*Aunt Funda*
Aunt Funda could feel all the blood drain from her cheeks as the initial shock transmitted to outright dread.
What is the meaning of this? Her mind raced as her eyes again read over the envelope.
Somewhere, she hoped that it was her mistake. A trick of the light or her eyes had turned sour. Anything would be satisfying if it were to help say she had been mistaken. As long as it wasn’t this.
Surely this can not be. Aunt Funda refused to believe. It wasn’t real. She was convinced it wasn’t.
But try as she may to pretend it wasn’t there, the letter remained the same. It was undeniable.
The letter was stamped from the kingdom of Dawny and addressed by the very King Alexander himself. It even bore his royal stamp- a blue wax declared it an official letter from the foreign kingdom. And it was addressed to none other than her niece.
"This has to be some joke." Aunt Funda growled, still resisting what she held in her hands and cursing under her breath. She wanted to rip it open right there and read what was inside. Her curiosity burned freely in her eyes.
The king, my niece’s father, is suddenly writing? But why? What happened?
The man had not taken any interest before. Being silent through all these years, Aunt Funda had assumed the man had abandoned the child. Actually, she had hoped for it.
Things would go smoothly if he had.
Aunt Funda whined. Would this mean they need to change tactics? A pang of worry came for her son.
If the King starts to invest in Ana- nay, supports her, our plan will not work.
A frown formed that pressed in her eyebrows. She needed to speak with her husband immediately.
“My lady, is there anything else I need to do?” The postmaster’s voice brought Aunt Funda back.
Aunt Funda looked to see the older woman shifting on her feet. She leaned from one side to the other with an exhausted look. The heat and age seemed to be getting the better of her now.
“No, you may go.” Aunt Funda dismissed, already having what she needed.
The postmaster curtsied before shuffling off with Aunt Funda holding the letter. As she held it, her fingers lightly scratched at the wax seal. It was so very tempting to open it.
But she would dare not follow her thoughts. Tampering with the mail, especially that of the Empress, was punishable by death.
But I must find out what is inside.
Aunt Funda set the letter onto a silver tray and carried it out as per custom and went directly to the Empress’s wing.
At this time of day, she'll be in the study. Aunt Funda knew Ana's routine.
The girl, though peculiarly quiet, was not spontaneous. It was a fact she and her husband found quite fortunate. It allowed them to keep tabs on her easily and predict her next move comfortably.
Upon approaching, Aunt Funda found the door closed. Inside, there were voices. Some animated conversation was taking place. Unexpected to hear, Aunt Funda leaned close to listen through the door.
“…I can’t believe you would make such an error, Maddie!” Ana exclaimed.
“But it smelt so delicious. How could I resist? I thought it would taste as it smelt. I was wrong.” The maid remarked with a sigh.
“It’s hair oil, Maddie. But, of course, it’s going to taste bad in a salad.” Aunt Funda could hear her niece retort.
“I didn’t know, but I do now.” The maid seemed to laugh.
“Maddie, no-“
What? Aunt Funda blinked, dumbfounded. She suddenly did not want to finish hearing the conversation. It was too outlandish for her ears to be exposed to.
Aunt Funda knocked on the door with a hard hit that silenced the two within.
“Empress Anastasia, It is I, Aunt Funda.” Aunt Funda announced and waited. In a moment, the door opened to have her step in. She passed the human, who bowed her head respectfully.
“My Lady,” Maddie spoke. Her voice changed dramatically from how it was before.
Aunt Funda narrowed her eyes but kept her thoughts. Her eyes merely lifted around her. There was a half-eaten bowl of salad on the table.
The salad, Aunt Funda suspected from the eavesdropping.
“Aunt Funda,” Ana greeted from her desk. She had a book in front, but her cheeks looked rosy.
Has she been laughing? Aunt Funda thought with disturbance. No, not her.
Anastasia does not laugh. Her eyes must have been tired.
“You have letters, your Empress.” Aunt Funda carried the silver tray over.
“I see,” Ana responded.
“The usual?”
Aunt Funda felt her smile stretch thin at the question. She began placing the letters down as the procedure delegated. The letters were placed over Ana’s book.
“You have correspondence regarding the western and southern colonies.” Aunt Funda began, and Ana took up her silver letter opener to slice through the top. She pulled out the letters with mild interest.
“The southern colony is rebelling again.”
Aunt Funda nodded.
"Your Uncle will send more reinforcements again—such a costly colony."
"Perhaps we should try something else this time?" Ana quipped.
"There has to be a reason they keep uprising- shouldn't we delegate to find the route of the-"
“There is also a letter from the Governor of Duncy.” Aunt Funda cut over. She pushed up the next letter. Ana frowned reluctantly but opened it to read.
“He requested a loan for another summer home. Says it will boost the economy in the nearby village.” Ana surmised. Aunt Funda shook her head.
“Such a man to ask for more. He has already great debts with us, your Empress. We shall turn him down.”
“No,” Ana frowned, looking at the letter.
“I don’t think that is wise. He may be onto something.”
“To build a house will mean jobs to the carpenters and loggers. And after, to the servants and gardeners to keep up the manor.” Ana reasoned. She looked up at her aunt.
“I think you should-“
“I will consider your words when speaking with your Uncle, your Empress.” Aunt Funda dismissed her.
"But Aunt-"
"You're still too young to direct such things, your Empress." Aunt Funda explained.
"Let us, your regents, take care of it."
Aunt Funda was unwilling even to humor the girl and relinquish some of her power.
It's ours, and I won't give a drop. Aunt Funda affirmed.
Ana frowned but sat back in her chair, feeling her words were ignored again.
“Is that all?” Ana finally returned to the tall woman. She could make out what looked to be one last letter on the tray from her seat. She lifted her hand expectantly.
“There seems to be one more.”
“Yes, your Empress.” Aunt Funda kept a sharp smile. She lifted the letter to flash the blue seal into Ana’s gaze. At the color, Ana dropped her jaw.
“A letter from the King of Dawny.” Aunt Funda announced.
The letter was placed into Ana’s hand, and her eyes widened. The weight of the envelope seemed to almost topple over within her palm.
Across the room, Maddie jumped with a clap. She smiled brightly before taking off in a giddy step. Her arms lifted as she rushed to Ana’s side. She grabbed for the girl's shoulders to give her an exciting shake.
“What did I say, Ana? Didn’t I say he’d write back!” Maddie was elated.
“Ana?” Aunt Funda bulked, hearing the maid informally call her. Something she, herself, did not even do.
To use her first name, let alone abbreviate it. Aunt Funda immediately felt offended. The human was being insubordinate and in need of punishment.
Aunt Funda gave the human a deep glare, but Maddie ignored her.
“Open it, your Empress! Let’s see what he says?” Maddie gave another supportive shake to her shoulders. Ana could only give a loopy smile but began to lower the letter as her face paled.
“Maddie, I don’t know if I-“ Ana began to protest, but the maid only gave another shake.
“Be brave, your Empress.” Maddie squeezed her shoulders.
“You can do this.” Her voice was softer. Ana looked from her to her aunt.
Aunt Funda, though more reserved, was curious. Her red eyes hungrily looked at the envelope.
Ana swallowed before she retrieved the knife and began to slice through the top. The knife slid through the paper with a fluid motion.
*Ana*The room is bathed in amber light. For the first time in days, the clouds have scattered. That stubborn ceiling of winter-grey that's clung to the sky like a brooding bird refusing to leave her nest has finally taken wing. And in its place—sunlight. Glorious and gold, spilling through the carved arches of the Moonroom like a long-awaited blessing from the old gods. It dances along the mosaic tiles, each piece catching fire in miniature suns, warms the brass lanterns overhead until they gleam like captured starlight, and settles over the divans and embroidered pillows in waves of honey and liquid fire.I'm grateful for it. The palace has felt dismal lately—each hallway too dim, too chilled, too full of things left unsaid. Or worse, too many things heard that I'm unable to forget.But this—this warmth—it feels like permission to hope again. Or at least pretend for one more hour that things are going well.I sit where I always do—centered, composed, draped in my choice of pink vel
The Green Drawing Room is quieter than I expected it to be. Pale winter light filters through tall windows, breaking apart on the thick clouds beyond before pooling in uneven patches across the intricate rug beneath our feet. Every shade of green imaginable lies woven into the fabric—moss and jade, seafoam and deep olive—colors rich enough to speak of distant lands and conquered artisans.I've always wondered about this tapestry. Some fallen kingdom, perhaps, from the early days of the first emperor's reign when borders expanded and cultures disappeared into Nochten's shadow. The rug might be all that remains of someone else's legacy, buried now beneath our own. Each time I look down at it, the weight of what came before settles heavier on my shoulders—the prices paid for this throne, and the costs yet to come. Hidi doesn’t glance down at the rug. She doesn’t notice it. Or if she did, she quickly lost interest. Her gaze, instead, stays transfixed on Nicoli sitting next to me on the c
Alexander hated that ceiling.The turquoise and gold swirls once praised as Nochten's finest craftsmanship now seemed like a cruel joke—ornate spirals twisting endlessly above him, bright enough to mock but never change. Their splendor had long worn thin, weeks ago. He had memorized every fleck of gold leaf, every chipped mosaic tile, every maddening geometric whirl. The patterns seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, a kaleidoscope of confinement that made his skull throb.He'd dreamt, more than once, of taking a hammer to it.That dream was starting to feel like a promise.His breath fogged faintly in the cold air as he shifted under the covers, silk sheets rustling like dry leaves against his fever-warmed skin. Another deep, raw cough ripped from his chest—a barking reminder that the illness hadn't fully left him. The sound echoed off the stone walls, harsh and wet. But it was loosening. Finally. For the first time in weeks, he could feel his thoughts lining up again, not stumbling or
*Bruno*Through the frost-laced glass, Anastasia looked like a figure in a painting—small, red, and alone. Her shawl was pinched tight around her neck, a splash of crimson against the garden's pale marble and ice-bitten hedges as she retreated one slow step at a time .Her breath hung in the cold like smoke, her movements stiff, like every part of her was holding something in—pain, secrets, the weight of a crown too heavy for her shoulders.Bruno watched, unmoving, until the window clouded over with his own breath. Sticky and hot enough to form pebble-beaded drops, obscuring all into blobs of frozen green and a blurry red. The glass felt cold against his forehead where he'd unconsciously leaned forward, drawn to her retreating form like a moth to dying flame.He blinked after a moment, not realizing he was that close, and leaned back. The sudden distance from the window left him feeling hollow, untethered. He rubbed the fog away with the rough sleeve of his woolen tunic, the coarse fab
*Ana*“See?I knew you’d come around.” Hidi beams, twirling back toward Nicoli as if she’s just won something precious at court. Her skirts billow around her like victory banners, and the motion sends a waft of her perfume toward me: lemon and herb, cloying in the cold air. “I’m going to make you so happy, Nicoli, just wait and see.” Then she pivots to face me, her eyes glinting with triumph, her eyes glinting with triumph that cuts through the winter light like shattered emerald. Her smile stretches so bright, so sharp, it makes my teeth ache as if I've bitten down on something too sweet."And you too, Sister. We can always be together."The word Sister lands on my skin like acid. Burns. Spreads.I open my mouth to speak—to add something, anything, to fill the hollow space her declaration has carved in my chest—but Hidi doesn't wait for me. She never does. She’s already turned away, already basking in the warmth of a moment she crafted so expertly. Once again, getting her way in an
*Nicoli*The roses were long dead. Winter took her debts. But death still had another victim to claim—one which staggered to breathe against the frigid air now. The sight before him, the words circling in his ears like ravens.‘…it’s time you two talk.’ Such simple words, yet the weight behind them, the speaker—Nicoli choked back another vapor puff that blinded his sapphire eyes, now dimming grey between the smoke and the heavy sky, before he could blink and see anything but scarlet-colored eyes full of pain as another's peridot glowed in satisfaction like a broken moon.Brittle petals were scattered between the brown leaves of the bushes, curled in on themselves like secrets never spoken, their frostbitten edges clinging to thorn-laced stems with desperate, dying grace. The cold was everywhere—climbing into his lungs like icy fingers, lodging behind his ribs, numbing the tips of his fingers despite the gloves—Hidi's gift—all but gritty sandpaper against his skin now. And still, it