Chapter 522
Chapter 522:
Isolde didn’t bother to respond. The fever had stripped her of the patience for it. She bent down, took Effie’s hand, and began walking toward the entrance, intending to let the confrontation dissolve behind her.
Seraphina had no intention of letting them pass quietly. As they reached the lower step, she shifted her weight and extended one foot — a deliberate, calculated movement — directly into Effie’s path.
Even through the fever, Isolde’s instincts fired before her mind caught up. She yanked Effie behind her in a single sharp motion. But the sudden movement, combined with her already failing balance, sent her crashing sideways into the marble pillar beside the steps.
Her shoulder met the stone with a sickening impact. Pain tore through her back and ribs, white-hot and immediate. She gasped, bit down hard on her lower lip, and pressed her fist against the pillar, holding herself upright through sheer force of will.
Effie stared at her mother with wide, terrified eyes, tears already rising.
“Mommy! Are you hurt? It hurts, doesn’t it p>
Seraphina pulled her foot back and folded her arms, manufacturing an expression of mild surprise.
“Clumsy. You should watch where you’re going. You look so fragile — are you actually ill, or just performing p>
Isolde leaned against the pillar until the worst of it passed. Then she straightened slowly, square her shoulders, and fixed Seraphina with a gaze that was cold and absolutely without softness.
“Seraphina. One last warning. If a single hair on Effie’s head is harmed, I will make you regret ever having been born p>
𝗕𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗻
The stillness in her voice, the complete absence of any emotion except certainty, was more unsettling than anger would have been. Seraphina flinched backward, her arrogance momentarily failing her, unable to find a single word in response.
The Lancaster head butler appeared at the main entrance at that moment, stepping briskly down to intercept the situation. He offered Isolde a slight, respectful bow.
“Miss Carson. Your accommodation for you and the little miss has been prepared. If you’ll follow me — the west guest cottage p>
The west guest cottage. Not a suite in the main house. Not a main-floor guest room. A separate structure on the far edge of the property, a spatial statement made without a single word needing to be said.
Isolde didn’t care. Status and signal were the last things on her mind. The fever and the pain in her shoulder had brought her to the edge of what she could manage. A cottage was enough. A bed was all she needed.
She took Effie’s hand and followed the butler, her steps careful and light, her vision narrowing at the edges with every few yards. Each step required more deliberate effort than the last. She kept her grip on Effie’s hand steady.
She repeated it to herself quietly, like a fixed point to navigate by: she had to hold on. For Effie. For her own dignity. She had to get through this weekend — through this mandatory, miserable family gathering — and she would do it on her feet.