Chapter 139: Unspoken Promises
Eva's point of view
The Manoir des Ombres felt different — not empty, not cold, but subtly altered, as if the walls had been holding their breath in her absence. The air was faintly perfumed with lavender and aged wood — the familiar scent of the Lioré estate in F•••••. Eva stepped inside quietly, her polished shoes clicking softly against the marble foyer, the hem of her dark coat brushing her calves.
Her suitcase trailed behind, wheeled by the driver, but she let go of the handle halfway, walking ahead. There was no fanfare, no open arms at the door. Mère — Aunt Vivienne — had instructed the staff to make it feel like home, not a spectacle. The kind Eva hated.
She passed the grand staircase and paused, glancing up toward the corridor where her bedroom waited. She could almost see it: the line of sunlight slipping beneath her curtains, the bookshelf where Maman had rearranged her poetry by mood instead of author, the ribbon she'd tied to the bedpost before leaving.
She wished Seraphina were here.
But Seraphina — her Ina — wasn't here.
She wouldn't be here.
A hollow note rang in her chest. She didn't speak of it. Not yet.
"Welcome home, darling," came Aunt Vivienne's voice, soft as silk rustling through quiet halls. Eva turned to find her standing at the edge of the corridor. Composed, warm — never fussy. Vivienne moved like someone who knew exactly how much space she held in the world.
Eva nodded and crossed the floor, finally allowing herself to be gathered into a gentle embrace. Not too tight. Not too long.
"I haven't seen you in days, and you've grown again," Vivienne murmured into her hair. "P•••• agrees with you."
"It was cold," Eva replied. "I missed the sound of your piano."
Vivienne smiled and stepped back. "You've been in P•••• these last few days. Did Evelyn give you any peace?"
"A little," Eva said quietly. Then, even softer: "She told me we were going to F•••••. I thought it would be to them."
Vivienne's brow lifted, her gaze sharpening briefly.
"But it wasn't," Eva continued. "Just another mansion. Called Manoir des Ombres. Did you and Maman name this place? It's old. White. Full of secrets. She showed me a portrait. Just one."
"She's trying to prepare you," Vivienne said gently. "Carefully."
"I don't need careful. I need to know what I'm becoming."
Vivienne brushed a strand of windblown hair from her cheek. "And you will. But not all at once."
A silence settled between them.
"Seraphina's not here," Eva said at last, her voice small.
"She wanted to be. But her family—"
"I know," Eva cut in. "I just wish wanting was enough."
Vivienne's hand dropped away. "She's in the garden every day, you know. Since you left."
Eva's eyes drifted toward the tall windows.
"I told her she's too much a part of this house to truly leave," Vivienne added. "Just like you."
The days that followed unfolded with a rigid quiet. Each morning, Eva rose before the sun, her body already taut with the weight of what was expected. The secret training resumed — sharper now. With Reginald back, it had shifted from preparation to enforcement.
Training, once hidden behind mirrored doors and false bookshelves, now thrived under the steady pressure of her father's gaze.
"Precision," Reginald barked through the hidden chamber. "You're not a girl with tricks. You are the heir of Lioré."
Eva struck harder, faster, muscles aching beneath the tailored fabric of her training suit. Sweat gathered at her brow. Her body was changing — leaner, stronger. Her mind, sharper. But her heart was somewhere else entirely.
"Again."
She obeyed. Again. And again. Until her knees trembled and her breath came in gasps.
No praise followed.
When it was over, she took a step toward him — an instinctive reach for something like a hug. But Reginald's voice cut through the air.
"I don't have time for this."
She froze.
"Study. The estate law documents are in your room. You'll begin your third language after dinner."
A flicker crossed her face. "Yes, Papa."
"I want a quarterly report. Improve your handwriting."
A beat.
Softly: "I won't disappoint you. Ever."
He didn't answer. He was already walking away.
Eva remained in the mirrored room, surrounded by versions of herself she hadn't yet become.
Later, curled under a throw blanket in the music room, Eva listened to Aunt Vivienne play Chopin. She didn't ask for conversation, but Vivienne offered it anyway.
"He's harsher this time," she said, fingers never missing a note.
Eva said nothing.
"I think he's afraid. Afraid of what you'll become. Of how little control he'll have once you know the whole truth."
"I don't want to be afraid of him," Eva murmured. "I want him to see me. Really see me."
"I want to be his pride. I want him to love me as his daughter."
Vivienne's melody shifted. "You are the only person he fears losing. He just doesn't know how to love without strings."
Unspoken in Vivienne's chest: I'm proud of you. You're my flesh and blood. You're looking to the wrong person for love. You're enough. I have loved you since the moment you were born — my daughter.
Eva's voice caught. "I don't want strings. I want… I want someone to choose me even when I'm not useful."
Vivienne paused, then resumed her playing.
"You're loved," she said softly.
"I want him to love me like she does," Eva whispered. "Like Ina does."
Vivienne's eyes met hers. "And my love? Is it enough, my child?"
Eva hesitated. "Auntie… of course you're enough," she said, voice trembling. "I love you so much that every day I wish you were my other mother. That's why I call you mère." She threw herself into Vivienne's arms, sobbing, desperate. "I want you to be my other mother for real."
The video calls with Seraphina began quietly — no fanfare, just the soft comfort of presence across a screen. One in a warm Langford home, the other in the echoing Manoir des Ombres.
Seraphina wore a new ribbon — indigo. Her cheeks were pink from sun, her voice soft and steady.
"You look tired," she said.
"I am," Eva replied. "Tired of being a project."
"You're not a project," Seraphina said. "You're a poem in motion."
Eva blinked. "That sounds like something I'd say."
"You've been rubbing off on me."
Eva smiled.
They never spoke of the training. Seraphina didn't ask. But her eyes searched Eva's face as if reading bruises beneath the skin.
"You're not sleeping."
"There's no time."
"You need rest."
"There's no space."
They sat in silence. Eva held the phone to her chest like a source of warmth.
"I wrote something," she said.
"Read it?"
"No. Not yet. It's not finished."
"It doesn't have to be."
Eva hesitated. Then began:
The garden waits in silence still,
Where petals fall without a will.
A hand once held, a heart once known—
Now shadow walks this house alone.
Seraphina was quiet for a long time.
Then, softly: "I'm still here."
"I know," Eva whispered. "But I feel like I'm fading."
"You're not. You're just… carrying more."
One evening, after training, after studies, after everything, Eva stood at her desk.
The envelope lay waiting atop her books like a sleeping curse. Thick paper. Embossed. Her name in calligraphy.
The invitation.
St. Aldwyn Symposium.
She lifted the flap. The seal cracked. Inside: formal letterhead, elegant phrasing, veiled expectations. Attendance required. Panels. Introductions. Legacy.
She swallowed.
It wasn't an invitation.
It was a summons.
You are no longer a child.
She folded the letter and returned it to the envelope.
Later, Seraphina called.
"Couldn't sleep," she said.
"Me neither."
They lay facing each other through the screen. Two silhouettes in two distant rooms. But the silence between them was familiar. Safe.
"Tell me something ordinary," Eva whispered.
"I had lemon cake. Saved the top crust for last."
"I love the crust."
"I know."
They spoke like that for nearly an hour — about nothing, about everything.
"I miss your lap," Eva said. "It's the only place I ever rested."
"One day," Seraphina whispered, "you'll have a throne. But I'll still let you rest in my lap."
Tears welled in Eva's eyes. She blinked fast.
"I'm scared I'll become someone you won't recognize."
"You'll never be a stranger to me," Seraphina said. "You carry too many of my secrets."
"And you carry all of mine."
Silence.
"I love you, Ina."
"I love you too, moonbeam."
Eva closed her eyes.
And for a moment, she let go.
Unspoken promises, Vivienne had once said, are often louder than words.
Eva was beginning to understand.
She sat by the window in her room, moonlight pooling across the wooden floor. Her fingers traced the invitation again — St. Aldwyn. A door opening. A path she hadn't chosen.
But somewhere, Vivienne's voice echoed: You are loved.
Not demanded. Not earned. Simply… loved.
The lavender air of the estate clung to her. Outside, somewhere across gardens and countries, Seraphina's presence lingered — warm, unwavering.
Eva lifted her phone. Seraphina's name glowed.
Unspoken promises — steady, silent truths — beat louder in her chest than any command.
She whispered into the dark, "I am enough."
And across mountains and seas, Seraphina's voice answered without sound.