Sold As A Slave, Returned To Be Queen - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Oliver hadn't expected Charlotte to actually hand the necklace back.
He stood frozen, staring at the strand of pearls in his palm, still warm from her skin.
He could still remember the joy on her face the day he gave it to her.
That fair, delicate girl had thrown herself onto his shoulder, her cheeks flushed pink with excitement.
"Oliver, you're the best! This necklace is my lucky charm now—I'm going to wear it every single day!"
And she had. From that day forward, she wore the necklace constantly, proudly showing it off to the noble girls in Aurenshire, boasting that she had the most wonderful older brother in the world.
But now?
She gave it up just like that. As if it meant nothing at all.
Oliver's hand tightened around the pearls. His jaw clenched, and a cold snort slipped through his teeth. "Charlotte… how very noble of you."
He turned on his heel and stormed off.
Charlotte stood where she was, still pressing lightly against her chest, watching his retreating figure with a mixture of confusion and pain.
"You're the one who insisted on taking it," she murmured. "Now that you have it, why are you still so angry? What do you want from me…?" Her voice faltered. It felt like someone had driven a blade straight through her chest. Her whole body trembled uncontrollably.
During those three long years in the Red Pavilion, almost everything she'd brought with her had been taken away.
That necklace was the one thing she'd managed to protect—something she'd clung to with everything she had.
And in the end, it was ripped away anyway. Worse still, they said it had never belonged to her. That she'd stolen it.
Charlotte didn't have the strength to argue anymore. She didn't want to fight. She didn't even want to care.
Like a ghost, she drifted back into her room and sank numbly onto the bed. She sat there, lost in a daze, staring into the dark for what felt like forever.
The moon sank lower, and the room was completely dark. A flicker of tree shadow across the window startled her back to awareness.
She blinked, disoriented, then remembered—there was still something she had to do.
She had to help Rosalie. Even if it was just for the final stretch, Charlotte couldn't bear to watch Rosalie waste away under the effects of those harsh, overprescribed medicines.
Her three years in the Red Pavilion hadn't been entirely wasted. By chance and determination, she had learned useful skills—skills that kept her alive.
More than that, she had been personally taught by a woman who claimed to be Sageborn Healer.
Charlotte struck a spark and lit the oil lamp. Then, recalling the pulse she had felt earlier, she carefully composed a prescription.
But several of the ingredients were rare—and expensive. She mentally tallied up the money she'd received from Adalyn just days earlier. Even if she spent every last coin, it wouldn't be enough.
Just then, a soft tapping came at the window. Tap, tap, tap. Like a bird pecking gently at the frame.
Charlotte opened the window and brightened when she saw a black crow perched on the sill.
"I knew you hadn't forgotten me."
She unfastened the letter tied to its leg, then carefully rolled up her prescription and note, slid them into the message tube, and, under the cover of night, sent the crow flying into the sky.
The next morning, Charlotte arrived early at Rosalie's courtyard, hoping to find an opening to suggest a round of acupuncture.
She was still rehearsing what she might say to put Rosalie at ease when one of Valeria's personal maids came up to her.
"Lady Rosalie," the maid said with a bow, "Lady Valeria requests Lady Charlotte's presence. A representative from the Marquis' estate is here. They've asked specifically to see Lady Charlotte."
Rosalie's face darkened at once. "She's barely home, and now they want to call off the engagement? Don't they care what people will say?"
Then she turned to Charlotte and said firmly, her voice thick with fury, "Don't worry, Charlotte. As long as I'm still alive, this marriage won't be broken off. That family has pushed us too far already!"
Seeing Rosalie growing increasingly agitated, Charlotte quickly stepped forward to soothe her. "Please don't get upset, Grandmother. It's really not that serious. It's just a short meeting—and it's only right to have a proper conversation face to face. Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it."
Once she had calmed Rosalie, Charlotte made her way to the front hall—only to find that not only was Michael there, but Irene Sutton had come as well.
The moment she saw Irene, Charlotte tensed up completely. Her whole body went rigid, and she wasn't sure what to do with her hands or feet.
Before everything had fallen apart, Irene had treated her with great warmth—so much so that she had once joked, more than once, that if there hadn't been an engagement between their families, she would have made Charlotte her goddaughter.
But all that had changed overnight. Everything was different now.
Charlotte lowered her gaze and followed the maid into the room. She moved with quiet precision, performing the proper greeting with flawless etiquette.
"Lady Irene. Lord Michael."
Irene barely glanced at her. "Three years gone, and it seems you've finally learned some manners."
Charlotte bowed her head slightly. "Thank you for your kind words, Lady Irene."
Valeria, watching the exchange unfold, felt thoroughly embarrassed. She quickly signaled the maid with her eyes and pulled Charlotte to sit off to the side.
Charlotte didn't resist. She simply sat down quietly, her eyes cast downward, hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn't dare look up at anyone else in the room.
Just being allowed to sit here today felt like more than she deserved.
How could she possibly meet the gaze of these highborn guests?
She had assumed the Marquis' estate had come to break off the engagement. And though she felt a thousand things in her heart—resentment, sorrow, helplessness—she said nothing, simply waiting for whatever verdict would come.
But as the conversation went on, something didn't seem right.
"That day, my son came in such a rush," Irene was saying lightly, "he completely forgot the coming-of-age gift we had prepared for Miss Hastings. I just returned from our estate outside the city yesterday. When I realized what had happened, I thought it only right to bring the gift myself—and have this careless boy make a proper apology."
As she spoke, she clapped her hands. Moments later, several servants entered, carrying in a large chest nearly half the height of a person. It was wrapped in fine brocade embroidered with intricate patterns.
"Miss Hastings is cultured and kind, graceful and gentle. Her coming-of-age celebration is a major milestone—it deserves a proper gift. This is a dressing chest I had custom-made, lacquered to a perfect shine and inlaid with pearls. I thought it would suit Brielle perfectly. Have someone take it in later and see if she likes it."
With just a few words, Irene had praised Brielle to the skies. Valeria could hardly contain her delight. "She really did suffer quite a bit in her younger years," she said fondly. "But ever since she returned home, she's grown more sensible by the day. I can't thank you enough for making this trip yourself. Brielle, come now—thank Lady Irene properly."
Smiling brightly, Brielle stood and curtsied. "Thank you so much, Lady Irene. Whatever you give me, I'll treasure it."
Irene nodded approvingly. "You've always been delicate. No need to stand on ceremony. But as for you, Charlotte—didn't you and Brielle share the same birthday? That means your coming-of-age was that same day, yes?"
The sudden mention of her name made Charlotte jump. Her entire body stiffened.
She quickly rose and bowed. "Yes, Lady Irene. I have also come of age."
Irene's eyes flickered briefly. Then, a bit stiffly, she picked up a small embroidered box from the table and held it out to Charlotte.
"Well then, take this. Consider it a token from me for your coming of age. As an elder, it's the least I can do. Just remember—going forward, be mindful of what you say and do. Don't go back to your old ways."