LOGIN“Your Majesty,” Johan warned. But King Alexander shooed him off.
“I know what you are going to say, but I don’t care.” King Alexander had every right to be happy. And with that, he gave another skip around the room.
“Your majesty,” Johan could shake his head, but it was a lost cause. The king wasn’t going to listen.
“My baby girl, my sweet little dove.” King Alexander twirled before sitting back down. He kicked his feet before going for the letter again. It was the third time.
But it still wasn’t enough.
“I wish she wrote more.” Alexander pouted, pushing his beard down.
“But it’s a start, your Majesty.”
“Aye, yes, it is.” And Alexander was back up and walking the room. His mind was a buzz, and he had to keep moving.
“Agent Maddie has delivered on her word.” She said she would. But neither of them expected it to be this fast.
“She deserves a reward. But it should be gold.” No, gold wouldn’t be enough for what she managed to do.
The door of communication was finally opened after four years. It was no small task by any means. Yes, it deserved something great.
“I’ll give her a title.” Alexander decided at once. “And a great house.”
Alexander returned to the letter.
“My very first letter.” Alexander lifted it like a priceless heirloom. “Look at her penmanship. It’s perfect.”
"Ana must be quite the student indeed."
“Yes, She takes after her mother.” Alexander beamed proudly.
“Then Prince Nicoli must take after you.”
Alexander dropped his smile.
“Old coot.”
“Speak of the devil,” Johan and King Alexander both turned at the startled cry.
Birds were up and flying over the window in panic as a child's laughter bellowed.
“Back to terrorizing those poor creatures again.” King Alexander shook his head but peered over his to look down the window.
Below, the four-year-old with curly brunette hair and blue eyes moved to pick up a pile of leaves. He threw them up above with another roar of laughter.
“He should be with his tutors right now,” King Alexander frowned. But he wasn’t all disappointed. He skipped many classes at his age.
It was the next person with him, however, that made King Alexander grow cold.
Queen Belinda walked a few steps behind the boy. She was dressed in a white layered garden gown. Her black curls were pulled up neatly to cascade over one side of her head and frame her face and gray eyes.
The queen’s expression was an equal measure of admiration and patience as she watched on. A motherly smile crossed her face. That is until she was directly under the window.
As if already aware, Queen Belinda looked up with expectation. The smile on her face lessened to something softer, and she bowed.
“What a coincidence that Her Majesty would want to take a walk now.” Johan went, but both men knew it was anything but.
“Do you think she knows?”
“It would only be a matter of time before she would.” King Alexander wasn’t surprised. The only surprise was how fast it took.
Faster than both of them expected, apparently.
“Her spies must be quite busy.”
“It doesn’t matter.” King Alexander turned away from his desk to open the drawer. A piece of fresh parchment was pulled out with ink and quills.
“She won’t have it her way again. Not this time.” Four years was long enough.
King Alexander took a seat, dipping the quill in fresh ink.
“Johan, send for the postmaster. I want this sent with no delay.”
“Your Majesty,” Johan bowed and turned out.
“It’s about time I fix my mistake, right, my love?’ King Alexander looked up at the portrait.
The painted woman smiled at him. Her fangs slightly showed under her full upper lip. Her red hair was pulled back with gold chains and crowns to better show off how large her red eyes were.
It was quite a feat to get her to agree to the painting. King Alexander remembered how he had to beg. The vampire was naturally reluctant to her Nochten superstitions. But he had been glad of his persistence.
The painting had turned out to be his second most treasured thing. But it was time he got his first. And King Alexander was determined.
“It’s time I get my daughter back home.”
-x-
*Nicoli*
“Mommy, look!” The young boy lifted the pretty feather to show her.
“It’s blue-” Your favorite. But Nicoli could see his mother was already distracted.
Her maid, Julia, was coming from inside. She leaned to whisper something. Whatever it was, it looked important. His mother’s usual smile dropped for a moment.
But it came back just as quickly.
“Is that what he’s planning to do?” his mother laughed. “After all this time?”
Julia nodded.
“He seems set on it, Your Majesty.”
“I’m sure he would be.” His mother sighed, looking back at the castle. “He always gets sentimental this time of year.”
“But What if she does come back, Your Majesty?”
“Julia, you sound more concerned than I am.” She laughed. But the smile thinned.
“I just- I know this must hurt you,” Julia confessed.
“It does.”
“Then, Your Majesty-”
“Do you really think I will let it happen?”
“What happened?” Nicoli dropped the feather behind to come closer. What was happening?
“What’s happening, mommy?”
Both women turned with a slight start at the boy being so close. Julia bowed, averting her eyes. But his mother grew sweet again.
“Nothing, sweetie.” She cooed and motioned for him. Nicoli gladly came over. Her hand played with his curls tenderly.
It felt good. Nicoli liked having his head touched. He pressed closer to her leg as she continued.
It was also nice to be with Mommy. She was so nice and warm. Nicoli could feel his eyes droop.
“What will you do, your majesty?” Julia, meanwhile, asked again. Her face pulled thin with worry.
“IF she comes back-”
“Julia,” His mother widened her smile to show all her teeth. “How dare you doubt me.”
“I got rid of her once.” His mother stopped to take Nicoli’s hand. She turned to guide him back inside. Their random little walk was over.
“I can do it again.”
*Ana*The silence doesn’t greet me–it pounces, thick as velvet curtains drawn too tight. For one foolish moment, I almost convince myself that Pendwick might simply bow and step aside, that the tremor in my chest is just the echo of court politics and nothing more. That maybe, just maybe, this isn't what I think it is. That he's only saying hello, like any other day—just happened to find me in the hall and wanted to—Oh, Ana, you know that’s a lie. The thought cuts sharp as winter wind. I couldn't even afford to convince myself. Just look at him—Pendwick, coincidentally here? The scent of his cologne drifts toward me, bergamot and cedar, too deliberate for a casual encounter. He stands casually in the middle of the White Hall, spine straight as a ceremonial sword, hands clasped so tightly in front of him I swear I can hear the leather of his gloves creak like ship rigging in a storm.The marble beneath my feet seems to pulse with each heartbeat. I swallow, tasting copper on my tongue
*King Alexander* Alexander watched Anastasia disappear down the marble corridor like a shadow slipping behind a veil—unwavering in her expression, yet brittle as winter glass. Shoulders rigid as armor plating, chin lifted in defiant mimicry of her mother's own expression. A cruel irony that didn’t go unmissed by him. Like a blade twisting between his ribs.. Because, like mother, like daughter—it made him all the more desperate to search for the fractures beneath the porcelain mask. Anastasia was drowning. Stretched gossamer-thin, each thread of her composure ready to snap. Her footfalls echoed with leaden exhaustion, the careful measured pace of someone fighting to remain upright. The way her fingers had trembled—barely perceptible—when she'd gathered her skirts. The distant fog that had clouded her crimson eyes during court proceedings, her mind a thousand leagues away from the petitions and proclamations.She was taking this burden far harder than pride would ever let her voice, c
*Ana*The room feels too bright.Sunlight slants through the high windows of the throne room, painting golden streaks across the carpet and catching the gold filigree of the vaulted ceiling until the whole room gleams like a jewel box cracked open.It should be beautiful. It is beautiful. But all I can think about is how the cold seeps through the layers of my court dress like water through silk, despite the iron firepits lining the marble floor. Each bowl spits low, hungry flames that devour coal and resin, sending ribbons of pine-scented smoke curling between the pillars. The smell wraps around us like phantom fingers—woody, bitter, carrying memories I'd rather not hold.My crown feels heavier today, its weight pressing into my skull like an accusation. The silver circlet that once felt like a birthright now feels like a penance. Or maybe I'm just tired.No. I am tired.I sit rigidly beneath the gilded canopy, my spine a blade of steel against the throne's velvet cushions. My hands
*Nicoli*The realization didn’t come like thunder.It came quietly. Like the soft closing of a door he hadn’t noticed until it was already locked behind him. Nicoli's boots struck the marble with too much force, each step a sharp crack that ricocheted off the vaulted ceiling and chased him down the empty corridor. The palace's silence pressed against his eardrums—thick, suffocating, like being buried alive in velvet. The silence of the palace offered no comfort. Had there ever been a time these halls did? That these halls didn’t feel like some mausoleum? Was there a time the air didn't taste of held breath and hidden truths? Nicoli could not say. He didn’t know. There was so much about Anastasia's world he'd never known, didn’t realize was severely lacking all this time. But the pieces were falling into place now, each one landing like a stone in his chest.And it all felt too late. The cold seeped through the seams of his coat, through his skin, settling deep in his bones. But t
*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







