Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Charlotte had been ill for days. Her injuries, left untreated, kept flaring up, sending waves of pain through her body.
She'd hoped to find a chance to slip out of the manor and buy a few herbs—just enough to get by for now.
But Gracie stuck to her like glue. Not only did she watch her constantly, she also made sure Charlotte didn't step so much as a toe outside the gates.
Charlotte knew exactly what this meant—it had to be Valeria's order. She was afraid Charlotte would leave and never come back.
To the Hastings family, Charlotte was the perfect cover: a walking, talking token of their supposed generosity. As long as she stayed, they could maintain their image of tolerance and virtue in court. And when needed, she was a ready-made scapegoat to be thrown under the carriage wheels.
Back when she was still in the Red Pavilion, someone had explained the situation in detail.
The tragedy was, now that she'd left that world, she couldn't even send out a single message for help.
That morning, she followed Brielle to pay respects to Rosalie Hastings.
They hadn't even stepped through the gate when Charlotte caught the sharp, acrid smell of medicine in the air. She knew immediately—just from the scent—that this was no ordinary tonic. This was the kind of harsh, aggressive formula only used when someone was seriously ill.
She clenched her fists without thinking and asked carefully, "What happened to Grandmother?"
Brielle sighed dramatically. "You don't know, but after you left, Grandmother was heartbroken. She's never recovered. Her health's only gotten worse over the years. She even fought with Father about you. Charlotte, now that you're back, you really shouldn't insist on leaving—it would only break her heart all over again."
Charlotte said nothing, but her chest tightened.
Before she left, Rosalie had been in perfect health.
Even after three years, things shouldn't have gotten this bad—not unless something had gone seriously wrong.
Just as they were about to enter the courtyard, one of the old household maids stepped forward and blocked them.
She held out an arm in front of Brielle. "Lady Brielle, please return to your quarters. Lady Rosalie wishes to speak with Lady Charlotte in private."
Brielle put on a pitiful expression. "I didn't mean to intrude. I only wanted to show Charlotte the way… I'll go now, please don't be upset with me…"
But the maid's expression didn't change. She clearly wasn't swayed by Brielle's act. She turned to Charlotte and said calmly, "Lady Charlotte, Lady Rosalie has been awake for some time now. She's waiting for you inside."
Charlotte watched as Brielle walked away slowly, looking back with every other step, and wasted no time following the maid into the room, ignoring formalities.
Rosalie was lying on her side, her hair completely white, her face drawn and frail. She looked far older than her years—tired, worn, and heartbreakingly thin.
Charlotte stopped in her tracks, stunned. Her eyes stung with tears, but she forced herself not to cry.
Her voice trembled. "Grandmother… I've come to see you. I've been gone so long, I've failed you. I'm sorry for worrying you."
In the years she'd spent in the Red Pavilion, she'd heard whispers of what was happening outside. She knew Rosalie had cut ties with the rest of the family over her, even refusing to appear during holidays or family gatherings.
But Charlotte had never imagined that just three years apart could leave Rosaliein this state—the very woman who once held her dearer than anything.
She bowed beside the bed and buried her face in Rosalie's chest. "I missed you so much, Grandmother…"
Rosalie's voice was faint and sorrowful. "It's enough that you've come back. That's all that matters. My dear Charlotte… you've suffered so much. But don't worry. I won't let anyone hurt you again."
They talked for a long while, until Rosalie grew too tired to stay awake and slowly drifted off to sleep.
As Charlotte turned to leave, the old maid caught her gently by the arm.
"Lady Charlotte," the old maid said gently, "Lady Rosalie is getting on in years. She doesn't have any say in this household anymore. These days, others call the shots in the Hastings family. You're the only one who still truly cares for her."
She hadn't even finished speaking before tears began rolling down her cheeks.
"As you can see, Lady Rosalie doesn't have much time left. I know you don't want to stay in a place filled with pain and bad memories, but I beg you—stay with her a little longer. Don't let her pass on with regrets."
Charlotte understood what the maid was really asking.
"Don't worry. I won't let Grandmother face the end alone."
She gave her word with quiet resolve. As the old maid turned to leave, Charlotte wiped her face with the back of her hand and tilted her head back, taking a long, steady breath.
It was just a few more days. She could handle that.
She'd already survived three years of silence, shame, and pain. What were a few more days?
When she returned to Rainmere Hall, she'd barely stepped through the gate when a mocking voice rang out.
"Some people really think they're something now," Oliver sneered. "Even Grandmother had to lower herself just to put on a show for your sake."
Charlotte bowed properly. "Lord Oliver."
"Lord Oliver?" Oliver laughed coldly. "I guess you really don't see yourself as one of us. In that case, why are you still here? Didn't you say you wanted to leave?"
Charlotte stayed silent. She didn't defend herself—not because she couldn't, but because there was no point.
No one in the Hastings family would believe her anyway. Why waste the words?
Instead, she glanced at the darkening sky and replied calmly, "It's getting late, Lord Oliver. You should go. We're no longer equals, and a man and woman alone together might cause… misunderstanding."
Oliver's brows furrowed.
He thought, 'Misunderstanding?
'What kind of misunderstanding?'
"You've been in the Red Pavilion too long—you think everything's filthy now," he said with a bitter laugh. "We're siblings. You really think people would see anything improper in that? Or is your mind just too far gone?" His eyes suddenly narrowed as they landed on the pearl necklace resting at her collarbone.
Brielle had mentioned it earlier in passing—said it looked unusual, something she hadn't seen around Aurenshire.
Of course not. It came from Dominara, something he'd picked up during a campaign years ago. He remembered the day he'd bought it.
But now, as he saw it around Charlotte's neck—it irritated him. It didn't look right. It didn't belong.
He thought, 'Why can't she ever learn her place?'
His tone turned cold. "Brielle said she liked that necklace. I gave it to her. Since you insist you're not part of the Hastings family anymore, you should return it."
Charlotte froze mid-step.
Her fingers instinctively touched the necklace at her throat, brushing the smooth, cool pearls. Her pupils constricted.
It had been a birthday gift from Oliver when she turned ten. He told her it was a rare piece from the Dominara tribes—unusual, but said to bring peace and protection. He'd told her it suited her perfectly.
Now he was asking for it back.
"Brielle just gave you that expensive brocade a few days ago," Oliver continued, his voice like ice. "All she wants in return is a necklace. That's not too much to ask, is it? It wasn't yours to begin with. You took something that belonged to her—shouldn't you give it back?" There was no warmth left in his voice.
Charlotte stood there a moment, then quietly reached up and unfastened the necklace. She placed it in his hands with care.
"You're right, Lord Oliver. It should go back to Lady Brielle." Her heart clenched, aching from the weight of it all, but her smile didn't falter. "It's getting late. Please see yourself out."