A Few days after the raid, the Evandale mansion felt… lighter somehow.
Or maybe it was just Elric.
The morning sun streamed into the Evandale dining room, warm and dignified completely at odds with the way the duchess was demolishing her breakfast.
Sera sat cross-legged in her chair, one arm resting on the table, shoveling eggs onto a piece of bread before biting into it like a starving mercenary.
Elric, standing at her side in his immaculate black vest, set down a fresh pot of tea. "My lady," he said with the patience of a saint, "knives and forks exist for a reason."
"They slow me down," Sera said through a mouthful. "You ever eat like this? Way faster."
"My lady," he said again, voice tightening, "you are not a soldier in a camp."
She gave him a mock-serious look. "I could be. Feed me enough carbs and I'll conquer the nearest kingdom."
For a moment, he closed his eyes, clearly regretting something about his life choices. "Eat… properly."
She sighed, switched to her fork for exactly three bites, then abandoned it again. "You're such a fun sponge, Elric."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
After breakfast, he tried to escort her to her study for correspondence. She lasted all of two letters before groaning, leaning back in the chair. "I'm dying. My soul is leaving my body."
"You have signed your name twice, my lady."
"Exactly. Exhausting work."
Elric didn't dignify that with a reply. He simply gathered the papers, ignoring how she was now swiveling the chair side to side like a bored child.
By midday, she'd dragged him into the garden, claiming she needed "fresh air to recover from noble suffocation." They strolled the path between rose bushes, though in truth, Elric walked and Sera kept stopping to poke at things an ant trail, a shiny pebble, a poor gardener's wheelbarrow.
She plucked a small apple from a branch and bit into it. "You know," she said between crunches, "if you lost the vest and rolled up your sleeves, you'd look like a brooding romance novel guy."
He stared at her. "…A what?"
"You know, handsome guy, tragic past, broody eyes" she gestured at his face, "like that."
"My lady," he said in the tone of someone begging for divine patience, "please refrain from describing me like… that."
"What? It's a compliment!" She grinned, biting into her apple again. "Ugh. Damn, I hate your face."
He blinked. "…You just said"
"Yeah, but I hate it because it's distracting. You'd be lethal if you knew how to smile properly."
For the first time in years, he actually laughed short and low, but genuine.
The sound caught her off guard, though she covered it with a smirk. "See? Lethal."
By the time the sun dipped low, they had somehow ended up back in the dining room, sharing an early supper. This time, she sat properly at first. Ten minutes in, she had one leg tucked under her and was leaning over her plate like they were in a tavern.
Elric poured her wine and asked, "Will you ever adapt to noble etiquette, my lady?"
"Nope. You'll just have to adapt to me instead."
And strangely… he realized he already was.
For the first time in years, the stoic butler-knight wasn't moving like a man walking under a permanent raincloud. He still wore his black vest and neatly pressed trousers, every line of his attire sharp but there was something different in the way his mouth kept twitching upward, like a smile was trying to break out without permission.
"Stop staring at me," Sera said, balancing on the back legs of her chair while popping grapes into her mouth.
"I'm making sure you don't fall and break your neck," Elric replied smoothly. "A duchess breaking her neck over breakfast would be… unfortunate."
"Relax, I've got perfect balance," she said right before the chair tipped and she caught herself at the last second. "See? Perfect."
Elric's lips curved slightly. "Of course."
They'd fallen into this strange rhythm over the past few days. Sera still not used to corsets, gowns, or the way nobles insisted on sitting like statues slouched in her seat, crossed her legs like a man, and once even tried to eat soup while resting her chin in her palm.
"I miss hoodies," she grumbled one afternoon, tugging at the high collar of her dress. "And sweatpants. And skateboards. And… bubble tea. God, I'd kill for a caramel milk tea right now."
Elric raised an eyebrow. "I understood only one word in that sentence. 'Tea.'"
"You're missing out, man," she said, leaning back against the garden bench. "Back home, I'd just grab my board, put on some music, and skate down the streets. Wind in my hair, sun on my face, no rules, no stupid forks for soup "
"We don't use forks for soup."
"Exactly! That's my point."
He didn't understand half the "modern world" words she used hoodies, playlists, Wi-Fi but he listened anyway. Really listened. Sometimes he even asked questions, just to keep her talking.
And sometimes, without realizing it, he smiled.
It was strange for him, feeling comfortable in her presence. The Seraphine he knew had been ice cold, cutting, and suffocatingly possessive. She had guarded him like a dragon over gold, and gods help anyone who touched him. This… new version was unpredictable, chaotic even but she laughed easily, didn't order him around without reason, and never once acted like she owned him.
He wasn't ready to believe her claim of reincarnation. But he also couldn't deny this wasn't the same woman.
On the fifth evening after their return, a knock came at the study door. A footman entered, bowing.
"A letter from the Royal Army, Your Grace."
Sera broke the seal and skimmed the contents. Her smile vanished.
The priest Sir Oron had not been captured. He had been "transferred" to another city by higher orders before the raid began. His trail had gone cold.
Sera closed the letter slowly. "…Of course. Dirty old man slips away like an eel."
Elric's eyes narrowed. "I'll have men investigate quietly."
Later that night, she sat alone in her room. The laughter of the day had faded into silence, the moonlight spilling across her desk.
She tapped the letter against her palm, brows furrowed. Why did the real Seraphine hate him so much? It wasn't just dislike it was loathing, the kind that gnaws at your bones.
And why… did she feel a flicker of it herself?
She thought about it until her eyes grew heavy. The candle on her desk burned low.
When sleep finally claimed her, it was deep and dreamless. But the questions followed her into the dark.
The night was still. Too still.
Sera's dreams were not the soft haze of sleep but a crimson nightmare. The world around her was bathed in red moonlight spilling like blood across broken marble.
Bodies lay scattered at her feet. Men, women, faces she couldn't name. Her own hands dripped thick, warm blood. The metallic scent clung to her skin.
And in the silence, a single truth bloomed in her mind.
This wasn't a dream.
It was a memory.
She shot upright in bed, chest rising and falling rapidly. What did you do, Seraphine? she thought, clutching the sheets. Her mind flashed her parents, lifeless. That priest's smug, hateful face. Her own laughter. And somewhere in the haze, the glint of a blade.
Lying in bed, she wondered not for the first time why this was her fate. She'd never truly believed in reincarnation, and if she had, she would have imagined… a new life. A clean start. Not this trapped in the body of a woman who might still be somewhere inside, sleeping.
Her eyes drifted to the window, to that red moon. It felt like it was watching her. Waiting.
Sleep eventually pulled her under again, heavy and cold.
Her breathing grew shallow. The image of the maid with her bandaged hands surfaced. She remembered just now, She remembered what Elric said in church why the real Seraphine cut off both hands of the maid ,Seraphine's sharp voice, the cold command, the swift punishment… just for touching Elric.
"Is she Possesive?"
The thought clawed at her skull. She swung her legs out of bed, half-ready to storm out and demand answers from Elric, but a sudden wave of dizziness slammed into her. The room swayed.
"What?"
She collapsed back onto the mattress, the crimson moon outside her window staring down like an unblinking eye.
Morning broke quietly over the Evandale estate. Elric moved with his usual precision, fastening the buttons of his black vest before slipping on his gloves. He'd gotten used to the mornings these past days her ridiculous questions, her strange expressions, her tendency to eat like she was in a tavern.
He realized, to his mild surprise, that he was… looking forward to seeing her again.
The thought made his mouth twitch upward something dangerously close to a smile as he made his way to her chambers.
He opened the door.
And froze.
She was sitting on the bed, still in her nightgown, her posture perfectly still. No lounging, no slouching. Her back was straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The morning light caught in her hair, making the blonde strands gleam like polished onyx.
But it wasn't her posture that stopped him.
It was her eyes.
Those sharp, blood-red eyes locked onto him, cold and unblinking. They were the eyes he remembered the ones that could make a room drop to silence, that had once made even seasoned knights avert their gaze.
The warmth from the past few days vanished like smoke.
"…My lady," Elric said carefully, studying her face.
Her lips curved not in a smile, but in something razor-thin and dangerous.
"Elric,your early," she said, her voice silk over steel. "why are you staring at me like that? Why do you look suprised?."
And in that moment, he knew.
The real Seraphine was back.