Chapter 129: Little Moonbeam
The morning sun crept in through the frost - dusted windows of the Ainsley estate in N•••••, casting delicate beams of golden light across the polished dining table. The air held a quiet serenity, the kind only a house waking slowly from sleep can claim. A soft scent of lavender soap still lingered from the girls' shared bath earlier, mingling gently with the rich aroma of tea and warm croissants that filled the grand kitchen. Eva and Seraphina sat side by side, their fingers lightly entwined atop the linen cloth, sharing a peaceful morning wrapped in the delicate embrace of dawn.
Eva's eyes drifted repeatedly toward Seraphina's face, as though trying to memorize every curve and shadow before the day stole them away. The way the soft sunlight caught the golden flecks in Seraphina's eyes, the thoughtful flutter of her lashes as she chewed, and the gentle upward curl of her lips — all these small, fleeting details made Seraphina look like something from a dream — or perhaps a love poem.
"You're staring," Seraphina said, her voice teasing, cheeks blooming with warmth.
Eva blinked, caught. "I can't help it," she said with a small shrug. "You're the prettiest thing I've seen all morning. Maybe all week."
"Possibly all month?" Seraphina challenged, lifting a brow playfully.
Eva smiled, her heart light. "Definitely all year."
They lingered in that quiet moment longer than usual. Eva had taken the morning to arrange breakfast herself, with only minimal help from the staff — a small rebellion in its own right. Warm wholegrain croissants, sliced pears, and delicate honey-butter were set just so. The tea was infused with lemongrass and ginger, brewed to perfection, a comforting balm against the crisp morning air.
After breakfast, Eva led Seraphina to the kitchen, where a lovingly prepared bento lunchbox waited like a treasure chest, its lacquered wood gleaming softly in the morning light. Eva had insisted on doing it all herself — no staff, no assistance. Only care, folded into every detail.
Inside the box were layers of thoughtful, delicate offerings:
• Vegetables: ribboned cucumber rolls, vibrant carrot sticks, and cherry tomatoes nestled on fresh lettuce.
• Proteins: grilled rosemary chicken slices, golden falafel, and a few skewers of plant-based meat.
• Fruits: sliced apple fans and a carefully crafted flower of berries — blueberry, raspberry, strawberry.
• Grains: quinoa salad tossed with bell peppers, parsley, and a light drizzle of olive oil.
• Dairy: small cubes of gouda and a soft wedge of brie, each wrapped in wax paper to keep them fresh.
• Dessert: two oatmeal cookies studded with dark chocolate and chopped dates — baked fresh by Eva herself late last night.
• Snacks: a small triangle-cut sandwich with avocado, egg, and sprouts, just in case Seraphina got hungry later.
• Drinks: an insulated bottle of hibiscus tea sweetened with honey, and a second bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice.
Tucked into the lid was a folded cloth napkin and a note, penned in Eva's neat, careful script:
To my radiant Ina —
Let this nourish the brilliance in you.
With all my love,
Your Moonbeam.
Seraphina ran her fingers reverently over the smooth lacquer. "You spoil me."
Eva leaned in, kissing her temple softly. "I should spoil you more," she whispered. "You deserve all of it."
Outside, the sleek Ainsley car waited, its polished black chassis catching the first light of day. The estate's long gravel drive was frosted, the air crisp and biting. Eva carried Seraphina's school bag, her hand resting lightly on Seraphina's waist as they walked.
At the car door, Seraphina turned, cheeks flushed not only from the cold but from Eva's nearness.
Eva cupped her face gently, brushing a thumb along her jawline before leaning in for a soft kiss — quick, secret, stolen. Seraphina's breath caught.
"Have a wonderful day, my Ina," Eva murmured. "I know you'll charm the world just like you charm me."
Seraphina's fingers grazed the door handle, hesitating.
Eva's voice dropped to a soft, melodic whisper:
Little moonbeam dancing bright,
Chase the dawn with morning light.
Brave the world with open grace,
And I'll be here — your resting place.
Seraphina blinked, lips parted in surprise. "You wrote that just now?"
Eva's smile was shy but true. "Only for you."
The car door closed with a gentle click. Eva stood on the steps, watching until the car disappeared down the frosted drive, the golden light washing over her like a benediction.
At school, Seraphina settled beneath the wide window of her classroom, the sunlight bright against her notebook. When lunch came, she eagerly unlatched her bento box, unfolding the note first. Her breath caught again at the familiar words — Your Moonbeam.
Her fingers lingered on the paper as her eyes swept over the carefully arranged contents. Every detail looked hand - touched — from the garnish placement to the perfectly cornered sandwich. Around her, classmates peeked over curiously, eyes alight with envy. Seraphina blushed, lifting a cookie to her lips as her heart gave a small, excited flutter.
Eva had folded a piece of herself into that box. And she was falling harder — deeper than she'd dared admit before.
Back at the estate, Eva's expression shifted as she returned inside. The tenderness of the morning had to be folded away like a silk scarf. She swapped her soft clothes for a navy - and-silver training uniform, tied her hair into a braided crown, and stepped into the fire of her rigorous day.
By 8 a.m., she was buried deep in dense literature—M••••••• idioms, old R•••••• poetry, L•••• syntax, and ancient N••••. Her language instructor was strict, never smiling or praising. But Eva didn't need approval; her own resolve was fierce.
By midday, her brain gave way to her body. In the hidden hall beneath the estate, she:
• Practiced grappling until her arms burned and sweat dripped down her temples.
• Ran obstacle courses designed to mimic urban environments — walls, ropes, narrow ledges.
• Dueled in fencing matches against instructors twice her age and experience.
• Lifted, rolled, evaded, and struck over and over again.
One strike failed. The next landed true. Pain was not the point — precision was.
After a break for cold water and a protein bar, Eva turned her mind back to ancient warfare — the tactics of Athena, campaigns of Ares, how myth and history bled into one another, shaping nations and empires. She traced battle maps from the P•••• Wars, annotated the rise and fall of empires, and read modern economic assessments on vulnerabilities — resources, infrastructure, morale. Every detail mattered. Every variable was either a weakness to exploit or a strength to reinforce.
Her brain pulsed by late afternoon, but she never complained. She couldn't afford to. Her father's legacy demanded excellence. And she was determined to earn the right to stand beside the people she loved.
Across the sea, in the violet embrace of P•••••••, Vivienne Lioré — now "Ainsley" — landed on private grounds scented with lavender and rosemary. The estate nestled between vineyards and pine was a sanctuary — Evelyn's gift for stolen weekends when the world could be forgotten.
When Evelyn opened the villa door, Vivienne didn't say a word. She dropped her bag and closed the distance in three long strides, wrapping her arms around Evelyn's waist and kissing her like it had been months, not just weeks.
Their mouths collided with hungry urgency. The door slammed behind them as Evelyn clutched at Vivienne's coat, breath catching in her throat. Vivienne pressed her back against the door, hands tangled in her hair, lips fierce and searching.
"I've craved you," Vivienne breathed, voice low and guttural, "like something starved."
Evelyn's fingers curled into her coat. "Then feed, love."
They stripped each other fast — not frantic, but with a deliberate grace that made every button pop like a gasp. Mouths stayed busy, hands didn't hesitate. Vivienne dragged Evelyn to the bed, shoved her down, and straddled her with the kind of poised power that promised worship and ruin in equal measure.
"You know how many nights I've dreamed of this mouth?" Vivienne whispered, trailing kisses along Evelyn's collarbone. "This skin… this body?"
Evelyn's chest rose and fell beneath her. "Then stop dreaming. Take what's yours."
Vivienne did.
She caught Evelyn's wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. Her thigh pressed between Evelyn's legs. "You always get like this when I'm gone," she purred. "So needy. So wet. Like your body forgets how to wait."
Evelyn arched into her. "I didn't forget. I just can't stand not being touched by you."
A smirk curved against Vivienne's throat. "Honest little thing. Say it."
"I missed you," Evelyn gasped. "I need you — your hands, your mouth — you."
"You don't need me," Vivienne whispered darkly. "You belong to me."
Then she kissed her hard — teeth and tongue and fire — while her fingers slid down between Evelyn's thighs, slick and hot and desperate. She moved with cruel slowness at first, then faster, knowing exactly what Evelyn's body would beg for next.
"Feel that?" Vivienne growled. "You're soaking wet. That's what you've been aching for. Say it."
"I'm yours," Evelyn moaned, voice breaking.
Vivienne stilled. "Louder."
"I'm yours, Vivi — yes — only yours."
Vivienne grinned and pressed deeper. "Good girl."
Evelyn shattered with a cry, hips lifting off the bed, hands clawing at the sheets as Vivienne pushed her through it — relentless, perfect, hers.
She didn't stop. She kept going — fingers thrusting, lips claiming, tongue teasing — until Evelyn's voice was nothing but broken moans and gasps for air.
"You feel that?" Vivienne whispered again, lips brushing her ear. "How you fall apart for me? How your whole body sings when I touch you?"
"Yes," Evelyn breathed. "God, yes — don't stop."
Vivienne kissed her throat. Her chest. Her stomach. She took her time, as if relearning every inch. "I want you wrecked," she said, voice low. "I want no one else to even try to touch you after this."
"No one could," Evelyn whispered, trembling.
"Say it again," Vivienne demanded, slipping lower — her mouth now between Evelyn's thighs, her tongue moving with slow, devastating intent. "Tell me who you belong to."
Evelyn arched, grabbing the sheets, head tossed back. "You — I'm yours, Vivienne — yours!"
She lay beneath her, breath unsteady, chest rising and falling as Vivienne hovered just above — fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over her bare stomach. There was no rush now. Only heat, building in the space between every breath, every whisper of skin on skin.
"You're so beautiful like this," Vivienne murmured, eyes drinking her in. She leaned down and kissed her shoulder, then her collarbone, slow and reverent. Her hands explored like she was trying to memorize her all over again — every curve, every freckle, every soft sound Evelyn made.
Evelyn's voice cracked on a moan.
And Vivienne didn't stop. Not until she'd wrung every last shuddering sound from Evelyn's lips. Not until she felt her pulse against her palm, the tremble in her thighs.
Only then did she speed up — fingers thrusting faster, curling deeper, the slick sounds of pleasure echoing between them. Evelyn was already crying out, pleading.
"Hmmm, more — Vivienne — please — don't stop —"
Vivienne moaned against her, tasting her, owning her.
Only when Evelyn's voice was raw and her body limp with pleasure did Vivienne finally slow down. She crawled back up, kissed her — deep, reverent, full of fire and promise.
"You're mine," she whispered. "And I'm never letting you forget it."
"You make everything bearable," Evelyn said softly.
Vivienne stroked her hair, still dazed. "And you make everything beautiful."
Later, they lay in tangled sheets, flushed and slick, bathed in the golden glow of a Provençal sunset. Vivienne rested her cheek against Evelyn's chest, eyes closed, lips parted with the breath of peace.
"You make everything bearable," she whispered again.
Evelyn kissed her hair. "And you make everything beautiful."
That evening in N•••••, the sun dipped behind the fjords. The estate grew quiet, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the soft crackle of the fireplace inside.
Eva, exhausted but content, sat at her desk, still dressed in her fencing gear. She reviewed her day's notes: ancient warfare, trade routes, fencing adjustments. Her fingers traced the words with care, absorbing every lesson, every strategy.
Her phone buzzed softly on the desk. A message from Seraphina appeared:
A perfect lunch and a perfect day. My Moonbeam is the reason I smile.
Eva read it three times, a soft blush creeping to her cheeks. She brought the phone to her chest, closing her eyes.
The hardest day could never outmatch that kind of message.
That night, the estate slept under a quilt of stars. Eva stood alone on her balcony, the cold wind tousling her damp braid as she looked out into the velvet dark where stars blinked like watchful eyes.
Somewhere out there, Seraphina was asleep.
Eva whispered into the night:
My moon and sun, you shine
Not because you are perfect —
But because you are mine.