Just us

The weight of softness

Chapter Nine

The morning air was gentle, kissed by the faint perfume of blooming lilies as Camila’s carriage rolled slowly through the cobblestone streets. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting pale gold patterns over her folded hands.

Beside her stood the maid the court had assigned — stiff-backed, sharp-eyed, and far too observant to be merely attentive. Camila knew exactly who she was loyal to.

Lyana.

And more than that, their father. He had always wanted eyes on her, even before her fall down the grand staircase. As though she were some fragile glassfigurine waiting to shatter — or a criminal plotting in silence.

Camila did not bother to acknowledge the scrutiny.

Monitor me all you wish, "she thought coolly. I will deal with each of you in time.

After dismissing the carriage, she chose to walk, her steps light but purposeful along the quieter path near the market district. Her senses, honed from a life of death and shadows, never truly rested.

That was why she heard it.

A desperate cry.

Camila’s eyes snapped toward a narrow alley where shadows clung like filth. There,a small figure trembled on the ground — a child with strangely vivid purple hair, tangled and matted with dirt, pale skin bruised, and marred. Two drunken men loomed over him, their laughter cruel, boots striking soft flesh again and again.

“Pay what you owe, brat!”

“We ain’t running a charity!”

The maid gasped. “My lady, we should not interfere—!”

But Camila had already moved.

In a breath, she was there.

Her hand seized one man’s wrist mid-swing, twisting with practised precision. Bone cracked. His howl barely left hisThe second lunged clumsily — and missed.

Camila’s heel swept his legs out from under him, and then her elbow struck his temple with calculated force. He collapsed like a sack of filth.

Silence followed.

Both men lay unconscious, their groans fading into shallow wheezes.

The maid stood frozen, face pale, her earlier arrogance swallowed by pure terror. When Camila turned, her eyes were cold — sharp, merciless, and utterly unafraid.

It was not the gaze of a noble lady.

It was the gaze of a predator.

The maid quickly lowered her head, masking her revulsion and fear behind rigid obedience.

Camila knelt and gently lifted the trembling child into her arms. He was far too light, his body feverish, breath uneven. The rags he wore barely shielded him from the world’s cruelty.

“It’s alright now,” she murmured softly, the chill in her eyes melting into something rare — compassion. “No one will hurt you again.”

The child flinched, but his small fingers weakly grasped the fabric of her sleeve asthough instinctively seeking safety.

Without another word, she ordered the maid to summon a physician and returned to the carriage, cradling him carefully as though he were something precious.

The road back to the estate was quiet, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoing like a distant memory.

Camila’s gaze drifted to the child resting against her lap, his breathing slightly steadier now. Dirt streaked his cheeks, but beneath it, his features were delicate, almost ethereal.

And that was when the past resurfaced.

Elisha.

The girl who had once been broken.

She remembered the iron bars. The cold nights. The cruel hands of the ones who called themselves parents. Then him — the man who had pulled her from the abyss and called it salvation.

Her mentor. Her saviour. Her chains.

He had taught her how to survive… but in doing so, he sculpted her into his perfect weapon. He wrapped control in kindness, ambition in affection, and illusion in warmth. He had played with her loyalty — and her heart — until she no longer knew where she ended and he began.

A slow sigh escaped her lips.

Her fingers brushed the child’s hair,marvelling at its softness, the unusual shade of violet shimmering faintly in the sunlight. It reminded her of moonlight on amethyst — gentle, quiet, honest.

“So soft…” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

He stirred slightly but did not awaken.

Camila’s gaze softened further, a rare vulnerability lingering in her eyes.

You are not like me, she thought. I will not let the world twist you into a weapon.

Outside, the estate gates loomed closer — and with them, the silent web Lyana had begun weaving.

But for now, in the stillness of the carriage,Camila allowed herself a single breath of peace, cradling the wounded child as though he were a fragile promise she refused to let break.