*ANA*
Or not, my throat clenches at the news before I have to force myself to cough. My palms are slightly sweaty against the throne's armrests. I have to stop and check myself to make sure my voice does not crack.
When I know I can, I speak slowly but firmly. Each word pushing out with some effort against the beating of my heart.
"Admiral Nugen, can you repeat that?"
"We have a report of activity," Nugen speaks clearly, but not before I hear the hesitation in his voice. A heavy tone announcing he knows what this means before turning to the map. His pointer taps lightly against the paper, tracing the mountainous region. "The Bulgeons have taken camp in the mountains here."
My stomach drops. The news… is not what I was hoping for. And I'm not the only one who sees it.
The court murmurs in surprise, voices rising with alarm. Whispers rise like wildfire, spreading fast among the gathered lords and ladies. Shock and disbelief dance across their faces as they look from the map to each other. For a moment, no one dares to speak, only the sound of the fire pits crackling fills the space. Each snap punches against the walls, making the grand courtroom suddenly smaller. Tighter. Caged.
But it isn't long before the silence is broken.
"The Bulgeons?" one advisor creaks out, his voice strained with uncertainty. "In the mountains?" The word rings across the room like a weighted thing pushing on both sides of the aisle as if speaking the unthinkable.
"Yes," Nugen says firmly, his tone resolute. He doesn't flinch as the pressure mounts. His gaze only lifted to mine, as if to tell me it's true. "We have scouts who confirmed it."
"They've taken a camp there?"One of the oldest councilors, his hair a tangled crown of white, the red completely gone by age, leans in, squinting at the map. "But that's—there's no advantage to them. It's treacherous terrain," he mutters. "Why risk it?"
He turns to look over the rest of his seasoned members. All faces pull taut and quiet as the idea strikes them hardest.
"We know why," a thin-lipped noble cuts in. His gaze pierces the air between us. "They're blocking our trade routes. Likely stealing from them."
"Stealing?" a young lady whispers, shrinking toward her husband.
Another lord scoffs, his eyes daring me to challenge him. "What do you expect from savages?"
I stiffen. My eyes flick back to the map. This is worse than I feared.
"Admiral Nugen," I ask, my voice tighter than I'd like. "Is this true? Are they stealing our goods?"
He nods gravely. "I'm afraid so, Your Empress. I believe they mean to cut off Pave entirely." His words barely leave his lips before another chimes over.
"What do you want us to do—choke on the losses?" a lord barked. "This isn't just military. It's an economic collapse."
"Maybe they'll just stay there," a lady offers weakly, clinging to hope.
"No, no!" a lord snaps, his voice thick with frustration. "They've taken our spices, silks—and gods help us, our coffee," he groaned. "We're being humiliated."
Before I can speak, Mykhol steps forward, the soft click of his boots echoing against the stone dais. He moves with practiced calm, hands clasped behind his back like a seasoned orator. His stance was perfectly straight by my side. His courtly smile was on full display, setting an immediate ease over the ladies and some of the nobles already.
"This is truly a blow to our economy," he says, his voice rich and steady. "And it cannot go on. This disruption in trade affects more than our luxuries. It shakes our foundations. And I believe I can speak for many in this room when I say—something must be done. We will have an end to it."
His words barely leave his lips before I see it. The shift is immediate. I watch the change ripple through the room like a wave—shoulders straighten, eyes light with purpose, heads nod in eager agreement. Lords and Ladies who were glaring now peer up, not at me, but Mykhol with awe and hope. They want something done.
They want an END to it. But that's– My stomach tightens as I suddenly feel cornered.
He means well—I tell myself that. Mykhol is just trying to appease the room and calm the panic. He always knows how to do that. A voice of reason.
But what he says, what he is asking for. And what they want…this is not what I want, not like this.
"Cousin," I say quickly, trying to regain the reins before they slip further. "Everyone, I understand this is a severe update. And people's livelihoods are affected. But before we react by brute force, we should consider other options first and—"
"Yes, Mykhol is right," another lord interrupts, not even bothering to look at me. He presses his fingers to his temples as though this burden weighs only on him. "This is a direct hit to our pockets. We need action. It's not just a matter of trade; they're blocking our roads. Who's to say they won't go on to the other routes? Siphoning us off from the other colonies? Choking our economy. It won't be long before we won't have any shipments from Pave."
A few more nod in agreement, grumbling among themselves.
"And if I may speak plainly," Lord Weltram adds with a sniff, "perhaps some of this unrest would be lessened if Your Empress hadn't delayed her marriage. A strong consort at your side would've sent a clearer message. The Bulgeons might think twice if they saw a full court behind you—instead of an empty seat."
Murmurs ripple out like spilled wine across a table. No one tells him to stop. A few quiet nods follow—silent agreement, red eyes flicking up at me, as if urging me to reconsider. To reopen the talks, I thought this topic was put to rest.
I blink, stunned. Why are we talking about this again?
I understand why they think it matters. I am only the second Empress in a line of mostly Emperors. They are used to male ruling. And a consort means alliances, appearances, power reinforced through tradition, and eventually, making an heir. It's security. It's what is familiar.
But a crown is still a crown—even on one head. I am Empress. Choosing a husband now would only add another distraction I don't need.
I may be young at thirteen. But I have studied for this role nearly all my life. I have been trained to lead, to read, to think, to weigh outcomes and stand by them. If they cannot see that—if they think I need someone else to legitimize my decisions— a slight memory of my Aunt and Uncle's regency makes me shiver.
No, I don't need anyone to speak for me. I made my decision. And I do not regret it.
This is my time to rule.
The noise begins to rise again—voices overlapping, demands blurring together. Mykhol doesn't say another word, but his silence speaks volumes next to me. He doesn't need to. The court is already falling in line.
Mykhol steps closer, his voice smooth and persuasive. "Anastasia, this is no time for hesitation. The Bulgeons will bleed us dry if we don't swiftly take care of this. If you do nothing, we lose everything."
I meet his gaze, but I don't back down. "We are not at war yet. The situation is complex."
Mykhol scoffs. "Complex? When is life not complex? Ana, you are Empress now. You don't have the luxury to play with fancy ideas and good intentions. You need to act swiftly, decisively, like a man would."
A few lords murmur in agreement below, as if the statement proves some long-standing point.
"You are a woman, young and…" one of the older lords adds flatly with a not-so-hidden gaze at my hair. A flicker of hesitation crosses his features as if thinking better than to bring up my blood.
Instead, he goes on. "All we are saying is, a man would've been better suited for this kind of issue. We shouldn't be here debating. The Bulgeons are no more than pests. Do what must be done and rid us of them."
The room stirs as more voices rise in agreement with him. Their tone is harsh and self-centered. They don't speak of the lives affected in Pave, the innocent families caught in the middle. No, they speak only of what's affecting their own wallets and comforts.
"It is an insult to our way of life," a lady seethes, her face flushed with frustration. "No coffee. No silk. We're being mocked, Your Empress."
Another lord slams his fist to his chest, startling the room. "Strike now. Rid us of this infestation before they ruin us completely."
Mykhol's hand falls to my shoulder, giving it a slight pump, as if trying to comfort me in the midst of chaos. The warmth of his hand sinking through my wool tunic before he speaks.
"Ana," he says, his voice low and persuasive, "not everything fits between the black and white lines of your books. Sometimes, you have to force your hand."
Force my hand? My stomach tightens, but I don't let it show. I can't. No, I won't let it.
I rise from my chair despite the weight pressing in around me. "I understand your concerns," I say, voice steady. "But I will not resort to violence unless it is absolutely necessary. There is another way."
Laughter breaks from a lord below. "What repercussions do you fear? Letting these humans cripple us? You think they'll stop if we sit politely and ask?"
"I think rushing in will only make things worse," I say, turning to face them. "We haven't exhausted our options. There's still a path that doesn't ask us to lose everything just to feel like we're doing something."
"You're overthinking it," Mykhol murmurs. "There's a line between patience and hesitation. Cross it, and you may not get another chance."
"I understand their concern," I reply, steady but not sharp. "But charging forward without knowing where the ground gives way isn't courage. It's recklessness."
It's true I didn't see this coming. But it doesn't mean we lunge blindly into fire. That hasn't worked in the past—and it won't now.
I exhale, shaking off the doubt that tries to creep in with the wind curling through the windows. "This isn't surrender. It's a rerouting of force. Yes, the Bulgeons have disrupted our supply lines. There are others. We'll forge new ones—especially if we don't have to lose the people along the way."
A lord scoffs. "So we just... let it go? That's naive."
My jaw tightens. "It's not naivety. It's a strategy. I haven't forgotten what this is about. These people—we want them to join us one day. Not fear us. Isn't that the endgame?"
"Ana?" Mykhol's voice drops low again. He lets go and steps closer, fingertips brushing my arm in mock concern. "I was only suggesting—"
"Ahem." Father's voice slices cleanly through the room like a drawn sword. It's not loud, but it cuts the tension and quiets the room. He lifts a hand, not toward the court, but toward me. His gaze meets mine, asking."May I?"
I nod, curious. "Yes, Father, go ahead."
He steps forward, boots echoing against the stone, and gestures to the map spread across the table. The parchment shifts slightly under his hand from the draft sneaking through the arched windows. His sapphire eyes turning darker like the deep sea for a moment, as he considers before speaking.
"Let's place a border patrol at the base here." He taps the line along the northern ridge. "They'll monitor movement. Quietly. But no open conflict. Just eyes." He peers up.
"Surveillance?" I study the route he traces.
"Oh! I can provide men for that," Hidi chimes in quickly, practically bouncing in her heels, her weight shifting the very ground. Her hand is already halfway raised, like a child eager to be picked.
I study her carefully. "For surveillance?"
"OH ja—for surveillance." Her grin widens, but there's a sharp gleam behind her teeth. "Unless something changes."
"Hidi—" I begin, wary. There's something too eager about her tone. Like she's hoping for a reason to escalate. A reason to play soldier. It's…concerning to say the least.
But no one else notices. The court is already shifting. The air is turning subtle, but I can feel it. Like storm pressure. Like a tide changing direction
"But they've already cost us a fortune," someone mutters.
"They've disrupted our trade routes," another snaps.
The complaints tumble like stones down a hill, fast and hard. But not one of them speaks of the towns caught in the middle. The people of Pave. The families along the trade roads. No one mentions lives. Again.
I press my tongue to the inside of my cheek. "Cornering them now would backfire," I say. "They'd see it as provocation, and we'd lose what little trust we can earn."
"They're baiting us," another growls. "We should respond in kind."
The room simmers—anger boiling toward eruption. But it isn't justice they want. It's retaliation. Action for action's sake.
My heartbeat is steady, but my chest feels tight. I sit up straighter. I was raised for this. This heat. This pressure. I will not bend beneath it.
And I'm not alone.
"Order in the court." Admiral Nugen's slams his pointer against the table. A crisp, controlled crack. It cuts the chaos. The room is still just enough.
"Daughter." Father steps to the edge of the dais, his voice low but firm. "What do you think?"
"Yes, Cousin." Mykhol's tone is silk wrapped around steel, his hand back on my shoulder. His grip slightly tightens. "What will you do?"
He lifts his chin, just slightly, and the golden earrings at his ears click faintly together with the motion. The sound is delicate, almost ceremonial, but there's something performative in it — a statement without words. His smile grows by a fraction, not wide, but enough to show the tips of his fangs.
Father does not move. His expression remains steady, but something in it tightens. Not his brow — no — something smaller. A pull at the corner of his mouth, as if he's smirking at Mykhol's challenge. The fire behind him flickers, casting shadows along the table. For a moment, his sapphire eyes seem to darken. Or perhaps it was just the flame.
There's a beat of stillness between them. And in that breath, something unspoken is laid bare — a silent competition exchanged between two men. Something heavier, as if they were speaking of something else, I don't know. But something important.
"Who will you listen to, Anastasia?" Mykhol asks softly, his grip on my shoulder tightens a little harder as the question lands with force.
Listen to? My back stiffens. The phrase feels strange, unwelcome, out of place.
I glance between them. Mykhol's vermilion eyes gleam with expectation. Father's gaze is steady but waiting— a statement of presence rather than pressure. But it's all the more confusing.
What did Mykhol mean by that? Why would I pick? And what was that look between them?
My fingers tighten slightly against the edge of the armrest. No. Never mind that.
An Empress does not take orders.
But I will have to choose. The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. But I also know… my options are narrow. If I choose wrong, it will be seen not just by them, but by everyone here. Every pair of eyes in this courtroom is waiting.
I draw in a slow breath, allowing the room to wait for me. Owning the silence.
"The situation with the Bulgeons is more layered than it appears," I begin. "Yes, the southern colony suffers. That's real. And we must act."
"Yes, so then—" Mykhol interjects, but I raise a hand, palm steady.
"But action without insight invites chaos. We don't just lead by force—we lead by foresight. I will not risk lives for the illusion of power."
"But the Bulgeons have already cost us so much—" Uncle rises, but I meet his gaze. He shrinks beside his wife. Aunt Funda presses her lips tight.
Only Mykhol speaks again, voice taut. "Ana, my father meant—"
"I heard what he meant." My tone slices through the murmur. "But we are not conquerors. Not this time. We are unifiers. That is the difference. The goal," I remind them, "is for them to join us. Not die by our hand."
Mykhol opens his mouth to argue, his brow tense—but I lift my head, deliberately looking past him as I turn back to the court.
I look back at the court. "We proceed with surveillance only. My father's plan. Quiet. Precise. Controlled. And I expect full reports—weekly. From Pave. And from Hidi's scouts—if she still volunteers them."
A beat of silence falls over the crowd, shifting their expressions. They are not angry, not proud, just… surprised.
Good. Maybe they will listen this time because violence is easy. Wisdom is not. Every book I've ever studied makes that clear. And I want to follow that path for as long as I can.
I return to my seat with more hope than I expected. It's better this way. Surveillance means presence, diplomacy, and trust. We show them we're not tyrants—but leaders worth following.
Father has thought this through. I can't help but smile down at him from the dais. His grin grows in turn, his sapphire eyes glittering with something brighter than pride—maybe joy.
"A sound choice, my daughter." His voice booms, rich with satisfaction, echoing across the marble. A flicker of warmth blooms in my chest.
Then he. More than a few councilmen stiffen at the jab. It's meant for them, perhaps. But it lands nearer to Mykhol.
"Father," I say in warning, though the smile tugs at my lips anyway. I try to fight it. This is still court. I am still Empress. I shouldn't laugh.
Beside me, Mykhol shifts. His hand slips from my shoulder. The warmth he left behind only makes the air feel colder. I glance at him.
He hasn't moved. His face is still, eyes shadowed, his usual smile replaced with a tight, unreadable line. But his gaze never leaves my father.
Something about him is off. Strangely still. Strangely silent. He's upset.
But he'll let it go. He always does. Eventually, he will. And I won't linger. My attention is coming back to the courtroom.
"Then it's settled," I say, turning. "Admiral Nugen, you have your orders. We'll begin surveillance."
"Thank you, Your Empress." He bows deeply, a rare smile cracking his stern face. There's a glint of excitement in his eyes as he strides away.
He moves quickly, eager to begin, no doubt. I understand that feeling. I'm eager, too.
Today was good, for the most part. I stood my ground. I listened, and I decided. That's what an Empress does.
Eventually, the court will see that. Eventually, they'll see me. They must.
However, Mykhol remains motionless. His expression is unreadable now, as if someone wiped it clean. But the emptiness is louder than anger. Still, I overlook it.
"Court is adjourned." I raise my voice, and the room begins to empty. Robes shift. The court empties around us. Some glance at him. Others glance at me. But in the end, they all bow, making sure to meet my gaze.
That's something new. I realize with a lift in my chest.
"Now—" I start shifting toward my next plan, already considering logistics, food vendors, and delayed spice shipments. There's still so much to do—
"Anastasia?" A gentle tug on my hand halts me.
I turn to find Father already up the platform. A smile was already spreading on his face before I even knew why.
"Can I steal a moment?"
A moment? For my father? I don't even need to hesitate.
"Of course," I say, perking up slightly. Maybe he has another idea. Something else we can act on. My mind is already rushing ahead.
"Hidi, I'll be in the study after," I call, rising from the throne. The giant just yawns after me, waving me off.
"And Cousin—" I start to say, but Mykhol is still there. Watching. Silent. It feels like a thread pulled taut between us.
"Come, Ana," Father urges gently. "He's waiting."
I blink. "He?"
But Father is already moving. His grip firms around my hand, and I have to follow.
"Ana?"Mykhol's voice was soft and broken. It didn't sound like a question or a plea; it carried a deeper weight. A weight that pulls something within me that I have to glance back.
But Father's pace quickens, pulling me fast from the room. Vermillion eyes disappear behind the door.