*ana*
Well, this is a first. It strikes me as so different that I must steal a look up from my papers to glance around. Taking in the sight before me.
The courtroom is bathed in golden morning light streaming through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the intricate blue and gold tiles lining the walls. The fire pits crackle, their warmth filling the vast chamber, yet the room feels unnaturally cold. Rows of lords and ladies stand on either side in their thick wool and fur tunics, their red eyes fixed on me—except Admiral Nugen's brown—but none of them speak.
They heard me. I know they did. So why is no one talking?
I have never seen my court this silent. It's remarkable, especially after I just told them everything. The weight of it presses down on me, turning the courtroom into something unfamiliar.
I assumed there would be questions, comments, and things I was ready to discuss openly because that's what I want my court to be like. I wanted feedback, communication, and the ability to build off each other's ideas like the great civilizations of the past did in my books.
That's what I wanted. But now—nothing. I only found blank or vacant stares. It is the last thing I expected.
I straighten, forcing a small smile."Why is everyone quiet?" My voice breaks with an uneasy laugh before peering around the dias. Since when did no one ever have anything to say? I usually have the inverse issue where they talk over me. This is so strange.
My gaze fell on my Aunt and Uncle, but they appeared the same. My uncle blinks rapidly, like an owl caught in sudden daylight, while my aunt's lips part slightly, enough to reveal her fangs.
Even Mykhol, who never misses an opportunity to speak or smile, stands rigid. His vermilion eyes are unfocused, his jaw tight as though he's still trying to process what I've said. Again, unsettling me a little more.
A strange sensation curls in my stomach. This isn't just hesitation. This is something else.
"It's alright," I urge, my voice deliberately soft. "Everyone can speak." My gaze sweeps across the room, searching for a single sign of life.
Still nothing.
"I want to hear your opinions." I try again, letting warmth seep into my words. This is what I wanted—discussion, debate, engagement. I don't just want blind obedience. I want a conversation. I need to know what they think, what can be worked on. Improved.
For a moment, my aunt stiffens, her chin lifting like she might say something. But just as quickly, she hesitates. Then—shockingly—she shoves my uncle forward. He stumbles slightly before catching himself, adjusting his tiny feet beneath him.
He swallows, pushing up his glasses."Your Empress, your proposal about the Bulgeons is…" He stops to throw a hesitant glance back at his wife, then at Mykhol beside me. Uncertainty filled his face as if he were not sure how to proceed after that. It only makes me double down on trying to look inviting.
I push forward. "Go on." I keep my voice steady and inviting. "You can speak freely. I want to hear what you have to say." But instead of reassuring him, my words have the opposite effect. He clenches his hands into fists, his face darkening with unease, and then he steps back—not just back, but away from me. His eyes drop to the floor in embarrassment.
No, that's not what I intended. Not even close. This isn't unfolding the way I envisioned, and it's causing me to lose momentum.
"Cousin, what do you say?" I turn to him as my last resort. Mykhol pulls a misshapen smile as if trying to collect himself.
"Anastasia, this idea you're suggesting to make the Bulgeons a part of our citizens is quite…"His words trail off again, as if he did not trust himself to go on.
"Is what?" I prompt, but Mykhol seems shaken in a rare moment as he looks over the room and sees the same shocked faces. A short breath pushes through his nose as if frustrated before he wags his head.
"Come now," I begin to lose my motivation. "I want to hear what you have to say. This is my proposal." I see more people either turn to avoid my eyes or look down. "Why won't anyone-" speak?
A sharp laugh breaks through the room from my left. Hidi's voice is loud, jolting enough to make a few people flinch. The sight of it only makes her laugh harder, her amusement spilling into the vast room.
"You can't be serious, Ana," she says between chuckles, peridot eyes gleaming with mischief. "Giving these invaders citizenship instead of kicking them out? That's a new one." Another burst of laughter escapes her, full and unrestrained, echoing against the stone walls. She wipes at her eyes, shaking her head as if she can't believe what she's hearing. "You are joking, ja?" She turns back to me, still grinning, waiting for me to break into a smirk and say it's all a game.
But I don't. Because I'm not joking, my hands grip my papers tighter.
"Did it sound like a joke?" I ask, my voice steady.
Hidi's laughter stutters, the sound losing its momentum as she catches my expression. Her smile twitches, then fades, replaced by something closer to confusion. Her brows draw together, her head tilting slightly as if she's trying to figure out whether I've finally lost my mind. "Wait… you're serious?"
"Of course I am. Why else would I announce it?"
She exhales in disbelief, rubbing the back of her neck. "Huh." For a moment, she just looks at me, then at the silent, uneasy faces in the room, as if seeing them all through fresh eyes. Then, instead of turning somber like the rest, she just lets out a breathy laugh, this one more incredulous than amused. "Oh, Ana."
She strides forward a little, resting her hands on her hips, towering easily over everyone in her heels and giant height. "You really are new to this, aren't you?" There's no malice in her tone, just a sort of exasperated fondness, like she's explaining something obvious to a well-meaning but naïve younger sister. Slightly talking down to me as I was not her exact age.
"This is not how things are done," she continues, shaking her head, her golden braids shifting over her shoulders. "You can't just… invite your enemies to move in and expect them to play nice. They came in as raiders, and you want to hand them a place in your empire?" She lets out another amused breath. "You are asking for the impossible."
"How is it impossible?" I return, holding my papers tighter as my eyes leave her to look over the room, as if needing to defend my case. "I did the calculations; I even set up a financial plan." I look over to Uncle. "It's doable. If we follow the instructions-"
"Anastasia." Mykhol finally speaks, stepping forward as if drawn by the tension. His voice is smooth, measured. His hand lands on my shoulder with deliberate ease. "I think Her Majesty is trying to suggest that you're being too ambitious."
"Ambitious?" I mirror, stiffening in my chair. Mykhol pumps my shoulder as his vermilion eyes flick from me up to Hidi and back, his courtly smile blooming across his lips as if gaining confidence.
His grip is light but firm. His vermilion eyes flick between Hidi and me before sweeping across the room, finding the wary gazes of the nobles. His smile spreads, slow and reassuring, as if positioning himself as the voice of reason.
He turns to face the court fully, his stance relaxed and confident. "Perhaps, as your first act as official Empress," he begins, his voice effortlessly carrying, "we should not attempt something so… untested. Not until you have more experience. Instead, we should focus on removing these pirates from our lands."
A murmur of approval ripples through the court. Heads nodding. Shoulders relaxing. Mykhol's words soothe them, reinforcing what they already believe.
But that's not going to work. I already know that. Frustration coils inside me, tightening my ribs, pressing against my lungs. Won't they see that?
"I thought I made myself clear." I hold up my papers, my voice sharper now. My eyes find Admiral Nugen. "We have multiple reports. The Bulgeons cannot return to Dueick. They have nowhere to go. Forcing them out will create unnecessary bloodshed."
The words feel heavier than they should. They should have been obvious. Shouldn't they?
I press forward. "If we try to make them leave, we will only push them into desperation. And desperate people will do whatever it takes to survive. We can avoid all of that if we just let them stay. Otherwise, if they leave Pave, they will only become another country's problem."
"So let them be another country's problem."
Mykhol's voice is cool, almost amused, and it takes me a moment to process what he just said.
I blink, and the room around me suddenly feels colder. "What?"
He doesn't hesitate. "Why should we concern ourselves with what happens beyond our borders? We are Nochten." His gaze sweeps the room again, this time sharper, more deliberate. "We are the strongest. The Bulgeons are human." He lets the word hang in the air, as if that alone is reason enough. "And we are not."
The change in the room is immediate, as if his words have opened every door. A gentle murmur spreads, shifting the tide of approval into a more ominous feeling. Voices grow more assertive, as if empowered by the collective thought.
But it is my aunt who breaks the seal first. Her voice is clear and shrill against the doomed ceiling as she begins. "Her Majesty asks for too much," she declares, her fingers curled into tight fists. This is not how we do things in Nochten. They are humans—pirates—thieves."
The word "humans" carries a weight beyond mere description. It is an accusation. A stain.
"She's right!" A rake-thin Lord lifts his chin. "Why should we taint our lands by taking in such creatures?"
"Why waste resources on Pave at all?" Another noble sneers. "It's just a colony! They aren't even true Nochtens themselves."
More voices pile on, overlapping, rising.
"Let's just kill them and be done with it!" Another cries.
More lords and ladies seem to chime in now to show their distaste. "Who would ever think of such demands?"
Someone—an older lord with deep-set eyes and a pointed chin—turns his fury toward my father and Hidi, his voice dripping with suspicion. "Is this the work of these foreigners? Have they already poisoned our Empress's mind? Is she brainwashed?"
A shudder runs through me. Brainwashed?
The accusation stings deeper than I expect, and before I know it, I'm on my feet.
"I came up with this strategy by myself." My voice cuts through the noise, sharp and clear. My father didn't plant this idea in me. No one did. "No one influenced me."
I scan the faces before me, searching for something—anything—but all I find is resistance, resentment. I thought they would challenge my plan with logic, question the details, ask for numbers. Instead, all they see is a challenge to their way of life.
It shouldn't have gone this way. Why are they so against it? It is the most sensible thing we can do. Why can't anyone recognize my idea?
"Your Empress…."The crowd cringes at my stare, but others turn to look beside me.
"What about Lord Mykhol?" The question slithers through the room, followed by another, louder chorus.
"Yes, what does Lord Mykhol think?"
I feel the room slipping away from me. Again. My breath hitches, frustration and devastation tangling in my throat.
"That," I feel myself losing the room as I turn towards my cousin again, just like before, as if I wasn't standing there with the crown on my head. Look past me. Ignore me. Defer to him as though my word is not enough. As though my crown is nothing but an ornament.
My eyes are burning with tears as the sensation of being ignored overfills me with frustration. How can they still be doing this? I have the crown on my head. I am official Nochten's Empress.
No, I will not allow this to happen again, not when I have both Father and Hidi on my side. I open my mouth to speak, but someone beats me to it.
"SILENCE!" Admiral Nugen's command cracks through the room like a whip. The nobles jolt, startled, and I feel the ripple of unease as he levels them with a disapproving glare. His voice carries the weight of a man who has seen battle, who has no patience for courtly nonsense.
His sharp eyes find mine, and his expression softens just enough to nod. "Your Empress was still speaking."
My father lets out a soft, amused exhale. "It never fails," he says, shaking his head knowingly. He then turns to me, his blue eyes glowing with approval. That gaze steadies and empowers me. His warmth boosts my confidence and resolve. Just knowing that Father backs my ideas is reassuring. I feel myself regaining the steadiness to engage the crowd once more.
"My word is final." My voice is firm, unwavering as I hold their gazes. For a moment, I see their surprise. Perhaps they expected me to falter. Perhaps they still thought I could be overruled.
"But—" Some raise their hands in protest.
I turn sharply to Uncle. "Uncle, set forth the finances to bring this about."
His mouth opens, then closes, his gaze darting to Mykhol, to Aunt Funda, searching for an out. "But Your Empress—"
Father's laughter interrupts his awkwardness. "Do you have trouble hearing, Charles?"
Uncle tenses at the sound of his given name, which he's always found too foreign. Hearing Father use it so casually brings a warm feeling to my chest.
"No, I—" Uncle shrinks further under my father's scrutiny, glasses pushed higher up his nose, words tangling in his throat.
Father's smirk widens beneath his thick beard. "Then do as Your Empress says."
Uncle hesitates for a beat too long, as if flustered over unspeakable things before caving. "Ah, of course," he blurts, bowing stiffly. "Right away." He retreats, and Aunt Funda's lips twitch with poorly veiled frustration, her nails pressing into her folded arms. Obviously angry by me.
But I am angry too. It should not have come to this state. I really thought this would…No, I let it go. They will see once things start going into motion. It is just the beginning. They will see that the plan will work.
They will see. In turn, I will earn more of their support in time. But for now, I must tuck back my disappointment and go on.
"We will start working on negotiations with the Bulgeons. " I rise, the chains of my shawl clicking softly as I move. The weight of my crown shifts, grounding me. This role, this responsibility—it is not easy. A reminder that my role as Empress may not be so easy.
But it is mine.
And I introduced my plans, and they will get started. I will contend with that now, even if the response is different from what I imagined. I can work from this, perfect it, and make it better.
Their support will come, piece by piece, as they see that I will not fail. I clench my tunic at the sides, the scratch of wool grounding me. I will keep pushing. I will improve.
My eyes flick to my father once more. He smiles at me again, quiet, steady, reassuring. His presence alone strengthens me, an anchor in these uncertain waters.
Yes, things are going to be better. I am Empress. And I will rule.
"That will be all." I motion with my hand. "Court is adjourned."I turn, expecting the court to disperse, but no one moves. A shift ripples through the nobles, an exchanged glance, a hesitation that does not sit right in my chest.
"But, Your Empress—" A voice rises from the crowd. "There is still another matter."
"Another?" I am now surprised. Was there something they had for me? The thought stills me. I find myself coming back to sit at my throne. "Alright, what is it?"
Gazing over both sides of the courtroom, there is a slight shift among the nobles. People are looking at each other. The heavily dressed lords glance at one another, their expressions unreadable. Some of them—those who often follow me in the gardens—seem almost eager, yet they hold back.
Eventually, Duke Zaver seems to step out from the sidelines. His red hair is slicked back with oil, his heavy furs and silks draped over him like a display of his wealth. His fingers toy with the gold chains at his neck as he clears his throat.
"You have business with me, Duke Zaver?"
He nods, lips curling, his fingers brushing the fine embroidery at his sleeves. "Now that the coronation is over," he says, smiling with all his teeth, "we were wondering about the next course of events that should follow."
"The next?" I lean back slightly. "The next what?"
A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes.
"Is there something after the coronation?" I press, trying to think if I've overlooked some tradition, some duty I had not read about.
Duke Zaver tilts his head. "Do you not know?"
When I don't answer, uncertain of what he means, a chuckle rises from the nobles—not cruel, but knowing. Their gazes sharpen on me in a way that makes my skin crawl. It makes Father stiffen. His eyes growing darker.
"What are you speaking of, Duke Zaver?" His voice is steady, but there is an edge beneath it, a quiet warning. "What is this 'next course of events' for my daughter?"
Duke Zaver flicks his gaze toward him, smile unwavering, though I catch the way his fingers still briefly against his gilded chains.
"Well," he says, with a look that sweeps over the assembled nobles, as if inviting them into the moment, "with her Empress now official, it's the most important thing any woman can do."
Father's jaw clenches. Hidi exhales sharply, her lips twitching with amusement.
"Oh," she murmurs, crossing her arms. "So that's what this is." She flicks a glance at me, but I don't understand.
"Duke Zaver?" I eye him warily. "What are you talking about?"
Another ripple of laughter, softer this time. Then, I sense it—a presence beside me. Mykhol shifts back to my side, but I feel his presence—more solid now, more imposing. His body is rigid, and his stare is locked onto Duke Zaver, with something dark, something lethal.
A silent battle begins between them, razor-sharp, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on the room. But unlike before, Duke Zaver does not shrink beneath it. Instead, his smile widens, just enough to flash the gems in his fangs. Enjoying this, milking it.
He lifts a hand, and the chuckles in the room fade into a hush, anticipation crackling in the air. The room is still. Everyone holds their breath, suddenly feeling like they are all waiting for this moment—
"Why, Your Empress, it's the part we've all been dying to talk about since you've had your first blood," he says smoothly, pulling each word out like a grape off a vine, tasting each one as his red eyes flash at Mykhol.
Beside me—Mykhol's growl deepens. I barely have time to turn before I feel his heat, the quiet, rigid fury rolling off his frame.
His fangs flash behind his curling lips, and his vermilion gaze is dark and cutting. He is locked onto Zaver like a predator scenting competition. His fingers twitch, and his claws extend and retract, as if his body is already preparing for a fight. But he does not speak because he is waiting—waiting for the final blow.
They both are, I see. I glance between them—Mykhol and my father—two men who rarely stand on the same side of anything. But in this moment, they are united. Both of them stared at Duke Zaver.
My father is tense, alert, and protective, and Mykhol is coiled, bristling, and possessive.
They are not just watching. It's like they are preparing for war.
Duke Zaver seems to revel in this, acting like the spark that ignites it all as he exhales, tilts his head slightly, and delivers his words. His grin shines for all to see as he purrs, giving his ultimate blow.
"Who are you going to marry?"