Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen - Chapter 13: Chapter 13

When Charlotte finally woke up, she realized she wasn't in her usual rundown room.
The furnishings around her were a little old, but it was clear they had once belonged to a place of wealth and elegance.
Lilith, who had been waiting nearby, rushed to her side the moment she saw her stir. She wiped her teary eyes, forced a smile, and gently dabbed the sweat from Charlotte's face with a handkerchief.
"Lady Charlotte, thank heavens you're awake. Now I can go tell Lady Rosalie—you'll put her heart at ease."
Someone was sent out immediately to report the news. Moments later, Rosalie entered, supported on either side, her steps unsteady. She sat down at the edge of the bed, reached out with trembling hands, and gently smoothed Charlotte's disheveled hair.
"My poor child… I'm so glad you're awake. You've suffered… you've truly suffered. It's my fault. I'm useless—I couldn't protect you, and now you've had to endure all this pain."
Tears slipped down her wrinkled cheeks before she even realized it.
Unlike Valeria's empty weeping, Rosalie's tears were genuine. She ached for Charlotte and hated that age and frailty had reduced her to little more than a figurehead in her own household.
"I've made more trouble for you, Grandmother," Charlotte rasped, her voice hoarse.
Looking at the strands of silver in Rosalie's hair and the deep fatigue etched in her face, Charlotte felt nothing but guilt and sorrow.
"If this were a few years ago, maybe I could've done more for you," Rosalie sighed. "But now… I don't know how much time I have left. All I carry is an empty title. Today, they let you go because I was willing to risk half my life for it… but next time…"
She didn't finish, but Charlotte understood perfectly.
Bringing up the Christopher had been Rosalie's last bargaining chip.
Back when he was alive, her word was law in the Hastings family. But now that he was gone, her authority had all but vanished. The only reason Edward had backed down was out of respect—for appearances and for filial duty.
And that sort of leverage? It couldn't be used twice.
"Charlotte," Rosalie said gently, "I know you don't want to leave me. But there's only so much I can do now." She lowered her voice. "I heard the Marquis' household still hasn't agreed to the marriage switch?"
In the Hastings family, Rosalie no longer had much say.
But when it came to Charlotte's marriage, she still held the final word as a titled noblewoman.
The moment Charlotte heard her mention the Marquis' household, she understood—Rosalie was trying to arrange a good match for her before it was too late. A lifeline. A way out.
At this point, every other respectable family had turned her away because of her past in the Red Pavilion and her awkward position as someone who wasn't truly a Hastings by blood.
Only the Marquis' household remained. They had watched her grow up. Maybe—just maybe—there was still some affection there.
But Charlotte could still remember how, on that day, Michael had stood so firmly on Brielle's side, defending her with every word, without hesitation.
"Grandmother," she said quietly, "the only reason the Marquis' household hasn't agreed to cancel the engagement… is because they don't want to lose face.
"Someone like me? Why would they ever accept me as a daughter-in-law?"
And even if they did… Edward, Valeria, and her once-adored Oliver—they would never allow her to take what they believed was rightfully Brielle's. That golden match had been meant for her. "They'd never let me take what they think belongs to her."
"My poor Charlotte," Rosalie whispered, her aged hand gently brushing through Charlotte's hair again and again.
Her eyes were full of tenderness and heartbreak. "You were such a good child… How did it come to this…"
The maids and servants standing by the bedside all quietly wiped at their eyes. Their hearts ached with pity—for this pair of ill-fated grandmother and granddaughter, bound by love but crushed by circumstance.
As Rosalie wept, a violent coughing fit overtook her. Charlotte had no choice but to gently persuade her to return to her quarters and rest.
Even then, Rosalie was reluctant to leave. She only agreed after instructing Lilith to stay behind and look after Charlotte. As she was helped out the door, she turned back several times, still worried.
"Lilith," Charlotte said softly, "Grandmother hasn't looked well these past few days. My injuries aren't serious, really… Please, talk to her for me. Tell her not to wear herself out because of me."
She couldn't shake the growing concern in her chest. Rosalie seemed to have weakened so much in such a short time. As Lilith helped her drink some water, Charlotte seized the chance to ask. "She wasn't always like this, was she?"
"This isn't your fault, Lady Charlotte," Lilith replied gently, her voice low. "Lady Rosalie's health has been poor for a while now. Most nights, she barely sleeps."
Her eyes reddened, but she quickly blinked away the tears.
Word around the manor was that Rosalie was fading fast. Lilith, loyal all her life, could do nothing but fret silently.
Charlotte thought for a moment. If she truly wanted to help Rosalie recover, she would eventually have to reveal some truths.
She knew she could trust the people in Rosalie's residence—especially someone like Lilith, who had served Rosalie for decades. She was fiercely loyal, and she had helped raise Charlotte too. Her own daughter-in-law had been Charlotte's nursemaid. That bond earned her Charlotte's trust more than most.
"Lilith," Charlotte began carefully, "just three years ago, Grandmother was still in good health. How did she deteriorate so quickly?"
Lilith sighed deeply, slowing her steps. After glancing around to make sure they were alone, she lowered her voice. "You probably don't know, Lady Charlotte… but over these three years, Lady Rosalie's health has steadily declined. At first, Valeria did care—she brought in an imperial physician several times. But the treatments didn't help much. Later, when Lady Brielle started having frequent heart episodes, Valeria's attention… shifted."
Lilith was just a servant—she couldn't speak ill of her masters—but Charlotte understood the rest without it being said.
Brielle's recurring illness had taken up all the household's focus. Neither Edward nor Valeria had time for Rosalie anymore. And with the King already suspicious of the Hastings family, they couldn't exactly call on imperial doctors at will.
"Who's prescribing Grandmother's medicine now?" Charlotte asked, frowning slightly. "I haven't seen a physician around lately."
She recalled the harsh, aggressive medications she'd come across. Her unease deepened. But she knew better than to leap to accusations—so she approached the topic carefully.
"Ronan Anderson," Lilith answered. "They say he's very skilled. When Lady Rosalie gets too weak or loses consciousness, he's the one who comes. His medicine helps her stay alert for a few days afterward."
From Lilith's tone, it was clear she didn't suspect anything was wrong.
But Charlotte did. Those strong, fast-acting prescriptions might wake someone up—but they were draining Rosalie's strength from the inside. No wonder she'd declined so rapidly in just three short years.
Still, it wasn't something she could say outright. Even though Lilith remained loyal and respectful, she wouldn't believe such a serious claim without evidence.
She needed to look into Ronan first.
"I see. Then I suppose we really do owe Ronan our thanks," Charlotte said with a faint smile.
"Don't worry, Lady Charlotte," Lilith said kindly. "Lady Rosalie gave orders—when Ronan returns in a few days, he'll examine you as well. We need to get your health back on track."
She looked at Charlotte's thin, frail frame and felt her chest tighten. Quietly, she pulled the blanket up and tucked it gently around her, her hands full of care and sorrow.