Reborn I Refuse To Save The Traitors (Margaery) novel Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The maids flinched, their hands retracting as if they had been singed by an unseen flame. They hurriedly stepped aside, their gazes glued to the floor, avoiding the piercing eyes of their mistress.

Margaery felt a swell of emotion rise within her, tears threatening to spill over. It stung to realize that her so-called family was no better than Dashnell, a mere outsider who had somehow managed to earn her respect.

Joshua’s complexion drained of color as he turned to Raul, his voice trembling slightly. “Father, we can’t just confront them directly. We need to strategize, to think this through carefully.”

Raul’s frown deepened, though the fire of his anger began to cool. His gaze turned serious, locking onto Margaery with an intensity that made her heart race. “What is transpiring between you and Prince Dashnell?”

Margaery shot back with a defiant sneer, “You should ask Prince Dashnell that question.”

Raul’s fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white as he jerked his chin, dismissing the maids. “Bring him in,” he commanded, the weight of his authority palpable in the air.

It was time to unravel the tangled web of secrets that had ensnared them all.

Margaery couldn’t help but feel a sense of irony wash over her. Her father, who was usually so composed and adept at managing people and situations, often turned rough with her when he deemed it necessary. Yet, when faced with someone more powerful, he maintained his calm demeanor, wielding words like weapons.

Just then, Adam entered, his voice bright with formality. “Greetings, Lord Chancellor.”

Raul emerged from the study, his boiling rage replaced by an icy politeness. “Ah, Mr. Elkins. To what do we owe this unexpected honor? Might I inquire about His Highness’s… business with Margaery?”

His gaze drifted to Margaery, a mix of concern and curiosity flickering across his features.

Ignoring Raul’s presence, Adam turned to Margaery, producing a purple sandalwood box from within his coat. He lifted the lid with a flourish, revealing a delicate hairpin nestled inside.

“Lady Margaery,” Adam said, as he gently placed the hairpin into her hair, his fingers brushing against her scalp. “After your last encounter with Lady Serena, she has taken quite a liking to you. Today, she sent me to present you with this hairpin and hopes you’ll visit her at the palace soon.”

He then shifted his attention back to Raul, his tone becoming more serious. “Lord Chancellor, this hairpin is a treasured possession of Lady Serena, a gift from our late King. Please ensure Lady Margaery handles it with care; we wouldn’t want any… unfortunate incidents.”

With that, Adam clasped his hands together, signaling his intention to leave. “I shall take my leave now.”

Margaery’s fingers instinctively touched the hairpin, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

In that moment, a resolute thought formed in her mind: she was determined to marry Dashnell, come what may.

As the gravity of the situation settled in, her father and brothers regarded the hairpin adorning her head with expressions that turned increasingly somber.

“Father, do I have to go to the cellar now?” Margaery asked, her patience wearing thin. She had no desire to engage in another fruitless argument with them.

“Margaery, just a moment,” Raul said, his voice calming under the weight of the hairpin’s significance. He gestured for her to approach him. “Follow me.”

He then pointed at Avery. “You too.”

Margaery trailed behind Raul into his study, her heart pounding in her chest.

Avery soon followed, closing the door behind him.

“Shut the door,” Raul instructed, his voice unnaturally calm, almost gentle—an unsettling contrast to the thunderous rage that had just filled the room.

In that instant, Margaery realized something profound: her father was neither blind nor ignorant of her suffering; he simply didn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

That was the essence of not loving someone.

From the very beginning, he had never loved her as a father should.

That neglect had left its mark on her soul.

She recalled a time from her childhood when her father, drunk and furious, had pointed an accusing finger at her, bellowing, “It’s all your fault! You killed your mother! If it weren’t for you, that bad omen, how could she have left me?”

The fierceness in his eyes had terrified her.

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