Who Do You Think You Are

*Mykhol*

"You should smile more, Anastasia," Mykhol teased, barely concealing his amusement. Ana's deep scowl was almost comical—he didn't think she was even capable of looking so sullen.

She stood atop a cushioned chair, her lower lip jutting out in a severe pout. Frustration flushed her cheeks, and loose strands of hair slipped from her braid. Another discarded dress pooled at her feet as the seamstress remeasured her.

Ana grew like a weed, suddenly a foot or more overnight. still short by most standards, but nearing five feet now, give or take. And of course, that meant every gown she owned needed resizing.

Which meant she was here.

Being measured. Poked. Adjusted.

And she hated it.

In truth though, she was already in a mood. She was still pushing the idea of talking about Pave. To deaf ears, of course.

Everyone was transfixed on the coming coronation, the gown, the guest, etc. Forgetting the problem entirely. As he predicted. 

However, Ana was still trying. Ever diligently, since the first meeting, she had twice broached the topic in the next two court sessions. And every time she brought it up, she was met with polite nods and empty reassurances before the conversation veered back toward coronation gowns and guest lists. Likely aiding to her sour mood, now making her pout grow deeper.

Ana huffed, moving to fix the chain on her shawl.

"Smiling is the last thing I want to do right now," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her budding mounds underneath. Another new development. "This is taking too long." 

Ana puffed her cheeks. Flustered and unable to properly channel her need for efficiency, she huffed once more. Her eyes fell as she pinched her shawl.

 "I shouldn't be trying on dresses. I should be gathering more information. Researching the situation. The problem at hand with Pave is-"

He didn't hide his laugh this time. "Ana," It was beautiful to see her like this. He felt blessed he could witness it.

It wasn't so long ago that Ana wouldn't even crack a smile. But now look at her, emoting, even sulking. Sullen and pouty like a proper brat. He couldn't get enough of it. 

"Patience." He leaned in to take her hand. Her fingers were longer.

Her finger?  He wondered what size they would be for a ring. Or should I wait till she stops growing first? He touched her ring finger, half imagining how it would look with a ring, his ring on it. A matching set.

"Stop, that tickles." Ana pulled away to cross her arms again. 

He pouted. "Ana-". But before Mykhol could make another attempt, his mother was turning with a new gown..

"Your Empress? How about this one?" 

"That's fine," She didn't even look at it as her eyes went to the door. Desperate to leave.

"Oh? Well, then." His mother and the tailor looked at each other before they nodded in agreement.

"Good, it's settled then." He smiled before moving Ana's hand into his arm. "I'll leave it to you two." 

And with that, Mykhol turned but not before catching sight of the Naska with the boy in the room.

She was fussing and fidgeting with his clothes. He managed to unbutton his uniform. A flush burned on his little face.

"But Mama-" The boy whimpered, pulling at the collar."It's itchy."

"I know but you still need to-," Naska caught Mykhol watching. Her face immediately softened as she pulled Bruno.

"Be a good boy." Naska kissed his head as the boy, and Mykhol met eyes. For a moment, the two stared at each other. The boy looked at him searchingly as Mykhol watched him, both sizing each other up, cool and detached.

My son. The thought rang in his mind, but he did not feel it—not truly. The boy was his, but that was all. Mykhol had no intention of seeing him as anything more than another useful piece on the board. Like his mother before him.

Bruno had been assigned as Ana's footman these past few days. Which meant they crossed paths more often. Not the first time he had seen him, of course. He had visited Naska in her private chambers before, but those visits had been far from paternal.

His gaze flicked over the boy again. He had his eyes—there was no mistaking it. But everything else? His mother's.

Pity.

He dismissed the thought just as quickly, letting the need for a smile return as he turned away. Without another glance, he left the room with Ana, the boy already slipping from his mind.

Immediately in the hall, Ana let out a sigh.

"Thank you, " she tucked her hair into her braid, regaining her composure."I didn't know how long I could endure that. I don't know how Aunt does it- gown after gown."

Mykhol had to smile.

"Of course, I wouldn't let you suffer my mother's wrath." Mykhol cooed as they walked into the great hall.

"I know how much you don't like dresses and such-" But as Mykhol spoke, he stopped at the approach of another. 

It was a man, some decades older, his short clipped hair slicked back with grease. He was dressed in the finest spidersilk, expensive even for royalty, and all his fingers dripped in gold and silver rings.

Mykhol clenched his jaw.

"Your Empress," He bowed, 

"I was hoping I would catch you, Your Empress." The man spoke with a light curl in his tone. He did not look at Mykhol. It was as if he didn't see him.

Or was purposely trying not to-

Mykhol couldn't help but twitch in irritation as the man's gaze lingered on Ana. He did not like this man–did not appreciate the way he seemed to eye her up and down. Making his blood boil. This stranger was a newcomer, and it was clear he had no business engaging with Ana.

Worse still, Mykhol begrudgingly supposed the man was almost as attractive as himself.

Almost. 

Ana lifted her chin. "Hello, Duke Zaver."

Mykhol faltered. She knows him?

"You know him?" he snapped before he could stop himself.

Ana glanced at him as if the question were strange. "Of course. I've seen him in court once or twice. He doesn't come often since his estate is in the colonies."

That was all? Just court meetings? A rush of relief settled in his chest before another thought clawed at him. Then why is he here now?

"I'm flattered you remember me, Your Empress," Duke Zaver said, flashing a grin lined with gem-studded teeth. "I didn't think you'd be so thoughtful. I am fortunate to have caught your attention."

Mykhol twitched. again

"Fortunate?" he echoed, his grip tightening around Ana's hand as he pulled her toward him.

Why the hell was he just standing here? Listening to this damn fool who clearly didn't know his place. Who HE was. Mykhol could barely resist the sneer on his face. Angry to have his time with Ana disturbed. By some…duke.

Enough. She wasn't speaking to him anymore.

"Is there something you need, Duke?" Ana asked, just as Mykhol steered her away.

"Excuse us,?" Mykhol barely held a smile meeting Duke Zavers' gaze. 

He pulled her closer, protectively. Charging as far as he could, his heart beating fast. That man got under his skin. 

That son of a - Duke Zaver! How dare he? Flaunting himself right in front of Ana when he was right there. As if he wasn't anything.

Fucking pest!

Mykhol quickened his step. Yanking Ana till she was dragging her feet as they moved.

"Cousin?" Ana stumbled, glancing between him and the Duke.

Duke Zaver chuckled. "Let's meet again, Your Empress."

Mykhol's teeth clicked together. Like hell we will.

"All because I haven't made the announcement doesn't mean that I- No, Duke Zaver doesn't know his place. Wait until Mother and Father hear of this. He'll learn soon enough who is really-"

He hadn't expected them to come so soon. They've only been back a few days. The suitors. He thought he had more time—until the coronation at least. 

That was the plan. Ease Ana into the idea, plant the seed, work his way into her heart, ensure no one else had a chance. It's what he'd been doing for years.

YEARS!

But they were already here. He could see them. Men- older lords and bachelors. Gathering by the Duke dressed in all the finery to impress. Here for Ana

Already circling. Like a bunch of damned sharks.

His grip on Ana's hand tightened. Pests.

"Cousin?" She looked back at the group gathering in the hall. "Why is everyone—?"

"No." Mykhol caught her chin, turning her face away, shielding her from them. She didn't need to see. Not yet.

Not until she was his.

His thumb brushed her lower lip, his pulse quickening. The smell of sandalwood—her scent—filled his senses, setting his nerves alight. His gaze dipped to her mouth, lips soft and tempting. He had waited years.

Just one taste.

Mykhol licked his lips, leaning closer—

"Cousin?"

Ana blinked up at him, wide-eyed, oblivious to the thoughts clouding his mind.

Mykhol swallowed hard, his throat dry. Guilt clawed at his chest as he forced himself to step back, coughing to cover the moment.

If Ana only knew—

"Why don't we go to the study?" he suggested smoothly, slipping her hand into his arm.

She hesitated. "I—"

"You can tell me more about the Bulgeons."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You want to know?"

If it meant keeping her away from them—

"Of course." He tapped her nose playfully. "Why wouldn't I?"

Ana beamed. "There is a lot to cover. I've been compiling notes for when Admiral Nugen is finished with his punishment." She went on so matter-of-factly. 

"We can review them."

Compiling? Reviewing? Mykhol twitched at the lackluster choice. He could think of far better things to do with his pretty little cousin. And reading wasn't one of them.

He forced a laugh. "Sounds great."

He let himself smile, if only briefly. But out of the corner of his eye, more figures appeared.

More men. More threats.

His grip on Ana tightened, his other hand already brushing against the hilt of his dagger.

Gods damn it! They just kept coming.

"Then, we should go?" Mykhol quickened his step, heart racing as his eyes threw one more dark look down the hall. Marking each man he saw—each fool who dared think they had a chance.

They didn't. They never would.

Because Ana was his.

If not now, eventually.

Mine.