Chapter 104 Coronation
*Ana*
Control yourself, Anastasia. Stay still. I need to remind myself once more of the importance of remaining calm. I must not move or express any emotions, as Nochtens' tradition dictates that we maintain a somber demeanor during the sermon. However, this is becoming challenging.
It's hard to simply stand here on the dias when my body buzzes with emotion–joy, relief, excitement. I've wanted this for so long that I can't help but feel overwhelmed. Wanting to break my usual composure and cry or laugh. And the worst sin of all– I can't seem to keep my lips still. They keep shifting at the edges, daring themselves to lift up and curl into a smile. Such a tempting expression, but the cost is too great.
Starting off by breaking Nochten's decorum would, unfortunately create a negative example for my reign.
It's essential that I follow tradition. Standing here in my coronation gown, it's not just about looking the part, but also about acting it. I must be mindful of my image. How I appear and what I do now could determine how I gain more support in court. I know every lord and lady is watching me from both sides of the grand courtroom. Dressed in thick wools and furs to keep warm in the spacious room, their red eyes are fixed on us, judging every move I make or don't make.
Any small failure will provide them with an excuse. Any mistake will tarnish their opinion of me. This increases the pressure on me to adhere to our traditions faithfully, which is not easy. Among all the ruling countries, Nocthen's procedures and decorum are the most stringent.
Crowning a new Emperor in Nocthen is a cruel task that lasts three hours. I must stand still on a small silver moon painted before the throne. My face has to remain still, my head held high, and emotionless, just as the first Emperor. A symbolic mask to signify the severity of the role. To rule Nochten should not be frivolous; there will be no laughter, no joy. I am solely responsible for the empire's success or failure forward.
I know it's a grave and arduous task, but it's one I have wanted since I can remember. One I am ready for and have prepared for all these years of study. Finally, I want to come to this day and show that I can do it, mixed or not, woman or not. I will prove myself. I will be perfect.
I have to be. I swallow, focusing again on the head priest, who continues his sermon. The said priest stands a step below the dias.
An ancient vampire. The priest is so old that all the red has faded from his hair, leaving it pitch white and flowing loosely around his shoulders. His fangs have nearly become rounded, dull nubs over time. But his gaze is sharp, ruby red eyes following along the lines as he continues to read from the Book of Remembrance. His creaky voice droning on and on, the next name in the line of all the emperors before me. Each name needs to be read out before we can reach the present.
Which won't be long, I can hear the more familiar names, the recents coming up. I brace myself, shoulders pulling back, stealing a steady breath. My mother's name will come up soon. And then mine. And then it's my time to–
"For good luck," Mykhol's voice echoes in my ears. The warmth of Mykhol's lips returns to mine, tingling against my soft flesh. The sensation spreads as the memory resurfaces, a flush creeping up my neck. My heart stumbles as I can almost feel him again, refusing to fade.
His kiss–
Wait, no. No, not now. This is not the time to think about Mykhol's silly jokes. I cannot afford to be distracted.
I need to focus and pay attention. My name is about to be called. I need to be ready. I need to—
A throat clears. Loud. Deliberate.
The breath catches in my chest. My eyes widen in horror as they snap down to the priest. The book in his hands is closed. His expression is unreadable, but his silence says everything. He was waiting.
And I wasn't. I missed my cue. I've already messed up.
The realization slams into me like a blow, ice flooding my veins. I was lost—distracted, thinking about something so stupid, so pointless—and I let the moment slip through my fingers.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone stifles a laugh. Another hushes them, but the damage is done. The heat in my cheeks burns hotter, shame searing through me like a brand. I wasn't paying attention. I've already made an error. And now, I have already made a mistake in front of everyone.
"Hush, she's just nervous." Someone, a small-mouthed lady, pleads on my behalf, a kind act, but it spurs more snickers from the room. A few nudged each other in the crowd, knowing smiles growing on their faces at my failure. Making me feel all the worse because I know it is.
How could I make such an easy error? I clench my tunic just as a flash of yellows shifts forward with a hard click of heels against the stone floor.
"Shut it." Hidi's voice snaps sharply like a whip, her head held high as she surveys the crowd with the air of a queen. It immediately has an effect; Hidi's command swiftly stills the mirth in the room, creating a stone-cold silence. A quick expression of fear crossed the faces of those who dared to laugh, and the lords and ladies quickly tucked their heads down grimly, not wanting to incur her wrath.
It is a universal truth that nothing is scarier than a giant yelling. Hidi seems to take great joy in that moment. She looks over her shoulder to flash a broad grin at me, her peridot eyes sparkling with the message, 'Look what I did. Aren't I an amazing friend, ja?'
"Hidi," I whisper, gently shaking my head. She is truly encouraging. As Hidi continues to shuffle her shoulders and beam, Father catches my gaze from below, standing next to Hidi.
He mouths, 'You're doing just fine,' before smiling gently. His sapphire eyes are warm and kind. The sight steadies me. I find comfort in them before the priest shifts on his feet,
"Ahem," The head priest clears his throat again. His crackly voice rings, but it's not annoyed. He seems only tired. His sharp eyes were just watching me with a slight nod before closing the book."If you may, your Empress?" I bob my head and swallow down a nervous gulp, calming my heart one last time before meeting his gaze again to go on.
The priest offers me the faintest smile before adopting his usual stoicism. "Present yourself to the court and the kingdom, "the head priest commands. "What is your name?"
"Anastasia Brokennoff, direct descendant of Empress Parsul and first in line to the throne of Nochten."
"Raise your hand," The Priest instructs. "Do you swear to uphold the law of this empire, to keep its colonies, and to protect its people till the last breath leaves your lungs?"
I raise my hand and feel the weight of the dress pulling down. It's heavy enough that I have to struggle to keep from dropping it. But I manage, refusing to let it stop me as I speak again. "I do,"
"By penalty of death and fangs pulled?"
I nod solemnly. "By penalty of death and my fangs pulled."
"And do you swear to uphold the traditions since our first Emperor fought and bled to build this empire?"His words echo like a commandment, ancient and unshakable.
"I swear upon my fangs. If I fail, may I pull them out myself and walk the desert the rest of my days." My voice rings across the doomed ceiling, snot just filling the hall but soaring beyond it, carrying my oath to the heavens. It is a vow of blood, of bone, of everything I am. The weight of it silences the court.
No one dares to breathe.
The Lords and Ladies are statues, their faces carefully composed, yet their stillness betrays the gravity of the moment. Hidi stands taller, shoulders squared, as if steadying herself against the tide of history. My father does not move, but his eyes shine—full of quiet pride, full of things he cannot say.
To my right, my aunt and uncle stand without scowl or dismissal, their faces unreadable yet, for once, directed at me with something akin to respect. And then there is Mykhol, his vermilion gaze burning beneath the firelight. He gives the smallest of nods, a motion so slight it could almost be missed.
Everyone is waiting.
Even I hold my breath, my chest tight, my pulse thrumming in my throat. For the first time, I feel the full weight of this moment. The years of loneliness, the whispered remarks about my hair, the endless nights spent studying every law, every decree—leading to this.
The ancient vampire watches me a beat longer, his sharp eyes unreadable. And then, at last, he moves.
"Then, Anastasia Brokenoff." At last, the head priest motions for the priestess to come forth. She is a short but beautiful vampire with long flowing hair that touches the small of her back, shifting slightly as she walks up. She carries a white cushion, and atop it the crown.
A band of silver woven with diamonds and rubies, adorned with the sigil of our empire—the bat and moon. It catches the candlelight, glittering like stardust.
My throat tightens.
I have dreamed of this. Wished for it, ached for it. To feel its weight on my head, to know—finally, undeniably—that I belong. To know that I'm finally here. After all this time.
It's beautiful. A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. Shame prickles at the back of my neck, but before I can berate myself, the priest's eyes crinkle with something startlingly kind. He leaned in just slightly, voicing a whisper meant only for me.
"Do not be so hard on yourself. Most can not keep their faces still, little one." And with that, he goes on. A breathless, half-choked laugh escapes me.
Then, the moment is here.
"I bestow upon you," The head priest lifts the crown off the pillow. His hands tremble from age, but his grip is firm.
On cue, I kneel. The golden chains of my shawl shift with a soft, metallic click as I bow my head. The silence stretches, thick with reverence, with history, with expectation. I take another shuddering breath as he lowers the crown to touch my head.
The silver band meets my brow, and in that instant, the weight of Nochten is mine to bear. Every emperor before me, every law written in blood, every expectation whispered behind closed doors—it all presses down, cold and final. And yet, I do not bow beneath it. I lift my head. I claim it.
His words follow, heavy with meaning, sinking deep into my heart. The words I've longed for, suffered for, are finally mine to have.
"The Empire of Nochten. All hail her Empress Anastasia Brokenoff, ruler of Nochten."
The words fall like iron, sealing my fate.
The court moves as one. The lords, the ladies, the nobles who once whispered behind their hands—every single one of them kneels. Hands press to hearts.
"All hail her Empress."
The room is deafened by the united voices. It crashes over me like a wave, drowning out every doubt, every whispered cruelty of my past. They are calling for me.
Me.
The girl they ignored. The girl they dismissed. The girl with silver hair and mixed blood.
But no more.
Those who once laughed now bow their heads a fraction lower than necessary, as if that small act might atone for their past scorn. Others, who had dismissed me outright, now meet my gaze with grudging respect. As Empress. As Ruler of Nochten—something they cannot deny me. Even if I am female. Even if I am only half-vampire.
They cannot ignore me now. I am their Empress, and they cannot take that away from me.
It is my birthright.
I struggle to keep from crying, but the tears are fat and angry. Daring to spill on their own. The sight of seeing the entire room is more than enough to choke me up. This is real. This is mine.
My subjects. My people. My home.
The voices fade. A hush falls over the room. They are waiting, not for the half-blood girl they once shunned, but for their Empress.
I inhale. My pulse pounds in my ears, but my voice—my voice is steady.
Please, don't let me stutter. Lifting my head, I let my voice break the silence.
"May I rule," I begin, my words breaking the silence, "with conviction, diligence, and honor that would bring praise to the first Emperor."
A promise. A vow. Not just to them, but to myself.
The court rises in unison.
"All hail," they chant once more, voices ringing in the chamber. "All hail Empress Anastasia."
And this time, I know—I feel—they mean it. Nochten is mine. And I am Nochten's.
Once, I wandered the rose garden alone, a ghost in my own home. No one wanted to touch my silver hair. No one wanted to claim me. I was the whispered doubt, the stain upon a throne that should never have been mine.
But I am my mother's daughter. Her blood, and the blood of the past Emperors, runs through my veins.
And I do not stand in the shadows anymore. I stand before them as Empress of Nochten.
From this moment forward, I will prove that I deserve them. And in time, perhaps they will not just respect me. Perhaps, they will love me.
One day.
*Admiral Nugen*
Admiral Nugen stood afar from the crowd, stationed at his post. Despite the grand occasion, he kept alert. His need to protect never wavered, even at this time of celebration. He could not let go of the chance, fearing that something could still go wrong.
Ensuring everyone's safety was essential. However, it wasn't very likely they would try anything, not openly, anyway.
They prefer to stab people in the back. Nugen flicked a brown eye over the room. Amongst the smiling faces, he could feel the hatred hidden within. A seething undercurrent of distaste towards Ana. They would never accept her. Not truly.
The nobles of Nocthen could smile and cheer all they wanted, praising her, bowing to her. But it was an act. A lie. He knew it all too well to be able to fall for it again a second time.
You won't fool me. Nugen learned from his mistakes. The threat was there, just as it had been with Parsul. But now he could read between the lines. The danger was underneath the fanged smiles. Their red eyes ever watching for a chance, a weakness to abuse.
Even amongst the praise, the factions were there: those neutral, those self-serving, and those who supported her cousin. He only needed to watch to see for himself.
But for now, he could unclench his shoulders.
At least it is done. Nugen drifted his eyes back to who was important. Nochten's silver crown was firmly on her head. Shining in the fire's light, and making him tear up a little as if he were looking into the past. He wasn't looking at Ana but at Parsul when she first wore the crown.
The coronation day was almost as memorable as when she left Nochten for the last time. That painful memory–
His chest shifted as he took in a shuddering breath, to will it away. No, he would not think of the past. Not now. Not when Ana was so happy. And for a moment, he could let his own guilt slide, a brief reprieve as he could allow himself a little happiness. Happiness for her.
For a moment, his heart soared for the girl. She now wore a great smile of joy and relief as they gathered around her in support. King Alexander to her left with Hildenberg taking her right. The giant was already making her voice to loud as if she had to be the center of attention.
"Ana, you're crying," the giant queen smirked, clearly prepared to tease her in this rare moment of vulnerability. Ana quickly blinked and looked down, attempting to conceal the glimmer in her eyes- a definite giveaway.
"No -I, I'm not crying." She denied, fluttering her silver lashes quickly." Something got in my eye."
"Something in your eye, huh?" Nugen chuckled at their conversation. Parsul also denied having cried on the day of her coronation, but Admiral Nugen knew how deeply it had moved her and how much it had meant to her to wear that silver crown back then.
"She is just like you, Par," Nugen whispered before the pain in his chest found him. It made him look away to prevent the memories from flooding back. The sound of her voice, her laughter, her gentle kiss. It was when he heard the familiar boom that he could break away to find the bearded king making his move.
Alexander raised his hand to capture everyone's attention. His voice was clear and steady, as it always was. His ability to command the spotlight remained consistent even from the past. And he used it now.
"May today mark the beginning of what will be the golden years of the Nochten Empire." He announced, meeting the eyes of the nobles. Despite being human, even the vampires had to acknowledge his statement.
"All hail, Empress Anastasia." The room united once more, steady and firm in their tone. The slight hiss and hesitance gone, for now, at least. But the scared man still listened for the clues. The slight change. The whisper.
It would be there. Maybe not today. But it would come again. He was no fool to think they'd change suddenly just because Ana now had the crown.
No. Nochten never changes. That was a lesson Parsul had learned bitterly, and one Nugen would never forget, not until his last breath.
As the nobles around him straightened, many offering well-rehearsed compliments to Anastasia, Nugen noticed a palpable shift among the factions. A few lords and ladies barely completed their praises before their gazes subtly diverted to Lord Mykhol, who stood proudly with his parents, his charming smile already in place. This shift was subtle yet significant. Their true loyalty wasn't present; they might profess fealty to the Empress, but their hearts and allegiance clearly belonged to Mykhol.
It was the truth, an unspoken admission—one that didn't need to be said aloud. Ana would never be good enough for them. Not when Mykhol was there.
Nugen's eyes lingered momentarily, but he didn't need to see more. His attention was already shifting to the figure moving towards him.
His gaze lifted to spy the tall old man, navigating seamlessly through the crowd. But he was not surprised. He assumed the man would find him after. It was his way. He had a knack for finding anything and everything if Alexander wanted it. And it looked like his time had come.
"Nugen," Johan greeted in measured tone, taking his left side. Pausing a moment to scan over the room from the alcove, he bobbed with approval soon after.
"My, you can see everything from here."
"That's why I chose it." Nugen gruffed, not in a talkative mood. Not that he ever was. But Nugen knew Johan wasn't here to make small talk.
"So," Nugen prompted. "Is it done? Did he make his choice?"
"His majesty has decided, yes." Johan went into a slight purse of his lips. Saying more than enough about what that decision was. Nugen frowned lightly.
"Then I take it he will-" Nugen didn't finish as the crowd dispersed. Everyone was moving to head toward the banquet hall to start the feast. But in their motions, mouths began to move, foolish enough to think they could go unheard in the chaos.
"Did you see?" A rushed whisper from a thick-jawed lord started to his wife.
"Do you mean their gowns?" A lady returned looking over. Her gaze was pointing to where Mykhol was walking between his parents. The teen seemed to be nodding and leisurely walking behind as Ana was leading the way out first with her father and the giant queen following through the door way.
"They are matching." Someone pointed it out.
"So it's been decided officially." Someone spoke firmly. "Ah, very-"
"What's decided?" Nugen stepped out from the alcove, his voice sharp enough to make the couple stiffen.
"Oh, Admiral Nugen," The suddenly gossiping faces diminish. The talkers now cleared their throats or looked away entirely. "We didn't see you there."
"Exactly." Admiral Nugen's anger was evident, but no one met his gaze. They averted their eyes to the floor and excused themselves, walking away faster.
He followed them out before finding Mykhol. Even from where he stood, it was apparent that what they said was true.
Even the gowns are the same color. Nugen's stomach turned as if sick by sight.
"Tricky boy, isn't he?" Johan, meanwhile, only pressed his lips with slight interest. "I have to hand it to him there. He's rather effective in staking a claim."
"Tricky is not the word I would use." Admiral Nugen stepped back to his spot. "He's practically pissing on her - marking his territory."
Johan laughed at the crude words. "Tricky or not, it's good we are here." Johan moved to pat his shoulder. "Though I can't say how long for him."
"Why? What do you have planned? Johan–" Nugen turned, wondering what his old friend meant. What exactly was Alexander going to decide let alone what that could do with Lord Mykhol, but Johan was already leaving. Seeing fit to leave him in a state of suspense. As if teasing him to make him guess whatever might come next like some kind of game.
Which was immediately annoying for him.
"Why not just tell me now?" Nugen grumbled, his irritation simmering. He hated mind games—especially after enduring court for so long. The trickery, the double meanings—it all grated on him. He just wanted a direct answer. But it was clear the old man wouldn't indulge him, enjoying the suspense far too much. Nugen never liked suspense.
And I doubt Alexander will tell me as is. He lifted his eyes to find Ana. Alexander had his hand on her arm, guiding her while Hidi talked behind them. The giant rambled about something, but it wasn't significant enough to remember.
The two didn't seem to notice anything else, lost in a quiet, private conversation. One that flowed with ease and familiarity. A language spoken only between father and daughter—a language Nugen would never learn.
He watched them, the way Ana tilted her head toward Alexander, his expression softening when she spoke, as if nothing else in the world mattered. There was a bond between them, intimate and unspoken, a world that excluded everyone, even him.
As they drew close enough to see him, without thinking, his hand lifted, fingers twitching in a half-wave toward Ana, an instinctive reach for connection. But the moment he realized what he was doing, he froze, his fingers curling back into his palm. No, he thought. He had no place here, not now.
His chest tightened as he lowered his hand slowly, and for the briefest moment, he saw how effortlessly Alexander fit into that space—the space he would never belong to. Never did he have the feeling of being left so far from what could have been. He would never be able to cross that bridge, never step into that small, impenetrable bubble where Alexander stood so easily.
A part of him longed to. To reach out. To be as effortless, as affectionate. To matter in the way Alexander did.
But he had made his choice. A bad one. A cowardly one. And this aching distance was his punishment. His consequence.
Forever left to watch from the sidelines, never able to be anything more than Admiral Nugen. Loyal. Dutiful. But never close.
He lost that chance. He made his choice. And there was no going back.
Nugen swallowed against the pain settling in his chest. It did not matter what he felt. His regrets, his longing, the dull ache that never truly faded—none of it mattered.
All he could do was protect Ana. Be her shield, her sword. But nothing more. He had no right to ask for anything after that. He didn't deserve it. Because he was the one who dared say Parsul should lose–
No. He had no right at all. Nugen knew as he watched them disappear out the doors, his eyes trailing after the red shawl. He felt it burn into his mind, making it last. His punishment was set, and he would fulfill it to the end. It was his role now, and he would not fail.
Maybe then, Parsul would forgive him.