*Ana *
I notice Father's smile diminishing at something. His posture grows still in his chair, and his sapphire eyes watch something on the side. Curious about what could cause such a change, I followed his gaze to see Admiral Nugen taking his leave as another guard took up his post. A simple shift, nothing new, yet he still lingers long after he is gone. A soft but sad expression dulls his usually bright eyes for a moment, as he appears lost in thought.
Did he have business with him? Is that why he watches so intently?
"Papa? Do you need something with Admiral Nugen? Should I call him back?" I ask, ready to lift my hand and send it for the guard to catch him before Father starts up.
Father blinks like he is waking back up. "What? Oh-no, nothing."He swallows, his grin returning as he lifts his goblet for a swig of wine. Drinking it easily. But between his grin, I can still see that shadow of something more, like remorse, still trace his features. He tries to hide it by purposely returning to his food to eat merrily as if nothing were the matter, and returning to normal.
Just like the rest of the room, I observe the entire banquet hall. The initial shock and reactions to Father's announcement appear to be fading, replaced by the familiar presence of food and drink. Lords and Ladies are returning to a more relaxed rhythm, chatting or enjoying their meals, as a gentle, pleasant murmur of conversation resonates in the expansive space.
A few break from their conversations to cast a look over at our table. Curious, perhaps? My lips curl into a small smile of acknowledgement when we cross paths. But others seem less interested in me and only drift over to the other three. Mykhol, Aunt, and Uncle. Who are rather oddly reticent despite the room's growing volume.
Maybe they are just enjoying their food. I gaze over to see the three quietly pecking at their plates.
My aunt plays with her fork, poking at her steak with a wayward expression, whilst her husband drinks from his goblet. His face drained of color despite how much blood he seemed to be taking in. Whilst Mykhol is lost in thought, his thin fingers only tracing the table in a lazy circle. His vermilion eyes lost as if working out some kind of problem. Only flicking up upon noticing my gaze. A slight twitch of his lips shows he wants to smile, but for whatever reason, he is unable. His eyes only fall back to his plate another moment before his brow lifts with a slight shift of his head.
"Your majesty," Mykhol begins, clearing his throat, his vermilion eyes shifting from dull to a brighter red as if some fog was finally clearing from his mind. "How do you plan to make this work?"
Father stiffens in his chair, his hand raised mid-way to toss a grape into his mouth. "Work?" He mirrors, his sapphire eyes slowly turning to the teen. His gaze slightly narrowed. "What work?"
"I mean, you being on the council." Mykhol's voice seemed to grow stronger, a veil of confidence pulling up his features. Making him sit straighter in his chair, he moved to pick up his goblet before darting a glance past him to me. "Won't there be a problem of logistics?"
"Logistics?" His quiet message suddenly dawns on me. Yes, how will this work, Papa? " I bop my head, agreeing with Mykhol before finding Father, concern evident in my eyes. You are the King of Dawny. How can you be here in my council and rule in Dawny?" How can he do both?
Father pauses a moment, looking over me, his grin softening to that of consideration before finally laughing a little. A soft and warm tone as if amused, I didn't see the obvious answer, "Why, daughter, how else will I get from Dawny to Nochten?" He pops the grape to crush against his white teeth. " I'll go by carriage."
"You'll—That is a week's ride one way." And does he plan to travel between the countries? It's absurd. "You'll be in a carriage more often than on land, Papa!" The travel will be too much for him. The few times I've left, I even found the traverse over the Almony mountains awful. "How often do you plan to–" But father puts a finger to my mouth.
"I don't see a problem with it." Father cuts over before taking up another grape. Eating it easily. He picked another to extend to me to take, but I won't touch it.
How can I do it when he is making no sense?
"Papa, it's too far-" I worry about his safety. "We can just correspond by mail-"
"Mail," Father laughs, popping a grape in my mouth."You are one to bring up letters."
I stiffen at his suggestion, realizing he does have a point with my history. But that just makes me grimace all over again at the thought. Moving to pinch the edge of my shawl, I feel guilty for all those letters—all the times Nicoli tried to contact me before, and I never knew.
Father hums as if he can see me languishing, tapping the table before me to break my thoughts.
"How could I not help?" Father winks before moving for another drink of wine. "Besides, I want to." He minds the cup thoughtfully."I've been wanting to for a long time."
"Papa, I don't—" I want to say I could never ask for such help, but Father puts the cup down before smiling.
"Unless," Father makes a face of surprise." You don't want me?"
"Papa, that is not-" I don't want to be selfish, nor should I be. This is more than enough. Yet, even as I strive to be reasonable, my stomach still curls with anticipation.
"Do you think Ana is too old for her Papa?" he asks gently, a teasing tone in his voice, but the question still makes me pause. The idea again makes me wonder if I could even make demands on him.
My hands twist at my shawl, making my silver crown slightly tilt before I have to stop. Adjusting it, feeling the weight and pressure–not just the metal, but the weight of responsibility. In more than one way. "I didn't think I would get help like this," I confess, at last, trying to be honest.
Father moves to take my hand. His hands feel so warm, and I can feel his pulse. It beats strong and steady, like his voice, never wavering as he continues.
"I said so, didn't I? Back since Nicoli's fifth birthday." He goes on. "Don't you remember?"
"I-I-oh," I find myself at a loss for words. "I didn't think you would- after everything-" I lose myself remembering the incident with the cats and then his letter saying he didn't want me talking to Nicoli anymore, only to take it back. It all seemed so much at once that I fell quiet in awe.
"I will be here for you." Father interrupts with a squeeze of my fingers before moving to eat.
"Though," Father laughs." Nicoli is going to be jealous."
"Jealous?" I peer up to find Father laughing out loud.
He shrugs lightly in amusement. "Oh, he is going to be mad. But then again, He won't be the only one." Father shifts down a little at some thought. His spahired eyes turned darker, but he shook whatever caused it away.
"Oh well," He shrugs and moves to eat. "Can't please 'em all, you know." A laugh drifts into his cup. But I still believe his words.
Wait, was he helping me create issues? No, I didn't want that. He was already doing enough for me as it was. He was finally here, with me, sitting next to me.
To think I could cause more problems wouldn't be fair. I find myself stiffening with responsibility.
"Papa, if it's going to cause problems, then you should-" Not do more than necessary, but my words are cut off as Father laughs again.
"You know he's still sour at you, right?"
My brows lift at the strange statement. "Sour?" Who would be sour?
"Who else?" Father winks as Hidi huffs loudly, her breath stained in red wine now that I can smell it from across the table.
"I wish Nicoli were sour with me." She gripes, her accent so thick the word is almost lost. She wobbles in her chair, slouching over to reach for a freshly filled goblet of wine. Her reach was slightly missing before she tried again to take it. "I'd like him to be pouty. It's cute." Her voice echoes in the glass before she throws the whole thing back in one loud gulp.
"Cute?" I blink. She was calling Nicoli cute? A strange, unfamiliar tension coils in my chest, sharp and sudden, as if something inside me resents hearing it. I don't understand why.
The word lingers, pressing against my thoughts like an unwelcome guest. Cute. It feels too soft, too intimate for him—at least from her. A private sort of word, meant for lovers, not for Nicoli.
The discomfort tightens, a knot forming beneath my ribs. What does it matter if Hidi thinks that? What does it matter to me at all? But for some reason, it does.
I shift in my seat, gripping the fabric of my shawl as though it might ground me. The feeling won't leave. It's not jealousy—why would I be jealous? That would be absurd. He's my brother. My brother.
And yet, the word still tugs at something I can't name.
Father rolls his eyes, wagging his head to take the glass from her giant hands. His movement was faster because of her drunken state. Able to beat her to it and move it out of reach without her standing up.
"I think you've hit your limit, my dear." He toned lightly, his grin measured like an adult taking away a kid's toy.
"Hey-" Hidi snaps her mouth open in a scowl, readying herself to protest by stealing in a chunk of air, but again, Father seems faster. A bread bowl is pushed before her to make the giant sit up in shock.
"You should fill your belly with food, not wine. EAT." Father only smiles, again, like he was used to dealing with unruly children. Which makes sense now that I realize he might have to do such things for Nicoli. Yet it is impressive that he can even manage a semi-drunk giant queen with effortless authority without overstepping bounds.
He only grins with another nod, tapping the basket, to make her peridot eyes drift down. Hidi lingers on the bread momentarily, as if deciding what to do before shrugging. She starts to eat the bread. With her mouth stuffed, Father looks pleased with himself as if satisfied she can obey. His gaze finally drifted back to me with a slight smirk.
"Speaking of letters, Nicoli is not happy with you." Father turns back to me.
Not happy with me? I stare at the thought. "Why? What have I done?"
"What didn't you do?!" Father bursts into laughter and swallows a gulp of wine. "He says you don't write enough." Father pokes my forehead, his warm finger lingering on my skin. "He is nearly salivating for your next one. Try to write more."
"Try?" I sink a little in my chair. "I wanted to write. I did; it just with everything-"
"I know." Father pats my hand with a gentle smile. "And I told him you've been busy." He looks over the room, his gaze sweeping past the gathered nobles before settling on the crown atop my head.
"But things are going to be better now with me here." His voice softens, warm and reassuring. "I will help out. Be your guidance."
"Papa." My heart stirs as his fingers wrap around mine, his grip steady and strong. He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles, and I can't help but smile.
"Papa, are you sure?" I whisper. "I don't know how I can say—"
"My girl," Father shakes his head, cutting off my hesitation. "From now on, I will be the shoulder you can lean on. The help you should have had long ago."
His smile remains, but something in his expression shifts. The warmth cools, the ease in his features fading as his sapphire eyes flick past me. For a moment, I think it's nothing—just his gaze drifting absently across the room—but then I notice where it lands.
On Mykhol.
A strange quiet settles between them, thick and charged. My father's stare sharpens, his ordinarily bright eyes darkening at the edges, like a storm gathering beneath the surface. And his smile doesn't falter, not precisely, but changes. It lingers, something edged and unreadable curling at its corners.
When he speaks again, his voice takes on an eerie, deliberate tone, each word measured, slow. Almost a whisper, nearly a threat. "You have nothing to worry about with me at your side. I'm not going anywhere."
Across the table, Mykhol stiffens. His fingers tighten around the stem of his goblet, knuckles paling, but he doesn't look away. He holds my father's gaze, his vermilion eyes unreadable, yet something in the way his shoulders lock unsettles me.
Something is happening between them—some unspoken exchange I can't decipher.
A chill traces down my spine, and I shift, suddenly aware of how quiet the moment has become at the table. But before I can question it, my father leans back, his posture easy again, his grin light as if nothing had passed between them.
I exhale, brushing the feeling aside. Maybe I'm imagining things. Maybe I'm just tired. It has been a long day after all. Changing into this gown took nearly an hour, and then there were three hours of standing at the ceremony–yes, maybe I'm reading too much into nothing.
I'm sure I am. Besides, I should be using my time more wisely now. With Father giving aid, I can already find myself excited to start. And there's so much to do.
For the first time since returning, I have a real chance to move forward. I mean a legitimate one. Not to have the council dismiss me, or be over-talked about the coronation. To start working on Pave and the Bulgeons. To get things moving like they should have been long before. And the most significant thing of all.
I straighten, determination bubbling up. "I will write to Nicoli," I start, seeing Father tip his head, pleased.
"Good, I'm glad to hear it- now Nicoli will stop jumping off the walls."
Somehow, I can already see that. But I tuck away the smile as I need to focus. My gaze steadies as I find his blue again.
"But first, there is something I must do." I swallow, keeping my voice calm and composed even if my heart thrashes in my chest from nerves. My hand clenched over my l, as this was the most significant moment I'd been waiting for. And it takes me a moment to push it out.
"Father, I've been working on ever since we started to have problems with the Bulgeons in Pave. And I…want to get your opinion on it."There. Finally, I could say it. Just mentioning that I have the idea already feels like a huge step. And now—at last—I could begin.
"Ana?" Mykhol's voice cuts in, sharp and immediate.
I barely pause, too focused on my father. "Can I have some of your time after the festivities?" I hold my breath, anticipating his answer, fingers curling slightly against the table's edge. This is important. More than necessary—it's the start of my reign.
"My advice? Already?" My father's smile shifts, softening into something more serious.
I quickly find myself backtracking, my shoulders dipping slightly. "That is—unless you need to rest. I could wait until tomorrow. It doesn't have to be right now—"
"Ana, I have time—"
I blink, surprised as Mykhol suddenly speaks up, his voice quick and almost too eager. He leans forward slightly, shoulders tightening as if physically inserting himself into the space between us. His fingers tap against the stem of his goblet before he steadies them on the table.
He looks as startled as I feel, as if the words escaped him before he could think. But it's too late—he doubles down, his lips curling into a familiar, easy smile that always says I'm here to help.
"I could listen to your—"
"It's fine," my father interrupts smoothly, his voice steady, his smile warm but unwavering. He tilts his head slightly toward Mykhol, his expression still calm but his presence suddenly heavier. "I have all the time for you."
Something in Mykhol's face flickers—just for an instant. His mouth presses together, and his fingers tighten subtly around his goblet, the knuckles paling.
I exhale, a slow, relieved breath. "Thank you, Father."
I can't begin to express what this means to me. Finally, I won't have to navigate everything alone. It's not that Admiral Nugen couldn't help, but this is something I need from another ruler. And if that ruler can be my father, all the better. Someone with experience, someone who understands policy, someone I can lean on.
I can finally do this the right way.
"Ana, can I—" Mykhol tries again, his voice more insistent this time. His hand twitches toward me, just barely, as if he means to physically stop me from walking away.
But he doesn't finish.
Because my father turns his head, fixing him with a stare that makes the air between them heavy.
Mykhol freezes.
It's subtle—his posture doesn't shift much, but the tension is evident in how his fingers still around his glass and his shoulders stiffen. He swallows once, his jaw tightening.
I glance between them, frowning slightly. "Cousin? What's wrong?"
Mykhol blinks, his focus snapping back to me as if I've just pulled him from deep thought. His lips part, but then he shakes his head, forcing a slight chuckle. "Probably too much wine," he mutters, lifting his goblet but not drinking from it.
His smile is still there, but thinner now, like a thread pulled too tight.
There's something strange in his face—relief, maybe? It's there briefly as his gaze drops to my smile, as if he's glad to see it. I don't understand it, but there's no time to puzzle over Mykhol's moods when there's work to do.
As my father stands, offering me his arm, I feel something like anticipation coil inside me. Finally, finally, things are moving forward.
But as I take his arm, something makes me hesitate. A flicker of unease—so faint I almost ignore it—pulls my gaze back to Mykhol.
His vermilion eyes shift, and something in them changes in an instant. It's so fast I can't make sense of it—confusion, disbelief, something else I can't name. The way it vanishes almost as quickly as it appears leaves me stunned, my fingers tightening slightly around my father's sleeve.
Mykhol's hand moves again, this time gripping his goblet harder, his knuckles stark white. His mouth opens like he wants to say something urgent, but no words come. His mouth only closes into what looks like a grim expression as if conflicted in pain and something else I can put a finger on.
Then my father steps forward, guiding me away, and the moment slips through my fingers like sand.
I let it go. It's probably nothing. I have more important things to focus on. Already thinking of plans and what needs to be done fills my head. And that's all I should worry about now.
I don't have time to dwell on anything else.