*Ana*
"This—" Father starts, but then stops again as he looks over my plans; his face shifts, and he pulls at his full beard as if biting his tongue. He falls silent once more, returning to the report on the table. This only leaves me more alarmed by his lack of response.
I can feel my breath suspended at the top of my lungs, growing increasingly anxious. A whirlwind of concern envelops me, making me grip my shawl.
Does he not like it? Was it really that bad? I pinch my lips in painful anticipation. I'm only becoming less sure the longer he hesitates to respond.
My mind races as I retrace my steps. Did I make a mistake? Did I overlook something? I've gone over these plans countless times. I feel confident—but if Father hesitates, could I have missed something important?
No, I must have.
"Give it back, and I'll review it again-" I reach to take the papers, but Father lifts them before I can, holding them over my head.
"No, that's—" He quickly shakes his head. "There's nothing inherently wrong." A crease appears between his brows. "What made you think of this?"His sapphire eyes turn to me, flickering with curiosity. "How did you ever come up with such an idea as this?"
How did I? My eyes blink a moment, not prepared, but quickly rally back. Of course, that was a good question to ask. And easy to answer.
I straighten. "I based it on what previous civilizations did. If it worked for them, it should work again." At least, that's my theory. History repeats itself, after all. "I want to use what history has taught us," I explain, lifting a hand over to the bookshelves in the study. My eyes are already falling over the particular volumes most used.
"Yes, that- I see the logic…" He nods, but his silence stretches, thick and uncertain. The silence only worked to renew my suspicions and worries.
"But something is wrong?" I press, but he shakes his head again.
"No, honey, I-" He presses his lips together to form a firm line. His bushy brows push in as if trying to collect himself.
My hands twist the edge of my shawl, waiting.
"Yes?"
His expression softens into something I don't recognize—something distant, almost emotional. Then, a broad smile spreads across his face, and to my utter shock, there are tears in his eyes.
"I'm speechless."
I blink. "Speechless?" Is that a good thing? "When you say speechless-"
He stops me with a firm ruffle of my hair. His callused hands shift my shawl, clinking the gold chains with each movement.
"You don't take compliments well, do you?" he chuckles, shaking his head. "You're far too humble."
"Sorry?" I don't know what else to say, but he just exhales through his nose.
"I mean, I am in awe of your proposal." His voice steadies. "It's impressive."
My heart lifts at that. "Is it?"
"I've never seen anything of this magnitude." He flips through the pages again, eyes scanning intently. "You want to establish the Bulgeons as citizens instead of trying to push them out. It's–And you came up with all this yourself? No one helped you?"
Who would have helped me? The question feels odd, but I let it pass. "I had a lot of time to read and study when I was younger. This took form over the years." Years spent alone, with only books for company, have finally borne fruit. But I don't say that aloud.
Father's smile falters. His fingers tighten around the pages. "So that's how you did it." Something dark passes over his face, something like pain.
I push forward. "I've been waiting for the day I could implement it. But what do you think? Will it be reasonable?"
He exhales deeply, as if gathering his thoughts. "What I think…"
"Whatever it is," I go on ready. "Please tell me-" I fold my hands before me. My back growing straighter in anticipation of his first issue. Ready to begin working out the problems I must have in the conceptions. Assuming there have to be some.
But where I think he will start, a laugh breaks through the room.
What? I blink to find him suddenly laughing again—a warm, clean burst of air.
"I think you are too good for Nochten."
"Father-" I drop my jaw, to which Father closes it with his finger, clicking my fangs together softly. Confused, my eyes peer up to see his smile growing even softer. His head already wagging as he tuts.
"Na-uh," Father bops my nose."It's Papa." And then he kneels, arms opening out to me."Come here,"
I don't even hesitate to move. Already picking up my feet to charge towards.
"Papa," I laugh softly, tears forming as he swings me around with his booming laughter. My feet dangle while I cling to his neck for dear life. His infectious laughter encourages me to join in. He spins us three times, enveloping me in the warm scents of soap and wood, a comforting aroma I cherish.
"Papa, stop! I'm getting dizzy!" I complain but only half-heartedly as I clamp my eyes closed. Even feeling dizzy, I don't want to let go of this sensation, this moment. How I longed to feel so warm and safe once more. He laughs with me a bit longer before yielding. He lowers me back to my feet and holds my shoulders, drawing me back to regard him. His eyes are as warm as his voice as he continues.
"You make me so proud."
Can I make Father proud? The words lift my heart, and I start tearing up. I quickly shake it away, though.
I have no time to cry right now. There is still work to do.
"I plan to introduce it to court first thing tomorrow," I go on, revealing my excitement to get started as soon as possible. "But I wanted to run it by you first. I'm glad I did."Lifting my gaze to find Father, he shifted his smile a little. A slight air of concern painted his bronze skin.
"This- it's going to be a big change, honey." His voice drops, expressing his worry and hesitation."You don't need to rush."
Rush? I want to laugh. Rush is exactly what I need to do. Against my wishes, this business with the coronation has put so many thingson hold. Maybe that's why I'm so impatient. I am fed up with just sitting and doing nothing.
"I want to get started as soon as possible. This has been put off for too long. The people of Pave need help. And I want to start as soon as possible now that I have both the crown and support." And such support will only grow now that I have Father and Hidi at my side.
"It's time I take my role as Empress and take charge." I lift my head with the first stare. "It's time I rule."
"My, look at you!" Father laughs, his eyes alight with delight. But it doesn't just amuse me—it stirs something deeper, something warm and weighty that settles in my chest. His laughter feeds me, making me feel stronger, more sure of myself.
And then he says something that nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.
He reaches out, his hand cradling my face with a gentleness that catches me off guard. His voice lowers, quieter, more reverent.
"You are your mother's daughter."
The world stills.
The words sink into me, wrapping around my heart like a long-lost melody. My breath catches, my throat tightening around an emotion too large to name. Of all the things he could have said—of all the ways he could have acknowledged me—this means the most. A connection to the woman I will never meet, the mother who lingers only in whispers and the forbidden.
"Do I?" My voice wavers, thick with the raw ache of yearning. Tears well at the corners of my eyes, blurring the sight of his face. The suggestion alone makes something inside me swell—pride, joy, longing, all tangled together. Did I really? Not just resemble her, but be like her? In the way I stood? In the way I spoke?
Father's thumb strokes my cheek, his calloused fingers warm, grounding me in this moment. His own eyes glisten, his breath uneven as if he, too, is caught in something fragile and aching.
"Yes, honey. You do."
He places a soft kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering slightly longer than normal. It feels like a blessing, a silent confirmation.
When he pulls away, there is something unspoken between us, something neither of us quite knows how to put into words. He looks as if he wants to say more.
But then—knock, knock. The moment shatters as we both instinctively pull back, bracing ourselves for as I call for them to enter.
The door swings wide before sandals clap against the stone floor. It's Naska
"Your Empress, I'm back to help you change."She starts, her voice clipped as always. She barely glances at Father, offering a stiff bow. "Your Majesty."
"Should I come back?" she asks flatly. Her posture is guarded, as if she is unsure whether to relax around him.
Father waves a hand. "No, I'll go. It's been quite the day, and I'm sure you're exhausted." He leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Until tomorrow. Sleep well, my princess."
"It's Empress now," I correct, but he only winks.
"You'll always be my princess." With a gentle touch to my cheek, he turns to leave.
Naska cringes slightly as she bows again. "Have a pleasant night, Your Majesty."
Before Father reaches the door, a small figure steps inside.
"Oh, who's this?" He perks up with a curious brow, his eyes falling over the quiet five-year-old clinging to Naska's muslin tunic.
Bruno's burgundy eyes flick up to him before finding me. A question pulling across his face without words. Wondering who this man was. Just as Father does the same, looking over his shoulder. Just as surprised.
I brighten instantly. "Hello, Bruno."
Bruno beams up at me, and I fully smile before my eyes note the clock over the fireplace. I didn't realize how the time flew. But it was getting late. Certainly too late for little boys to still be up.
I frown, looking back at his mother. "Bruno should be in bed, Naska." I begin, but Father is moving past. His smile is beaming, and his beard is pushing up.
"Bruno, is it?" Father kneels, his expression softening. "What are you doing up so late?"
Bruno hesitates, his eyes watching my father, as if deciding whether to speak. His gaze flicked back up to me, in a guarded question, as if to get my approval. Of course I do. He seems to settle slightly when I smile, nodding as if taking my advice.
"I have something for An-her empress," Bruno speaks softly, peering up at Naska, as if checking on something, correcting himself. Naska thins her lips, shifting a gaze from him back to my father.
Naska folds her arms. "My son wanted to give you a gift for the coronation," she says, voice cool.
"Oh," I brighten at the idea. He got me something? Maybe he made it? "Then, come here," I kneel to meet his height, ready and happy to take whatever it is. "But after that, you must go to bed, alright?"
Bruno nods quickly like a good boy. "Yes, Your Empress." And he fumbles in his pocket, face scrunched in focus.
Father raises a brow at Naska. "That's your son?"
She tenses, her hands curling at her sides into small fists. "Yeah, what of it?"
He shrugs, studying the boy. "He takes after you."
Naska blinks in surprise, as if this were the last thing she expected from him. However, a faint smile appears on her thin lips, and she responds with a slight nod. "I—he does."
Father only chuckles, waving as he leaves. "Don't let him stay up too late."
Naska watches him go, still stunned after him, muttering, "That… was surprising." Her shoulders ease slightly, her face unreadable. A soft sigh breaking from her lips as if she were holding in her breath. "He's nothing like the Queen."
I perk up. "You've met my stepmother?" Since when was that? I don't remember seeing them around each other. I perk up as Bruno is rummaging through his pockets. He seems to be trying to find something.
I rake my brain but can't recall the two ever talking. Naska and Hidi have met, that I am sure. But when did she meet her stepmother?
"When was this?"
Before she can answer, Bruno shouts, "Ha! I found it, Mama!" He pulls out a small, crumpled piece of paper and hands it to me, his face full of an accomplished smile. He holds it out like presenting something fine and treasured. I play along, taking it with both hands.
"A heart?" I unfold the small piece of paper to see a crudely drawn heart in what looks to be mud.
"No—It's not a heart!" He clarifies, pointing to the shaky lines. I realize it has letters- crude, but drawn well enough to be recognized.
'A+B'. It's for us." Bruno beams a smile with all his baby teeth. His baby fangs are starting to come in now. Little dull stubs. He sounds proud as he goes on.
"A for Ana and B for Bruno."
"Ah, yes," I have to nod, trying to hold in a laugh. Not to be mean, but I would have guessed that was what it was. But Bruno is a child. Unlike someone I know, he has an excuse to write poorly.
"I see, thank you, Bruno." I go and hold it to my heart. "I'll treasure it." And I mean to. Already planning to add it with all Nicoli's old letters.
"Are you done?" Naska taps her foot to make Bruno jump again.
"Yes, Mama," Bruno nods, sheepishly hiding his face with his choppy hair. "I, good night, your Empress." He bows and turns to leave.
"Hold on," I stop him before raising an expectant brow. "Are we forgetting something?" I'm so glad to see him instantly brighten. He grins, flashing his premature fangs again, and runs back to hug me.
"Goodnight, Ana," Bruno whispers, as if making sure Naska won't hear him use my name. Did she tell him not to? The thought makes my smile falter slightly.
I hug him back. "Goodnight, Bruno." His small arms tighten around me, as if unwilling to let go.
A sharp clearing of the throat shatters the moment. Naska. Bruno stiffens at the sound, then slowly pulls away, offering me one last fleeting smile before passing her. Her gaze follows him, a faint scowl tugging at her features.
As he disappears, she mutters, "He should stop clinging so much."
Clinging? I frown but let the comment pass. She must have her reasons.
"Don't be harsh. He's just a boy," I say.
Naska only snorts. "A boy to you." She looks me up and down before smirking. "You look mighty tired in that dress. It's time we took it off."
A heavy sigh escapes me, my shoulders already aching from the weight. "Please. It's like carrying a mountain."
"All those jewels, I suppose," Naska remarks, moving to unfasten the buttons at my back. "Such a pretty dress."
I don't hold back my relief as the fabric loosens. "I'm just glad I don't have to deal with it after tonight." The dress slips from my shoulders, and the weight of it finally vanishes. My body protests the sudden freedom—a dull ache settling into my back, a reminder of how much I've endured today. A hot bath sounds heavenly.
Naska stills for a moment. "Deal with it?"
"Yes, it won't be my problem anymore." I stretch, enjoying the lightness of my own skin. "Hidi can deal with it now."
Her hands hesitate over the fabric. "Her Majesty?" Her voice sharpens. "What does that giant have to do with the dress?"
"She's buying it." I roll my shoulders, relishing the absence of the heavy garment. "She wants it for the jewels."
Naska takes a slow breath, as if steadying herself. "You mean… we aren't keeping it."
"Gosh, no." I have to laugh, stretching my arms above my head. "Why would I ever keep such a gaudy thing?"
"It's not gaudy." Naska's voice is quieter now, almost reverent. She gathers the dress in her arms, fingers tracing the gems. "It's beautiful."
I pause at the tenderness in her touch.
"The most beautiful thing," she murmurs under her breath.
I frown. What is she talking about? It's just a dress. An overpriced, extravagant, jewel-encrusted burden I couldn't wait to be rid of. But she looks… heartbroken.
Something in her posture shifts. A lingering stillness.
"Naska?" I notice her linger. "Is something- are you upset?"
She doesn't answer right away. She just keeps looking at the dress, her expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, she turns away, clutching the fabric tighter. Her shoulders rise and fall in a measured breath, but there's something off.
"Naska, what's wrong—"
"Let's get you to bed." Her voice is suddenly tight. She turns to the wardrobe, deliberately avoiding my gaze. "You've got court in the morning, right?"
She rubs at her face—too roughly. As if wiping something away.
Is she… crying?
But why? I don't understand. I know I never will—she'll never tell me even if I ask. But something about the sight of her, standing there with my dress in her arms as if it were something precious, makes me uneasy.
Why would Naska care if I keep the dress or not?