Chapter 128: The Weight of Legacy
The morning sun over G•••••• was pale and strained, like a lightbulb too old to shine with conviction. It cast a weary glow across the high windows of the Ainsley townhouse, cutting over polished floors and gilt - framed oil paintings that whispered of power and old money. At the long mahogany breakfast table, six - year - old Eva sat like a porcelain doll placed just so — poised, silent, untouched.
She didn't move when the tea was poured. Didn't reach for the still - warm croissant on her plate. She wore a grey silk blouse with silver embroidery, every button precise, every thread in place. Her hair was parted and twisted back into a low chignon, not a single wisp out of place. A morning like every other: instructions, drills, briefings. No Seraphina to braid her hair. No Seraphina "Yue" to hum lullabies. No Seraphina "Ina" to pull her into a hug and call her my little moonbeam.
Across the table, Vivienne sat watching her daughter — pretend niece, watching a stranger wearing her daughter's face.
This child moved like something ancient. Her back was too straight, her expressions too carefully managed. Her hands didn't fidget. When she spoke — if she spoke — it was with a stillness that unnerved even seasoned diplomats. This was not the Eva who had once danced barefoot through the daffodils or sung nonsense songs in the rose garden.
G•••••• had reshaped her.
Even without Reginald physically present, his command echoed through every corridor. His elite trainers carried his orders with ruthless precision. They vetted her every movement, tested her reflexes with psychological drills meant for military cadets twice her age. And Eva — her little Eva — never flinched. She studied like a tactician. She executed like a machine.
Until, softly, she spoke.
"Mère?"
Vivienne looked up. "Yes, darling?"
Eva's eyes flicked toward her untouched tea, then away. She blinked slowly. "Will Papa ever… love me?"
Vivienne's breath caught. She hadn't expected the question, not so plainly. A silence stretched thin across the space between them. Slowly, she reached forward and folded Eva's small hands into hers.
"He will learn to understand you," she said gently. "But for now… it's time to come home."
Eva's gaze sharpened. "Home?"
"To N•••••. Back to the Ainsley estate. We're staying there for a while for now."
There was a pause — a stillness that felt like the eye of a hurricane. And then Eva's composure cracked.
She launched out of her chair, scrambling across the table's distance with desperation unbefitting her training. Vivienne caught her just in time, and Eva collided into her chest with a force that knocked over the tea set. She clung to her, sobbing in heaving, staccato bursts — laughter hidden in the tears.
"We're going back? To my Yue? My Ina? My Seraphina? I won't be lonely anymore?" she whispered.
Vivienne kissed the crown of her head. "No, darling. You won't be lonely. You'll be with her for now. I promise."
Eva pulled back and cupped Vivienne's cheeks in her small hands, peppering her with kisses — forehead, nose, lips. "Thank you, Mère. Thank you. Tell Maman I love her too."
The journey to the airport was precision-coordinated. Paparazzi had been tailing diplomats for weeks, trying to sniff out rumors about the elusive Maxwell-Lioré heir. But the convoy moved like a whisper — no public fanfare, no stopping. They entered through a restricted embassy gate under the cover of routine governmental traffic.
One photographer managed to snap a single shot of the black car procession. But when the photo appeared online, it was useless — distorted by glare and tinted glass. No child. No faces. Just shadow.
Eva sat curled in a private leather seat on the jet, head resting on Vivienne's shoulder, listening to the quiet hum of the engines. For the first time in months, she allowed herself to sleep without permission.
The air in N••••• felt alive. Crisp. Icy. Bracing. The Ainsley estate gates creaked open like a breath held too long. Eva pressed her face to the car window. Her heart galloped.
And then — Seraphina "Ina".
She stood on the marble steps of the house in a school uniform, lavender coat fluttering in the wind, auburn hair haloed in frostlight. She wasn't smiling. Not at first. But then their eyes met — and the wall crumbled.
Seraphina ran.
Eva tumbled out of the car. They collided mid - gravel, arms tangled, tears soaking collars.
"Eva…" Seraphina choked, pulling her close.
"It's really you! I missed you. I thought — I thought —"
"Don't talk." Seraphina's voice was hoarse. She cradled Eva's face. "You're different. Taller. Your eyes look older." She kissed her softly — a tender, desperate promise. "Don't grow too fast, my little moonbeam."
The next morning, they sat together in the winter solarium for breakfast. Sunlight spilled through frost - kissed glass in luminous streaks. The fireplace glowed with gentle warmth.
Seraphina over - spread jam on Eva's toast deliberately, glancing sideways for a reaction.
"You're making a royal mess," Eva scolded in her precise little cadence.
Seraphina lifted her chin. "That's Princess Raspberry Nose to you."
Eva reached over and popped a raspberry onto Seraphina's nose.
They collapsed into laughter. For one sacred morning, they were simply girls.
At nine, Seraphina left for school in the town car.
And Eva's day began.
Encrypted strategy briefing. Military simulation room. Physical drills. Scenario planning. Her instructors rotated — Colonel Vaek, Lady Annwyn, and a stoic intelligence officer from the former B••••• service.
She was not treated like a child. She was a cadet, a strategist, a future figurehead. Every answer was graded, every instinct measured.
Eva met them all with silence and precision.
At lunch, her hands trembled faintly as she accepted a puzzle binder from Colonel Vaek. The cover read: Hostage Diplomacy – Multiregional Conflict Assessment.
She opened it and frowned. The strategy models came from ancient empires — H•••••••, S••••••, Y••••••• — each with flaws, each with virtues. She read them in silence.
An hour later, she stood before the whiteboard, chalk smudging her fingers, voice clear but faint.
"Y•••••••. Their model preserves face and allows for rapid-decisive force. But I would hybridize with B••••••• tactics — leveraging proxy dialogue to delay escalation."
Colonel Vaek nodded once and wrote a single word.
Ready.
That night, frost crept along the old windowsills like lace. The estate had quieted. Footmen whispered in distant halls. Somewhere, a clock ticked too loudly.
Eva sat in her bedroom, knees hugged to her chest. The moonlight touched her face through the curtains. A worn photograph lay in her lap — Evelyn and Vivienne on a summer lawn, smiling like the world had never hurt them.
"Everything's going to be okay," Eva whispered to the night. "You'll be perfect. You'll earn it. Papa will love you eventually."
But her throat caught. Her voice broke. And then, alone in the dark, she wept.
Silent tears. No sobs. Just the heaving of her shoulders betraying her. A little girl in a fortress built by bloodlines and ambition.
After a time, she opened her drawer and pulled out her private journal — small, leather-bound, pages lined with L••••, the secret poetic language Seraphina had helped her learn. A language only they shared.
She wrote slowly, deliberately, as though casting a spell:
Cor meum moritur in dolore,
Sed tu, Sol et Luna mea,
Stella et galaxia mea,
Semper mecum eris.
Oculos clausi, sed lucem tuam sentio,
Et in nocte frigida,
Vox tua est ignis meus.
Mihi sufficit.
Si haec vita sit bellum,
Tu es pax mea in ruina,
Sanguis meus in vento,
Eternum promissum in umbris.
She stared at the ink as it dried, willing herself not to cry again.
My heart dies in sorrow,
But you, my Sun and Moon,
My star and my galaxy,
You will always be with me.
I closed my eyes, but I feel your light,
And in the cold night,
Your voice is my fire.
It is enough for me.
If this life is war,
You are my peace in the ruin,
My blood in the wind,
An eternal promise in the shadows.
She clutched the journal to her chest.
"I love you, Ina," she whispered. "I love you more than anyone ever could."
Outside, the wind howled gently through the pine trees.
But inside, the little girl whispered promises to the stars — and they, ancient and watchful, listened.