On a bitter snowy day, a crying three-year-old Empress, Anastasia Brokenoff, is forced into the barren desert lands of Nochten, the homeland of vampires, under the promise she will have a better life amongst her mother's kin. But this couldn't be any further from the truth. In Nochten, Ana is mocked for her silver hair, while her only relatives ignore and abuse their power for their gains. Unable to do anything until her first blood, Ana hides behind books and her late mother's rose garden. It is a lonely life, but Ana accepts her fate and tries to bear with it until she is old enough to change it. That is until the arrival of a new maid, a human named Maddie, who is determined to rekindle the relationship between Ana and her father. Ana believes it will go nowhere, but to her surprise, a single letter sparks a whole chain of events that will throw Ana into a new world of people. People like Prince Nicoli, her half-brother, who invokes strange feelings Ana must keep secret as she traverses the dangerous realm of nobility while holding back her cousin, Mykhol, who is not solely focused on her throne. So, will Ana be able to keep her feelings a secret? Will she be able to keep her crown? Or will Ana end up losing everything she fought so dearly to keep?
Lihat lebih banyak-Prelude-
*Ana*
“I don’t wanna go,” I look up. “Please, I’ll be good for Stepmother, ” But the nursemaid only smiles down at me.
“You’ll be happy in Nochten, Princess Anastasia." She tries to smile. But it gets ruined between the tears. “You will be back with your kind.”
My kind?
I keep hearing that, my kind this and my kind that, over and over. But what does that mean? I don’t understand.
“Please, I swear-” But the cold, snowy wind blows us back in a hard push.
Behind me, something breaks.
My hair- the bands snapped, and my hair is dancing in the air. It blinds my whole vision in a solid color of silver.
Silver- I haven’t seen anyone else with that color Father once called it special—proof of the love between him and my mother.
But I don’t know her. She died when I was a baby. And I don’t want it because it makes me have to leave.
I want to go back inside where it’s warm- to go back to Papa.
"Don’t make me go,” I scratch at the nurse's hand. “Let me go!”
“Your Highness,” She winces but still keeps pulling on.
“Please!!” I yell between tears. “Why are you doing this!?” But she won’t look at me. Ahead, the doorman jumps down to open the carriage door.
Inside, I can see it’s full of blankets and pillows. All to make the long ride easier. But it just makes me even more afraid now.
“No!” I bite her.
“Humph,” The nursemaid cries in pain. But she doesn’t let go.
“They’ll take care of you and love you.” She goes on between tears. She even tries to smile down at me as I let go. Her hand has two tiny red points but no blood.
I’m happy she isn’t bleeding, but now what?
“Papa-“ I look behind her. “Where is Papa?”
There he is! I see him. Papa and Stepmother are standing inside. Papa stands tall while Stepmother moves her hands over her swollen belly.
“Papa!” I call again to catch his eye. “Papa, I don’t want to go-” But something is wrong. Papa isn’t smiling. He’s looking at me as if he can’t see me.
“Papa?” I call again before he turns away. And I can’t see him anymore. He’s gone.
“Yes, they will love you so much, Princess Anastasia,” The nursemaid lifts me up.
“You won’t ever feel unloved ever again.” The nursemaid backs away with a crumbling smile. Her eyes and cheeks are shiny with tears. Yet, even in such a state, she can still smile.
“Be good.” She farewells as the door closes. Above me, a whip cracks before the carriage jerks forward. We start moving, and gradually, the castle disappears into the snow.
-x-
It is a week before the carriage slows again. I am hot and tired, but I still manage to sit up. Even exhausted, I guess I can still be curious. And I am.
I want to see my new home.
“Nochten, “ I whisper, looking out at the palace. Its white stone walls and golden domes shine against the yellow sand. Outside of the building, a fountain gushes water before the grand doorway.
And behind the fountain, there is a line of people. It’s big enough to see it from even this far. They must have come to welcome me.
I sink back in the chair. I’m no longer curious about what's outside.
I just want to go home. I close my eyes as the carriage stops.
When I wake up again, please let me be home. I make a wish and hold my breath.
Please-
But the door opening sounds before I feel it. The desert heat slaps my face before assaulting my nose. Its foreign smells instantly turn my stomach.
I feel sick and cover my mouth as the coachman climbs down.
“Your Majesty?”He holds his hand out to help me down. But something is moving behind him. Three people approach, each with red hair and eyes.
The woman is the tallest. She holds hands with a portly, bald, and short man. The third is a boy some years older than me. He looks to be a combination of the two but handsome.
Are they my new family?
“Your Majesty?”
“Yes? Oh.” I see the coachman still waiting.
I gingerly take the coachman's hand and step down, but just as my feet hit the sand, I can’t do it. I don’t want to let go.
“Take me back,” I whimper and pull closer.
“Your Majesty?” He looks at me curiously, but I don’t get to speak as everyone suddenly cries.
“All praise to Empress Anastasia!” And everyone goes to kneel at once with a hand over their heart.
Why are they doing that? I don’t know, but it's scarier, and I pull myself closer to the coachman.
If I didn't want to let go before, I definitely don’t want to let go now.
“your Empress.” The tall woman goes to stand first, followed by the rest. Immediately, I feel them stare at me.
No, It’s not at me. They are looking at my hair.
“Welcome to Nochten, the empire of vampires-”
“I wanna go home.” I don't even let her finish before I go back to the coachman.
“Please, take me back.” I look up at the coachman in desperation.
“Your Highness,” The coachman frowns.
“Please!” I squeeze his hand tighter, but the coachman seems to be stuck. And the tall woman steps up.
“Empress Anastasia?” But I don’t want to look at her.
“Take me with you.” I pull on his arm. “Please, I don’t want to be here-”
“Your majesty?” He looks after me.
“Ahem,” The tall woman clears her throat, breaking the spell. The coachman pulls away.
“I must go.”
“No, don’t-” I grasp out for him, but he’s back in the carriage.
Don’t leave me with these strangers.
But he will not look at me again. Instead, he cracks the whip to make the horses start. They neigh before kicking off to pull the carriage away into the distance.
I am now all alone.
“Your Empress,” The tall woman, meanwhile, steps forward.
“I am Funda, your mother’s sister.” The tall lady starts. “And this, your Uncle Charles. And our son Mykhol, your cousin.”
“Until you’re first blood, your uncle and I will act as regents for the empire.” Aunt Funda takes another step but stops as if unsure about something.
“Tomorrow will be the beginning of your lessons. Today, let us take you on a tour to help you navigate your new home.”
Aunt Funda turns, her husband and son following, to lead back to the palace. Their footsteps move in sync as if rehearsed.
“We will first take you to your room to wash. After that, you will be dressed in our Nochten gowns-“ Aunt Funda goes on before she looks over her shoulder to see me still standing.
“Your Empress?”Aunt Funda raises her brow. “Your Empress, you need to follow me.“
“No.”
“What was that, your Empress?”
“Take me back!” I shout and throw myself down. I fall onto hard little stones in the sand. They cut into my knees and made me cry out.
“I don’t want to be here. I wanna go home.” I cry. “I want Papa.”
I don’t care about my kind or how nice they are supposed to be. I don’t like it here at all. It’s too hot, and the people look scary.
Why was I sent here?
I don’t know, and it makes me cry even harder.
“I want-” I cry, expecting someone to come over. I want someone to pick me up, hug me, and tell me it will be okay.
But no one is moving.
Aunt Funda makes a strained face before looking at her husband and son. They shake their heads. All three then look back at me, unsure what to do. It's the same for the rest of the crowd.
Around me, the crowd makes glances to each other, but no one dares go father than that. It’s almost like they don’t want to. In the end, they just decide to do nothing and return to watch me.
It’s not everyone. Some do look after me worried, but they won’t even move. I make out one man, a human with a deep scar over his eyebrow. He seems most upset, but he doesn’t move even then.
Why isn’t anyone coming? I feel the thought shake me.
Didn’t my nursemaid say this is my kind? I remember and roll my eyes over the crowd.
Didn’t she say I would be happy and that they would love me?
But I don’t see anything like that here. I don’t see a gentle expression or warm smile among any of them. I just see them stare at me.No, they stare at my hair. I move to touch it, suddenly conscious that I am sticking out even more here in all this red.
“Your Empress, Aunt Funda, meanwhile, repeats with a hollow smile. “let us freshen you up before the tour.”
“Yes, er- Aunt Funda.” I nod and push myself up. My knees burn from the rocks, and my dress is stained with sand. But still, no one comes to help.
The three stand by and wait until I’m done.
“This way,” Aunt Funda says, and, again, the three turn like one. They step effortlessly toward the doors.
“Wait-” I struggle to pull up my heavy skirt. “I can’t keep up.” My legs are small, and they walk too quickly.
“Please- slow down.” But they must not hear me because they keep walking.
“She’s so weak.” Someone snickers around me.
“That’s what you get for a halfling.” Another chimes in.
“Half?” I stop to look up, but I don’t know who said it.
I can't tell any of them apart. I just see red eyes and red hair everywhere. Everyone looks so similar. Everyone looks like they belong, except for me.
But that doesn't make sense.
Aren’t they ‘my kind?”
“Empress Anastasia?” It’s Aunt Funda again. “What is the delay?”
“my dress-” I start,” it's too heavy. Can someone carry me?”
“Is something wrong with your legs?”.
“Er- no, but-”
“Then use them.” And she returns to the two. They walk on. But the Youngest lingers back.
“Cousin?”Does he want to help me?
“Could you-” I lift my hand toward him.
“Slowpoke.” He smirks and turns to join his parents. He doesn’t look back after me again. None of them do. It’s as if I’m not even here.
Or maybe they don’t want me to be?
She lied to me, didn't she? I realized right there.
She lied when she said Nochten would be better.
“It is worse.” But even if it's a lie. What can I do?
I am no longer Princess Anastasia anymore. I am an Empress.
And Nochten is my new home now.
*Ana*The room is bathed in amber light. For the first time in days, the clouds have scattered. That stubborn ceiling of winter-grey that's clung to the sky like a brooding bird refusing to leave her nest has finally taken wing. And in its place—sunlight. Glorious and gold, spilling through the carved arches of the Moonroom like a long-awaited blessing from the old gods. It dances along the mosaic tiles, each piece catching fire in miniature suns, warms the brass lanterns overhead until they gleam like captured starlight, and settles over the divans and embroidered pillows in waves of honey and liquid fire.I'm grateful for it. The palace has felt dismal lately—each hallway too dim, too chilled, too full of things left unsaid. Or worse, too many things heard that I'm unable to forget.But this—this warmth—it feels like permission to hope again. Or at least pretend for one more hour that things are going well.I sit where I always do—centered, composed, draped in my choice of pink vel
The Green Drawing Room is quieter than I expected it to be. Pale winter light filters through tall windows, breaking apart on the thick clouds beyond before pooling in uneven patches across the intricate rug beneath our feet. Every shade of green imaginable lies woven into the fabric—moss and jade, seafoam and deep olive—colors rich enough to speak of distant lands and conquered artisans.I've always wondered about this tapestry. Some fallen kingdom, perhaps, from the early days of the first emperor's reign when borders expanded and cultures disappeared into Nochten's shadow. The rug might be all that remains of someone else's legacy, buried now beneath our own. Each time I look down at it, the weight of what came before settles heavier on my shoulders—the prices paid for this throne, and the costs yet to come. Hidi doesn’t glance down at the rug. She doesn’t notice it. Or if she did, she quickly lost interest. Her gaze, instead, stays transfixed on Nicoli sitting next to me on the c
Alexander hated that ceiling.The turquoise and gold swirls once praised as Nochten's finest craftsmanship now seemed like a cruel joke—ornate spirals twisting endlessly above him, bright enough to mock but never change. Their splendor had long worn thin, weeks ago. He had memorized every fleck of gold leaf, every chipped mosaic tile, every maddening geometric whirl. The patterns seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, a kaleidoscope of confinement that made his skull throb.He'd dreamt, more than once, of taking a hammer to it.That dream was starting to feel like a promise.His breath fogged faintly in the cold air as he shifted under the covers, silk sheets rustling like dry leaves against his fever-warmed skin. Another deep, raw cough ripped from his chest—a barking reminder that the illness hadn't fully left him. The sound echoed off the stone walls, harsh and wet. But it was loosening. Finally. For the first time in weeks, he could feel his thoughts lining up again, not stumbling or
*Bruno*Through the frost-laced glass, Anastasia looked like a figure in a painting—small, red, and alone. Her shawl was pinched tight around her neck, a splash of crimson against the garden's pale marble and ice-bitten hedges as she retreated one slow step at a time .Her breath hung in the cold like smoke, her movements stiff, like every part of her was holding something in—pain, secrets, the weight of a crown too heavy for her shoulders.Bruno watched, unmoving, until the window clouded over with his own breath. Sticky and hot enough to form pebble-beaded drops, obscuring all into blobs of frozen green and a blurry red. The glass felt cold against his forehead where he'd unconsciously leaned forward, drawn to her retreating form like a moth to dying flame.He blinked after a moment, not realizing he was that close, and leaned back. The sudden distance from the window left him feeling hollow, untethered. He rubbed the fog away with the rough sleeve of his woolen tunic, the coarse fab
*Ana*“See?I knew you’d come around.” Hidi beams, twirling back toward Nicoli as if she’s just won something precious at court. Her skirts billow around her like victory banners, and the motion sends a waft of her perfume toward me: lemon and herb, cloying in the cold air. “I’m going to make you so happy, Nicoli, just wait and see.” Then she pivots to face me, her eyes glinting with triumph, her eyes glinting with triumph that cuts through the winter light like shattered emerald. Her smile stretches so bright, so sharp, it makes my teeth ache as if I've bitten down on something too sweet."And you too, Sister. We can always be together."The word Sister lands on my skin like acid. Burns. Spreads.I open my mouth to speak—to add something, anything, to fill the hollow space her declaration has carved in my chest—but Hidi doesn't wait for me. She never does. She’s already turned away, already basking in the warmth of a moment she crafted so expertly. Once again, getting her way in an
*Nicoli*The roses were long dead. Winter took her debts. But death still had another victim to claim—one which staggered to breathe against the frigid air now. The sight before him, the words circling in his ears like ravens.‘…it’s time you two talk.’ Such simple words, yet the weight behind them, the speaker—Nicoli choked back another vapor puff that blinded his sapphire eyes, now dimming grey between the smoke and the heavy sky, before he could blink and see anything but scarlet-colored eyes full of pain as another's peridot glowed in satisfaction like a broken moon.Brittle petals were scattered between the brown leaves of the bushes, curled in on themselves like secrets never spoken, their frostbitten edges clinging to thorn-laced stems with desperate, dying grace. The cold was everywhere—climbing into his lungs like icy fingers, lodging behind his ribs, numbing the tips of his fingers despite the gloves—Hidi's gift—all but gritty sandpaper against his skin now. And still, it
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