you."
They sat there for a long while, wrapped in silence again — but this time the silence was full, tender, luminous. Eva's small body, hardened now by weeks of training, still fit perfectly into Seraphina's embrace.
That evening, after dinner, Seraphina returned to her room and closed the door behind her. Her mind had already begun to weave and plot, as it often did when it came to Eva. But this time, it wasn't out of strategy or desire. It was love — raw, protective, aching.
She opened her wardrobe and withdrew a small valise from the back — a slender travel case wrapped in deep violet leather, a childhood gift from her grandmother. Carefully, she began to pack.
A satin pouch of herbal tea Eva liked, labeled with a gold calligraphy tag: Réconfort.
A folded silk scarf, embroidered with tiny moons in silver thread.
Three poems Eva had written — copied by Seraphina in her own hand and tied together with lilac ribbon.
A hand - bound notebook, blank, waiting to be filled.
She slipped in a photograph of the two of them by the pond, taken in early spring, and behind it, a note:
If the nights feel long, let my love light them.
She pressed a kiss to the cover of the valise before sealing it shut.
This was her way of traveling with Eva. Of making sure that no matter what Reginald put her through — however harsh or brutal — Eva would have something that whispered of love and home and safety. Seraphina wasn't naïve about Reginald. She knew how precise, how exacting, how merciless he could be. He demanded perfection, not just excellence. And Eva, poor little dove, wanted so desperately to earn his approval.
But Seraphina knew something Reginald did not, the child he was forging in fire had already been forged in love.
Down the hall, Eva lay in her bed, arms tucked beneath her cheek. She stared at the ceiling, replaying her conversation with Seraphina over and over. A part of her was still afraid she had done the wrong thing, that Papa would find out and be disappointed.
But Seraphina had said she wasn't a disappointment.
Seraphina had kissed her and held her and said she trusted her.
That mattered more than anything else.
She turned over, drawing the covers up around her chin. In her mind, she saw the party, the wilderness beyond it, and the uncertainty of what was to come. She was ready — or she would be. She had to be.
But in her heart, she held onto one truth like a talisman, she was loved. She was not alone.
In the quiet that followed, neither moonlight nor worry disturbed her sleep.
And in her room, Seraphina sat by the window, watching the stars.
A promise burned behind her eyes.
Whatever happened in A••••••••, however far Eva went, her little moonbeam would never be out of reach.
Not if Seraphina had anything to do with it.