LOGIN“Have you ever considered taking a pen pal, Ana?” Maddie uses the nickname. It’s a habit of hers when we are alone.
“Pen pal?” I repeat.
What is she going on about this time?
It’s been a month since Maddie started. But it doesn’t feel like much time has passed. Maybe because she makes everything seem, I don’t know, odd?
She never seems to run out of questions. That’s for sure.
Maddie moves to smell one of the roses. We are walking through her garden right now—the great garden of the late Empress Parsul, my mother.
It’s the only remains of her reign. Everything else was destroyed, as is the custom in Nochten. We purge anything of the dead.
I think that is why no one visits this place. It stays deserted, save for me.
Well, except for Maddie. She seems to like them as much as I do.
“Why would I do that?”
"Why do you think so?" Maddie leans down to fluff my hair.
“Stop,” I shift away, but Maddie plops her hand over my head. It feels warm on my scalp. It’s calming
“To make a friend, you silly goose.” Maddie goes on with a pat.
“Who would want to do that?” Let alone who will want to write to me.
Now I have to laugh.
“You’re the one being silly, Maddie.”
“Smart-ass,” Maddie bops my nose before going ahead. Her long legs take up a wider distance.
"Wait!" I start after her.
“Don’t leave me.”
“Easy, kid,” Maddie stops.
“You think I’m going to run away or something?”
“That-” She wouldn’t be the first. But I don’t say it. I just quicken my step.
“I just don’t want you to get lost.”
“Is that right?” Maddie smirks but waits until I catch up.
“Here,” Maddie reaches down.
“Maddie?” I hesitate at her hand. The gesture is still foreign to me. However, Maddie seems to like to do it a lot. It makes her happy.
If it makes her happy, then-
I gingerly take it, and Maddie smiles instantly. Her big fingers curl around mine. They are warm.
I like it.
“You never know. It can be quite fun.” Maddie winks. Apparently, That’s what it means to blink with one eye.
Winking is a new thing to me, like many other things.
“But I don’t have anyone to write to,”
“Yes, you do.” Maddie chirps,
“Who would that be then?”
“Well, what about your Father?”
“The king?” I freeze up right there.
“You mean King Alexander?”
Maddie nods, picking a petal.
“Don’t you ever wonder what your father could be thinking about?”
Do I? Something turns in my stomach. It’s shaky and sits badly in the space.
"No."
“Well, What if I were to say he thinks of you?” Maddie holds the petal.
“Would that change your mind?”
“I don’t like this question” I let go and cross my arms. My eyes are already glossy, but I stare at the roses.
No, not today. I was doing so well today.
I wipe my eye with the back of my hand to stop the first tear.
“Maybe he misses you?”
“I’m tired of talking, Maddie.” I sprint ahead.
“Ana-” Maddie follows, but I walk even faster.
I want to get out of this conversation.
Because nothing good ever comes from talking about THAT.
-x-
“What about your brother?” Maddie throws the question while in the study.
“Maddie, please,”
I thought we were done with this. But Maddie is still going at it.
“Don’t you want to see the Prince?”
“It’s study time.” I gesture to the book.
And I don’t want to talk about this anymore. But Maddie must not understand.
Or she refuses because she ignores me.
"So?" Maddie takes a seat beside me. She leans over to see the book. But with one look at the picture-less page, she gags and pushes it back.
"Good grief! How can you read this stuff?"
"Easily," I laugh. I’ve never seen someone so expressive. She always has a face for something.
it’s funny
"I could teach you if you like."
"NO. THANKS." Maddie rolls her eyes.
Thinking that the end of the discussion, I jotted down some notes. The quill scratches the paper in the silence.
This is nice. I find the break quite peaceful.
But it doesn’t last.
“Prince Nicoli has never gotten to meet you, Ana.”
I flinch when at the name.
“Maddie, please-”
“I am just saying,” Maddie stands from the desk.
“You are so different from him,”
“Who? Nicoli?” The name tastes weird on my tongue.
It’s the first time I had to say it aloud.
“How would you know?”
“He’s quite popular. Always smiling and laughing. He has your father’s blue eyes, too, you know. “
“My father?” My stomach sinks.
My face must say it all because Maddie squeezes my shoulder gently.
“Have you ever met the Prince?”
“No, I-” I was sent away shortly before he was born. But the words stick in my throat.
Because the words bring up those memories again, and I’d rather not remember.
“I've never met him." I go instead, cut and dry.
“Would you like to?”
Maddie tucks my hair to the side.
“I’m sure he’d want to meet you.”
“I…” meet me? I turn to look back and catch the mirror.
There I am. Red eyes and silver hair. I don’t have those famous blue eyes like fathers—or my little brother, apparently.
We are nothing alike.
The sight only makes me more aware of it.
“He could be eager to see you, your Empress.” Maddie, meanwhile, goes.
“Prince Nicoli may be thinking of you right now,”
“And how would you know that?” I push away her hand. My voice is clearly doubtful because I am.
“There has not been a single word from Dawny. Not Papa, not anyone.” I look down at the book, but it’s useless.
There’s no way I can read now. The Tears make everything all blurry. It’s annoying.
“Four years and nothing.” I wipe off the free tear just for another to fall.
“Little Ana,” Maddie pulls me into her arms.
I stiffen in my chair when she does. It's another gesture of hers: hugging. But it is still too new to be comfortable.
My aunt and uncle never hug me. No one has for as long as I can remember.
Is it normal to hug people?
I wouldn’t even know who to ask.
“I hear you.” Maddie, meanwhile, pulls back. She clicks her tongue at my tears but moves to wipe them off. Her sleeves scratches a little. But I don’t mind it.
Actually, it sort of feels nice. It feels warm like her hands, but I don’t dare say out loud.
It might be too strange.
“But sometimes time can make things much harder to do- more so the older you get.” Maddie goes on.
“What do you mean?” I blink up between tears. “What are you saying?”
Is she saying Papa wants to talk to me?
No, that can’t be true.
“Maddie, he doesn’t want me-”
“Maybe the King’s a big coward?” ” Maddie pushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Ever thought of that?”
“Coward?”
“Uh-huh.” Maddie nods. “And maybe that’s why he hasn’t yet.”
“That-” For a moment, a glimmer of doubt does cross my mind. But no, that can’t be.
“Maddie-” It’s preposterous, but I don’t get to say it before Maddie goes.
“I bet you he’s waiting on you to act first.”
“For me?”
“Yup.” And Maddie bops my nose.
“I think the balls are in your court.”
“Ball?” I don’t understand, but Maddie smiles.
“Come on,” And she opens a drawer for fresh paper.
“Maddie,” But she shakes her head and puts it in front of me anyway.
“Just a little letter wouldn’t hurt, now would it?” She pushes my hand to it.
“Just a simple letter, Ana.” Maddie gives a reassuring squeeze.
“Just do that, and I’ll stop.”
"Do you promise?” I perk up. I don’t just mean about the letter.
“We won’t ever speak of this again?”
Maddie nods.
“Cross my heart,” Maddie draws a line over her chest with her finger. I don’t know what it means.
But it sounds convincing enough for me.
“You promised.” I remind her before I dip the quill in ink.
“Just one letter.”
*Belinda*The storm lashed against the glass like a beast clawing to break free, each gust sending tremors through the windowpanes that Belinda felt in her bones. Sleet hammered the tall windows of the entry hall—not the gentle patter of rain, but sharp needles of ice that struck with military precision, each impact a tiny percussion in the symphony of winter's rage. She watched without blinking, her gray eyes reflecting the storm's fury while her body remained statue-still.Not snow—no, that would have been too merciful. Too poetic. Too soft for what churned inside her chest.This was the kind of cold that stalked its prey. Bitter, wet, vengeful—it slipped beneath the heaviest cloaks like skeletal fingers, found every gap in armor, every weakness in resolve. The wind carried the scent of ice and dying earth, sharp and metallic against her tongue when she breathed too deeply. Almost fitting for the tempest brewing in her heart, her endless waiting stretching like a wire pulled to its
*Ana*The wind snarls with a bone-shattering snap, its howl echoing off the marble columns like a wounded beast. It cuts through velvet and wool and fur, no matter how tightly I clutch my reinforced cloak around my shoulders. She is hell-bent to reach into every tender space with vengeance, her icy fingers finding the gaps between fabric and flesh, making a misery of everyone.Like a cruel god, each gust kicks up fine dust from the desert’s edge, peppering the White Steps and gilded stone in shades of dull ochre. Even the sky looks bruised—dark, low, swollen with snow that never falls yet but taunts with its promise. The kind of sky that presses down on your chest, that warns of a storm ready to brew with the weight of held breath. Threatening the passage back through the mountains to be slow and torturous if given more time.It will not wait. I must hurry the farewells along. A struggle as it is, because each moment is like pulling a fang. There are ceremonies to uphold. Eyes to sa
*Ana*The silence doesn’t greet me–it pounces, thick as velvet curtains drawn too tight. For one foolish moment, I almost convince myself that Pendwick might simply bow and step aside, that the tremor in my chest is just the echo of court politics and nothing more. That maybe, just maybe, this isn't what I think it is. That he's only saying hello, like any other day—just happened to find me in the hall and wanted to—Oh, Ana, you know that’s a lie. The thought cuts sharp as winter wind. I couldn't even afford to convince myself. Just look at him—Pendwick, coincidentally here? The scent of his cologne drifts toward me, bergamot and cedar, too deliberate for a casual encounter. He stands casually in the middle of the White Hall, spine straight as a ceremonial sword, hands clasped so tightly in front of him I swear I can hear the leather of his gloves creak like ship rigging in a storm.The marble beneath my feet seems to pulse with each heartbeat. I swallow, tasting copper on my tongue
*King Alexander* Alexander watched Anastasia disappear down the marble corridor like a shadow slipping behind a veil—unwavering in her expression, yet brittle as winter glass. Shoulders rigid as armor plating, chin lifted in defiant mimicry of her mother's own expression. A cruel irony that didn’t go unmissed by him. Like a blade twisting between his ribs.. Because, like mother, like daughter—it made him all the more desperate to search for the fractures beneath the porcelain mask. Anastasia was drowning. Stretched gossamer-thin, each thread of her composure ready to snap. Her footfalls echoed with leaden exhaustion, the careful measured pace of someone fighting to remain upright. The way her fingers had trembled—barely perceptible—when she'd gathered her skirts. The distant fog that had clouded her crimson eyes during court proceedings, her mind a thousand leagues away from the petitions and proclamations.She was taking this burden far harder than pride would ever let her voice, c
*Ana*The room feels too bright.Sunlight slants through the high windows of the throne room, painting golden streaks across the carpet and catching the gold filigree of the vaulted ceiling until the whole room gleams like a jewel box cracked open.It should be beautiful. It is beautiful. But all I can think about is how the cold seeps through the layers of my court dress like water through silk, despite the iron firepits lining the marble floor. Each bowl spits low, hungry flames that devour coal and resin, sending ribbons of pine-scented smoke curling between the pillars. The smell wraps around us like phantom fingers—woody, bitter, carrying memories I'd rather not hold.My crown feels heavier today, its weight pressing into my skull like an accusation. The silver circlet that once felt like a birthright now feels like a penance. Or maybe I'm just tired.No. I am tired.I sit rigidly beneath the gilded canopy, my spine a blade of steel against the throne's velvet cushions. My hands
*Nicoli*The realization didn’t come like thunder.It came quietly. Like the soft closing of a door he hadn’t noticed until it was already locked behind him. Nicoli's boots struck the marble with too much force, each step a sharp crack that ricocheted off the vaulted ceiling and chased him down the empty corridor. The palace's silence pressed against his eardrums—thick, suffocating, like being buried alive in velvet. The silence of the palace offered no comfort. Had there ever been a time these halls did? That these halls didn’t feel like some mausoleum? Was there a time the air didn't taste of held breath and hidden truths? Nicoli could not say. He didn’t know. There was so much about Anastasia's world he'd never known, didn’t realize was severely lacking all this time. But the pieces were falling into place now, each one landing like a stone in his chest.And it all felt too late. The cold seeped through the seams of his coat, through his skin, settling deep in his bones. But t







