CHAPTER 252: YOU WILL NOT TOUCH ME AGAIN

Serena left the room quickly, she needed time to herself. She ignored Charlotte and Darius pointed stares and let herself out of the room. She exhaled quietly and tightened her scarf, what a long day it was going to be.

It did not take her long to get back to her room, she bolted her door and went straight to the window. She rested her chin on her palm and looked at the birds flying above. She had a lot of learning to do from those creatures.

"Oh goddess please guide me," she murmured.

She had to stand on her own feet in this situation. She wondered if Riven thought of Charlotte as bolder than she was. Of course, he would. He saw her stumble and take so long to find her voice. The blonde clasped her fingers and blinked slowly, that man had been under the impression that she was nothing more than a puppet.

Could she even blame him? On some days she did feel like that. Serena shook her head to rid it of the memories of Charlotte pushing her around.

"I can do this," she said to herself.

Was it not she had to work alone with the scouts in her former pack as the only healer so far away from home. Of course this situation was widely different but if she took it a day at a time then this insurmountable mountain would become an anthill.

Serena drew in a steady breath and pushed away from the window. She would not spend the rest of the day chained to doubt.

Crossing the room, she opened her wardrobe and took a long moment to glance over the garments neatly hung within. The colours were rich but not ostentatious, their stitching neat, their lines flattering without robbing her of movement. She could not deny that Livia’s work had been a coincidental miracle, every piece tailored to her measurements with precision, the fabrics soft against her skin. Serena would be forever grateful for Livia doing her work properly even though her hostility in the beginning was biting.

Her fingers brushed over the sleeves of a deep blue gown before she smiled faintly to herself. Perhaps she would ask Livia to make her some simpler dresses, like the ones she had worn in Silverstone, sturdy wool and linen, plain in colour, easy to move in. She had grown used to those garments in her days as a healer. No one minded a touch of blood or mud on such cloth, and she had been free to work without fear of ruining fine stitches. These silks were beautiful, but they felt... ceremonial.

She closed the wardrobe softly and turned to her desk. The surface had gathered a light scatter of parchment and inkpots from the morning’s work. She tidied each quill into its stand, stacked her letters neatly, and set her sealing wax in a straight line at the desk’s edge. She stacked all her unfinished letters in a neat pile, she would finish them soon enough.

When she was done, she stood for a moment, palms resting on the polished wood. A thought nudged her, she had left Darius and Charlotte behind earlier without so much as a parting word. Well... she had had her reasons.

Still, she drew back the bolt on her door and stepped into the corridor. The faint murmur of voices from other rooms did not reach her ears here; her footsteps were the only sound. Soon she came upon the chamber where she had left them.

Pushing the door open, she was met with a sight that halted her for half a heartbeat.

Charlotte sat slumped in her chair, shoulders curved inwards, her figure bent as though the weight of years had fallen on her all at once. Her head rested in one hand, and her eyes were downcast, fixed on nothing. She looked less like the proud woman who had cornered her earlier, and more like a haggard widow lost in some private grief.

Darius was nowhere to be seen.

At Serena’s entrance, Charlotte’s head lifted slightly. The corners of her mouth twitched, a faint spark in her gaze. "Ah," she said with quiet mockery, "the mouse returns to her hole."

Serena did not reply.

She crossed the room without hurry, her footsteps deliberate, and took the seat opposite, the very one Darius had occupied earlier. She sat straight-backed, folding her hands in her lap.

"Listen carefully," she said evenly, her voice low but loud enough for the other woman to hear. "I shall not repeat myself."

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed a fraction, though her lips curved in faint amusement.

"This shall be the first and last time you lay hands upon me," Serena continued, her tone like tempered steel. "I am as worthy of life as any soul in this castle. You may call me what names you wish; your tongue is your own. But you will not touch me again."

Charlotte gave a short, derisive laugh, as though the very idea amused her. She leaned back, one brow arching. "And if I do?"

Serena did not flinch. She did not raise her voice. She simply leaned forward, slow as the turning of a clock’s hand, and set her palm flat on the table between them. The sound was sharp against the wood, not loud enough to echo, but enough to make Charlotte’s eyes widen a fraction.

"If you do," Serena said, each word deliberate, "I will see to it that you walk with a limp for the rest of your days."

There was no jest in her voice or a trace of doubt. Only that sort of certainty that left no space for argument. Charlotte’s lips pressed together. Whatever words she might have offered instead withered on her tongue.

Serena rose to her feet, her chair sliding back with a soft scrape. She smoothed her skirts, her gaze never leaving the other woman.

"Have a good day," she said with calm finality, and turned toward the door.

The weight in the air between them lingered, but Serena did not look back.