Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen - Chapter 15: Chapter 15
You are reading Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen, Chapter 15: Chapter 15. Read more chapters of Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen.
"Lilith, go get some rest. I have a few words to say to Charlotte."
Once Lilith helped Charlotte lie back down, she hesitated for a moment, but in the end didn't dare disobey Valeria's order and quietly stepped out of the room.
Valeria took a bowl of medicine from a maid and brought it to the bedside, her face painted with a carefully curated smile.
"Charlotte, I had this decoction specially prepared for you. It's just what you need to recover—go on, drink it."
Charlotte turned her face away, ignoring the sudden show of concern. Her voice was cold and unyielding.
"I wouldn't dare."
Valeria's hand froze mid-air, the spoon hanging awkwardly between them. After a long pause, she pulled it back and set the bowl back on the tray, her smile fading. A beat passed before she spoke again—this time, trying to defend Oliver.
"Charlotte, don't blame Oliver. He's always had a temper—you know that better than anyone. But think back to when you were children. When you were bullied, wasn't he always the first one to protect you?"
Charlotte frowned. She hadn't wanted to remember that.
Back then, Oliver would never have let anyone hurt her. If someone even dared to raise their voice at her, he would've rushed in and fought them without hesitation.
Those were the good days.
Back then, she had the best brother in the world. But that person had died three years ago. Whatever remained—this stranger in Oliver's skin—was no longer him.
Valeria noticed her silence and assumed she was starting to soften. So she pressed further, finally broaching the subject she'd really come for—the engagement with the Marquis' household.
"I know you still have feelings for Michael," she said, voice gentle and coaxing, "but… after all, you came from the Red Pavilion, Charlotte. There's no way the Marquis' household or our Hastings family could accept that match now." She paused, watching Charlotte's face closely. "Brielle has been through so much growing up. You saw it yourself—the Marquis' household treats her incredibly well. They just haven't formally spoken up because of the original engagement. It's a difficult situation for everyone."
"And what would you have me do, Lady Valeria?" Charlotte asked, lips curled in a faint, bitter smile. "Please, just say it. I'm sure I'll have no choice but to obey."
She had known this conversation would come eventually. She just hadn't expected it to come now—when she was still bedridden, when every word out of Valeria's mouth sounded caring, but every thought was clearly for Brielle.
"Don't talk like that," Valeria said, her voice softening again. "You'll always be a daughter of the Hastings family. I promise—we'll find you a good match when the time is right. So just focus on getting better.
"You'll always be part of this family. Always."
The words sounded warm and reassuring, but to Charlotte, they felt like a cage—cold, heavy, and inescapable.
So that was it. The Hastings family had no intention of letting her go. Of course not. Brielle, the true daughter, was praised for her gentleness and virtue. The Hastings family's reputation as kind, noble, and forgiving relied entirely on the public spectacle of "taking back" their disgraced, wayward adopted daughter. Their entire image was propped up on her humiliation and pain.
They intended to keep using her—for as long as it served them.
First, she needed to get Rosalie well again. Only then could she leave the Hastings family behind without regrets.
So she didn't argue. Instead, she turned her head away and said in a low voice, "Someone like me, from the Red Pavilion, has no right to dream of marrying into the Marquis' household. That engagement ended the moment I entered the Red Pavilion. Whoever Lord Michael chooses to marry now has nothing to do with me."
Yes, Irene still showed her some kindness—that warmth lingered in Charlotte's heart. But after hearing Michael's words that day, watching him stand so firmly on Brielle's side... She couldn't help but feel the bitter irony. He was probably more eager than anyone to see himself and Brielle wed.
When Charlotte gave her answer, the weight that had been hanging over Valeria's heart finally eased.
After all, the engagement between the two families had originally been made in Charlotte's name. If she refused to step aside now—and with Rosalie clearly supporting her—it would turn into a very messy situation.
With the immediate crisis resolved, what little maternal instinct Valeria had left began to stir. She picked up the bowl of medicine again, trying once more to coax Charlotte into drinking it. But Charlotte stopped her cold with a quiet, cutting remark. "The medicine's long gone cold." The spoon froze in mid-air. Valeria's face stiffened, and after a long, awkward pause, she silently set the bowl back on the tray and turned to leave.
Because her wounds had torn open again, Charlotte was confined to bed for several more days before she could move around at all. During that time, only Rosalie came to visit her. Rumor had it that Brielle had also tried to stop by, but was turned away at the door by Lilith. The incident sparked quiet resentment toward Rosalie within the Hastings family.
Perhaps it was the stress—or perhaps the family's coldness toward Charlotte—that wore her down, but Rosalie's health began to visibly decline. Concerned, Lilith called for Ronan once again.
Rosalie, worried about Charlotte's condition, asked Ronan to examine her as well.
"Charlotte has suffered so much," she said gently, affectionately patting Charlotte's hand. "Her body's still weak—please write a prescription to help her recover."
She didn't notice the flash of disdain that crossed Ronan's face.
He wasn't an imperial physician, but he had earned a solid reputation—enough to be invited to care for Rosalie.
But Charlotte? In his eyes, she was nothing. Born to servants, raised in the Red Pavilion—a woman like her was beneath him.
Treating someone of her background would be beneath his professional dignity.
He let out a theatrical sigh and turned to Rosalie with a pained expression. "Lady Rosalie, it's not that I refuse. But when the General's household invited me here, it was to care for you. If I start seeing other patients... well, that's not what we agreed to."
"Ronan, this is just a small token of our gratitude," Lilith said smoothly, handing him some money. "Please accept it on Rosalie's behalf."
Ronan made a show of declining at first, then eventually took the money—grudgingly, of course—his face carefully arranged to look like someone being forced into a favor.
To Charlotte, it was all too clear: this man couldn't be trusted.
Her master had once told her: to practice medicine, you must first have compassion. Without a heart for others, one wasn't worthy of the title doctor.
No wonder Ronan had been prescribing such harsh, overpowering medicine—just enough to give the illusion of recovery while slowly draining Rosalie's strength.
"Thank you, Ronan," Charlotte said demurely, playing her part.
She lowered her gaze and let him examine her without protest.
The examination was quick—rushed, even. He didn't ask much, didn't listen long. Within moments, he had scribbled out a lengthy prescription.
It looked like a typical list of medicine. To most, it would seem harmless. But Charlotte spotted the problem right away—several of the herbs on the list clashed.
"Ronan," she said carefully, "when I was in the palace, I heard that these two ingredients shouldn't be used together. They're both mild, yes, but supposedly they conflict with each other. I just thought I should mention—"
She didn't get to finish.
"Nonsense!" Ronan snapped, cutting her off sharply. "I've never heard of such a thing in all my years!"
He hadn't even wanted to examine her to begin with—he'd only agreed for the sake of the money. 'And now this woman, of all people, is questioning my judgment?' he thought.
"I'll be blunt. I've been practicing medicine for decades and I've never heard such ridiculous claims! If not for Lady Rosalie's sake, I wouldn't have wasted my time treating someone like you. And since you clearly don't trust me, go find someone else. I won't accept the insult!"
With that, he snatched up his medicine box and stormed out—prideful, offended, and entirely unapologetic.
Once Lilith helped Charlotte lie back down, she hesitated for a moment, but in the end didn't dare disobey Valeria's order and quietly stepped out of the room.
Valeria took a bowl of medicine from a maid and brought it to the bedside, her face painted with a carefully curated smile.
"Charlotte, I had this decoction specially prepared for you. It's just what you need to recover—go on, drink it."
Charlotte turned her face away, ignoring the sudden show of concern. Her voice was cold and unyielding.
"I wouldn't dare."
Valeria's hand froze mid-air, the spoon hanging awkwardly between them. After a long pause, she pulled it back and set the bowl back on the tray, her smile fading. A beat passed before she spoke again—this time, trying to defend Oliver.
"Charlotte, don't blame Oliver. He's always had a temper—you know that better than anyone. But think back to when you were children. When you were bullied, wasn't he always the first one to protect you?"
Charlotte frowned. She hadn't wanted to remember that.
Back then, Oliver would never have let anyone hurt her. If someone even dared to raise their voice at her, he would've rushed in and fought them without hesitation.
Those were the good days.
Back then, she had the best brother in the world. But that person had died three years ago. Whatever remained—this stranger in Oliver's skin—was no longer him.
Valeria noticed her silence and assumed she was starting to soften. So she pressed further, finally broaching the subject she'd really come for—the engagement with the Marquis' household.
"I know you still have feelings for Michael," she said, voice gentle and coaxing, "but… after all, you came from the Red Pavilion, Charlotte. There's no way the Marquis' household or our Hastings family could accept that match now." She paused, watching Charlotte's face closely. "Brielle has been through so much growing up. You saw it yourself—the Marquis' household treats her incredibly well. They just haven't formally spoken up because of the original engagement. It's a difficult situation for everyone."
"And what would you have me do, Lady Valeria?" Charlotte asked, lips curled in a faint, bitter smile. "Please, just say it. I'm sure I'll have no choice but to obey."
She had known this conversation would come eventually. She just hadn't expected it to come now—when she was still bedridden, when every word out of Valeria's mouth sounded caring, but every thought was clearly for Brielle.
"Don't talk like that," Valeria said, her voice softening again. "You'll always be a daughter of the Hastings family. I promise—we'll find you a good match when the time is right. So just focus on getting better.
"You'll always be part of this family. Always."
The words sounded warm and reassuring, but to Charlotte, they felt like a cage—cold, heavy, and inescapable.
So that was it. The Hastings family had no intention of letting her go. Of course not. Brielle, the true daughter, was praised for her gentleness and virtue. The Hastings family's reputation as kind, noble, and forgiving relied entirely on the public spectacle of "taking back" their disgraced, wayward adopted daughter. Their entire image was propped up on her humiliation and pain.
They intended to keep using her—for as long as it served them.
First, she needed to get Rosalie well again. Only then could she leave the Hastings family behind without regrets.
So she didn't argue. Instead, she turned her head away and said in a low voice, "Someone like me, from the Red Pavilion, has no right to dream of marrying into the Marquis' household. That engagement ended the moment I entered the Red Pavilion. Whoever Lord Michael chooses to marry now has nothing to do with me."
Yes, Irene still showed her some kindness—that warmth lingered in Charlotte's heart. But after hearing Michael's words that day, watching him stand so firmly on Brielle's side... She couldn't help but feel the bitter irony. He was probably more eager than anyone to see himself and Brielle wed.
When Charlotte gave her answer, the weight that had been hanging over Valeria's heart finally eased.
After all, the engagement between the two families had originally been made in Charlotte's name. If she refused to step aside now—and with Rosalie clearly supporting her—it would turn into a very messy situation.
With the immediate crisis resolved, what little maternal instinct Valeria had left began to stir. She picked up the bowl of medicine again, trying once more to coax Charlotte into drinking it. But Charlotte stopped her cold with a quiet, cutting remark. "The medicine's long gone cold." The spoon froze in mid-air. Valeria's face stiffened, and after a long, awkward pause, she silently set the bowl back on the tray and turned to leave.
Because her wounds had torn open again, Charlotte was confined to bed for several more days before she could move around at all. During that time, only Rosalie came to visit her. Rumor had it that Brielle had also tried to stop by, but was turned away at the door by Lilith. The incident sparked quiet resentment toward Rosalie within the Hastings family.
Perhaps it was the stress—or perhaps the family's coldness toward Charlotte—that wore her down, but Rosalie's health began to visibly decline. Concerned, Lilith called for Ronan once again.
Rosalie, worried about Charlotte's condition, asked Ronan to examine her as well.
"Charlotte has suffered so much," she said gently, affectionately patting Charlotte's hand. "Her body's still weak—please write a prescription to help her recover."
She didn't notice the flash of disdain that crossed Ronan's face.
He wasn't an imperial physician, but he had earned a solid reputation—enough to be invited to care for Rosalie.
But Charlotte? In his eyes, she was nothing. Born to servants, raised in the Red Pavilion—a woman like her was beneath him.
Treating someone of her background would be beneath his professional dignity.
He let out a theatrical sigh and turned to Rosalie with a pained expression. "Lady Rosalie, it's not that I refuse. But when the General's household invited me here, it was to care for you. If I start seeing other patients... well, that's not what we agreed to."
"Ronan, this is just a small token of our gratitude," Lilith said smoothly, handing him some money. "Please accept it on Rosalie's behalf."
Ronan made a show of declining at first, then eventually took the money—grudgingly, of course—his face carefully arranged to look like someone being forced into a favor.
To Charlotte, it was all too clear: this man couldn't be trusted.
Her master had once told her: to practice medicine, you must first have compassion. Without a heart for others, one wasn't worthy of the title doctor.
No wonder Ronan had been prescribing such harsh, overpowering medicine—just enough to give the illusion of recovery while slowly draining Rosalie's strength.
"Thank you, Ronan," Charlotte said demurely, playing her part.
She lowered her gaze and let him examine her without protest.
The examination was quick—rushed, even. He didn't ask much, didn't listen long. Within moments, he had scribbled out a lengthy prescription.
It looked like a typical list of medicine. To most, it would seem harmless. But Charlotte spotted the problem right away—several of the herbs on the list clashed.
"Ronan," she said carefully, "when I was in the palace, I heard that these two ingredients shouldn't be used together. They're both mild, yes, but supposedly they conflict with each other. I just thought I should mention—"
She didn't get to finish.
"Nonsense!" Ronan snapped, cutting her off sharply. "I've never heard of such a thing in all my years!"
He hadn't even wanted to examine her to begin with—he'd only agreed for the sake of the money. 'And now this woman, of all people, is questioning my judgment?' he thought.
"I'll be blunt. I've been practicing medicine for decades and I've never heard such ridiculous claims! If not for Lady Rosalie's sake, I wouldn't have wasted my time treating someone like you. And since you clearly don't trust me, go find someone else. I won't accept the insult!"
With that, he snatched up his medicine box and stormed out—prideful, offended, and entirely unapologetic.
End of Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen Chapter 15. Continue reading Chapter 16 or return to Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen book page.