Chapter 130: Fevered Light
The morning fog clung to the earth like a breath held too long. Eva stood barefoot in the damp grass of the eastern field, her linen tunic soaked through with a mixture of sweat and dew. The sun was still a pale glow behind the hills, barely pushing the chill away, and already her muscles screamed with the strain.
The two instructors — grizzled men who carried the weight of countless missions in their sharp eyes — barked their commands, cold and relentless. They were special operations veterans, men who had broken even the toughest recruits, now drilling a six - year - old with unflinching precision. Papa Reginald hadn't been here for weeks, buried deep in diplomatic affairs and family obligations far away in F•••••. But his orders were law, and these men followed them like scripture.
"Again!" one snapped, voice cutting through the morning mist.
Eva barely caught her breath before the other roared, "Parry! Duck! Pivot — now!"
They spoke to her not as a child, but as a soldier, cold and demanding, stripping away every ounce of softness she might cling to.
First came the sword drills: wooden blades clashing in swift, brutal exchanges. Eva's arms trembled, her small hands blistered, but she matched every strike and block with fierce determination. The instructors drilled footwork next — jumping, sprinting, then sliding into sharp turns, the cold earth biting into her knees as she crawled beneath imaginary barriers. They pushed her through obstacle courses that tested her agility and endurance: scaling walls barely taller than her, balancing on narrow beams, weaving through taut wires meant to snag and trip.
When the weapons were set aside, the training shifted to hand - to - hand combat — grappling, rolling, and swift, precise strikes to pressure points. One instructor demonstrated a chokehold, and Eva learned to twist and escape it with breathless urgency. Her muscles screamed again as they forced her into cold-water endurance — dunking her face repeatedly in an icy basin until her lungs burned.
"Keep going!" The voice was merciless.
Seraphina watched from the edge of the clearing, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles went white. She wanted to run forward, to shield Eva, but she couldn't — not yet. Not without orders.
Eva stumbled.
"Get up," the cold voice snapped behind her.
She obeyed, the world tilting dangerously, everything a dizzying blur of command and pain, breath and earth. She swung, parried, stepped — then a drop of blood fell, crimson, to the grass from her nose.
The instructors didn't stop. They didn't flinch.
"Continue."
Eva shook her head, blinking stars from her vision, swaying like a leaf caught in a storm.
Then, with a sharp gasp — she dropped.
Before her small frame could hit the ground, Seraphina was running, boots forgotten, hair unbound, arms outstretched. She caught Eva mid - fall, cradling her tightly against her chest, voice breaking as she whispered, "Ina…"
Eva's voice was barely a breath, "Ina…"
And then she went still.
Vivienne had stepped outside the manor when she heard the scream, her teacup shattering on the stone pathway. By the time she arrived, Seraphina knelt on the dew - soaked grass, rocking slightly, Eva limp in her arms, blood smeared beneath her nose.
"She said she didn't want to disappoint him," Seraphina whispered. "Like a prayer, right before she passed out."
Vivienne's stomach twisted in sharp knots.
They carried her back to the manor. No more training that day. No more commands. No Reginald. Not like this.
When Evelyn arrived, it was midnight in F•••••. She didn't wait for the next commercial flight. The family's private jet waited on the tarmac, engines humming in readiness. Her coat still hung from her shoulders when she stormed into the estate, heels clicking like thunder down the polished halls.
Vivienne met her in the drawing room, clutching the details, her expression grave. Reginald her pretend husband was unreachable, sealed inside his diplomatic fortress, but Evelyn pushed through anyway. A secure line, a private video call — one that began with Evelyn's fury already ignited.
"You had them push her until she bled?" Evelyn demanded, voice sharp as shattered glass.
Reginald's image flickered on the screen, calm but distant. "She fainted. It's not uncommon. These are elite instructors. They've trained officers three times her age—"
"She's six," Evelyn cut him off, voice cold and unyielding. "She's a child. My child. I agreed to training, not war drills."
"She wanted to improve."
"She wanted love," Evelyn snapped. "Approval. Instead, she collapsed. She's still fevered. She cried before she passed out — cried that she'd disappointed you."
Reginald's expression wavered.
"I've seen soldiers push past their limits," he said finally. "This is what happens when we coddle children into fragility —"
"You made her break," Evelyn hissed, steel sharpening her words. "And I won't allow it again. If this happens again, I will end every agreement. I will take her far away from all of this — away from the wolves, the legacy's, and especially your reach."
Silence.
"Twice a week," Reginald relented. "Reduced intensity. That's all I can offer."
"You'll offer respect," Evelyn replied coldly. "Her health. Her happiness. She is not yours to command."
Evelyn ended the call before Reginald could respond.
Eva woke three days later.
Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, catching the dust in quiet dances. The room smelled of lavender and warm linen. Seraphina had not left her side, head bowed, holding Eva's hand loosely and protectively even as she slept.
Eva stirred.
Seraphina jolted awake. "Moonbeam?"
"Ina…" Eva's voice was raw, a fragile thread. "Why are you crying?"
Seraphina said nothing, only pulled her close, arms tightening around Eva's waist, burying her face in her neck. Then she lifted her head, kissed her softly, trembling on the lips.
"You scared me," she whispered, tears spilling freely now. "You scared me so much."
Eva smiled faintly. "I was just tired."
"No, you were burning up. You were dying." Her voice cracked. "Don't ever do that again."
"I won't," Eva promised, brushing the tears from Seraphina's cheeks. "I didn't mean to. I wanted to be better. I didn't want to disappoint Papa…"
Seraphina stiffened. "You never disappoint anyone."
Eva's lashes fluttered. "I know now. You showed me."
They stayed like that for hours. Time stilled around them, the soft ticking of the clock and their shared breath the only music. Seraphina did not leave her side. Not once.
Two days later, the mansion garden bloomed under spring's careless beauty.
Vivienne, Evelyn, and Eva sat beneath the arched trellis by the fountain, a basket of warm pastries between them. The picnic was simple — jam, breads, tea — but felt sacred, a small reclaiming.
Eva sat between them, her hair braided with tiny blue forget - me - nots. She laughed softly at Evelyn's dramatic retelling of her flight and Vivienne's half - hearted complaints about F••••• fashion.
But it didn't last.
Midway through her tea, Eva's hands began to tremble.
"I'm sorry," she said suddenly.
Evelyn and Vivienne both paused.
Eva's voice cracked. "I didn't mean to be weak."
"Darling —" Evelyn reached for her, but Vivienne moved first, pulling Eva into her lap. She kissed her forehead, temple, cheek, finally lips — love without hesitation, unafraid of pain.
"You are not a disappointment," Vivienne whispered fiercely. "You are my light. You're not made to be broken, Eva. You're made to bloom. I love you. I love you so much."
Eva clung to her, tears soaking Vivienne's blouse.
"I don't want to be just Lioré," she sobbed, fists trembling as they clenched her skirt's edge. "Or a pawn, or a name whispered like I'm not real. I want to be me."
The firelight flickered across her tear - streaked face, casting long shadows on the library walls. Books towered behind them — histories, strategies, bloodlines — all the things she was told she must carry, must be. But she was only a girl. A girl who loved music, who once danced barefoot in the orchard, who still remembered the scent of her mother's perfume when tucked into bed.
"I want to laugh without meaning. Cry without danger. I want someone to see me, not the crest on my sleeve."
Her voice cracked again as she folded in on herself, fragile in silk and sorrow.
From the corner, someone stirred — someone who had heard more than they were meant to.
Evelyn knelt beside them, wrapping her arms around both. "Then that's who you'll be. I promise. This will never happen again. You will not be used. You will be loved."
Eva's sobs softened, but her hands remained clenched in Vivienne's dress. She fell asleep there — between them, safe, surrounded by those who would protect her from everything, even the burdens she was never meant to carry of any expectation.
Later, long after dishes were cleared and garden lamps lit like stars, Seraphina joined Eva on the balcony.
Eva was wrapped in a shawl too large for her, sipping cooled jasmine milk.
Seraphina touched her shoulder gently. "Still tired?"
"A little," Eva admitted. "But I dreamed of a sword that turned into a harp."
Seraphina smiled softly. "You're always dreaming."
Eva looked at her, serious. "Ina?"
"Yes, little moonbeam?"
"When we grow up… you'll still protect me, right?"
"Always."
Eva curled into her side. "And when I grow strong… I'll protect you too."
Seraphina brushed back Eva's curls. "You already do. More than you know."
Eva kissed her again, soft and certain. "Thank you, my Ina. My wife when we grow up."
Seraphina blinked, cheeks pink. "Is this your proposal?"
Eva nodded solemnly.
Seraphina kissed her back. "Then I accept. But you better keep your promise."
Eva giggled, fingers lacing through Seraphina's. "Always."
The stars above flickered quietly, as if listening.
And in that hush, Eva was not a prodigy, a goddess - to - be, or a pawn in a game too large for her.
She was just a girl.
Loved. Protected.
Finally, heard.