Spiderweb

*Ana*

Before I realize it, we're already moving–straight to the one place I need to be. Teeth clenched, my mind falls back to the two maids.

Everything they told me is just— Turning around another corner, we make it into the main white hall. The only sound bouncing against the high ceiling is my footsteps and his. 

"Are you mad?" Bruno's voice is small as he follows. He hasn't left my side since the maids.

"I-" I can't formulate the words. I'm not sure I should.

He heard all that too. My throat swallows hard. About my dress and then about Mykhol and I- 

I push out a hard breath, turning towards his wing. It is much grander than my own because the decor is newer. Fresh oriental rugs line the stone floor. The candles are fresh and new in each candelabra. It has more servants working the hall—more than I ever have in a whole week.

Why is it so much better–

No, it doesn't matter. 

My feet halt at Mykhol's study. It's left slightly open. Something softly rustles inside, a soft murmur. He must be in there.

Good. I firm my jaw and just charge through.

"Cousin," Push through without warning, I call out. "We need to talk-" 

My eyes widen at the unfamiliar sight of Mykhol with Naska. She is on the floor as he is standing in front of her. But before I can recognize what I'm looking at, she scrambles to get up. Her face flushes as she wipes something off her mouth. Her thick hair slightly messy.

"Your Empress." She chokes out, eyes averted to the floor.

 "What are you doing–" But let it go. It doesn't matter right now.

"I need to speak with my cousin alone." Stepping onto the thick rug, Bruno lingers behind me at the threshold. 

When she notices her son, Naska immediately starts to smooth out her tunic and fix her hair. 

"You came at just the right time." Mykhol goes on with a wink. "I just finished."

Naska stiffened at the remark, face flushing again. 

 Was that supposed to be a joke? I don't get it. But again, it doesn't matter.

"Leave us," I order, but she doesn't move. 

Her eyes glance back at him. But whatever she thinks, he doesn't share it.

His standard smile fades into a thin line. "Naska, leave us." 

"What? But—" She glances at me, but I don't budge.

This is not something I want her to listen in on. It's between me and Mykhol. 

She twitches her lip before huffing with her fangs out.

"Fine!" She snarls, and stomps out. Foot hitting deep into the rugs as she heads for the door. Her shoulder slams into mine, sending a jolt of pain through me.

Naska scuffs shuffling off. "Sorry," She barely utters, straining out and down the hall.

It's doubtful that was by accident. But shelve the thought for now. Looking after her, I absently rub my shoulder.

There is already enough for me, I don't need to add dealing with her attitude problem. 

Just one thing at a time.

Turning back to see Mykhol, he's retying his turquoise belt. His hand moves to rake back his scarlet hair, making it sit differently. His face is flushed and his tunic wrinkled. It's not like him to look this unkempt. 

"So, what is it, my dear Ana?" Mykhol takes a seat on the pale blue couch, his hand moving to pat the cushion beside him, just as he always does. Expecting, assuming, that I will simply sit.

I do not.

His smile falters, only slightly, but I catch the way his fingers still linger against the fabric. A shadow flickers behind his eyes—quick, dark, unmistakable. It's an expression I have seen before. Back when Maddie was still here. When she helped me hide from him.

I recognize it now. Anger.

Not the kind that lashes out, but something quieter. Sharper. His displeasure is not in my words but in my refusal.

My gaze meets his, steady, before something shifts in his expression. The moment passes as swiftly as it came, and suddenly, he is all ease again.

He leans into the couch, tilting his head just enough for his choppy hair to fall to one side—deliberate, practiced. Casual.

"You said you wanted to talk to me?" His voice is smooth, his smile slow.

Nodding, I unclench my jaw. Stay focused.

"How much did my gown cost?"

"Which gown?" He sits up slightly, brow raised. "You had a few made."

A few? My stomach knots. I never thought to ask. 

I should have.

Licking my lips, I steady myself. "My coronation gown," I clarify, stepping toward him. "I said, how much did it cost?"

He scoffs, lips curling in a smirk, as if I've asked something ridiculous.

"I don't think I'm the one to answer that," he says with a lazy wave of his hand. "It's my father who handles the treasury, Ana. You should be asking him—"

"Is it true my gown cost more than half the kingdom's treasury?"

For once, Mykhol falters. His brows lift in genuine surprise.

"Who told you that?"

"Does it matter?" I take another step forward, my heart pounding. A storm of emotions surges inside me, pressing against my ribs, my throat, my skull. I take a breath, trying to keep my voice even.

"Why am I only hearing about this now?" From a pair of gossiping maids, no less. I can't think of a worse way to find out.

"Why wasn't I told, Mykhol?"

He exhales, shifting to stand. "Ana, calm down." He reaches for me, but I step back. I don't want to be touched.

I drag my sleeve over my face to catch a stray tear.

"You should have said something."

"I don't know, Ana." He drops his hand, sighing. His gaze flickers downward, as if weighing something in his mind. When he looks back up, his expression has changed.

"Perhaps you should talk with Mother? She designed it. You could have stopped—"

"Stopped?" The word catches in my throat. "I had no say in the matter! No one was listening to me. I told them that I—"

"Ana, calm yourself." Mykhol steps closer, his voice softening. "You're getting too stressed."

"Stressed?" I almost laugh, but it comes out weak—choked by the tears stinging my eyes. 

My head is hot, and my stomach is queasy. 

"Why did we spend so much? Pave needs supplies." My voice trembles as I try to force clarity through the haze in my mind. "Our soldiers are running out of food and weapons."

I can barely get the words out before Mykhol moves. Fast.

He pulls me in, his arms locking around me, one hand pressing firmly against the back of my head.

"Cousin, don't—" I try to push him away, but he only holds me tighter.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against my temple. His fingers slip beneath my shawl, threading into my hair.

I shiver. He knows how sensitive my scalp is.

His fingers move in slow, rhythmic strokes, unraveling my braid, dragging the tension from my shoulders before I can stop it. My breaths slow. My thoughts grow foggy.

It's only when the last of my braid falls apart that I snap back to myself.

"Mykhol." I frown, lifting my head. "Why do you always ruin my hairstyles?"

His hands shift, cupping my cheeks. His face is soft. His voice was softer.

"Ana, this is unfortunate," he says gently, "but you can't blame anyone but yourself."

I blink. What?

"But I—"

A finger presses to my lips.

"You should have been more aware of the costs, Ana." His touch is light, almost playful. "You're Empress. You can make excuses, but the people will see something else."

"I didn't—" I break away from his grasp, but he keeps speaking.

"You should have stopped my mother. Or asked my father how much everything was adding up to. It was your responsibility."

"I tried—"

"Did you?" His eyes sharpen. "Do you think anyone will believe that?"

The words cut straight through me. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because he's right.

This is my fault.

I sink where I stand, the weight of my own failure pressing down on me. I should have known. I should have asked. I should have done something.

Poor Mykhol. I've made a fool of myself in front of him.

I press my lips together, swallowing back the last of my humiliation, folding my hands in my lap.

"You're right," I whisper. "It's my responsibility. I'm… sorry for yelling."

Mykhol smiles. Pleased. "Good girl."

He takes my hand, guiding me to the couch with effortless ease. His fingers curl around mine. Firm. Steady. Unyielding.

"I'm glad we could resolve this before-" He carries on just as it reminds me..

"Cousin, there's something else I heard." 

Mykhol pauses with a curious brow. 

"I heard a strange rumor…that we were going to—" But then I stop there, finding the words almost too outlandish to even speak. Mykhol and I? Married?

That could never happen. I can't believe I thought to even bring it up. It's obviously wrong.

A laugh breaks free.

"You are right. This whole business with the coronation has me all stressed. I'm not thinking clearly." I breathe easier, laughing at myself. " It all has me too stressed. I'll be happy once it's over." My hand reaches back to find the ribbon but it's not there. It must have fallen off somewhere.

My eyes scan the carpet.

"Then we can focus back on what is important." Aha, there it is. I spy it on the ground and move to pick it up.

"Yes, important." Mykhol agrees, still holding my hand. His fingers curled around mine a little tighter as he spoke again. " But now I'm curious."

He leans in to meet my eyes. Something sparking behind them.

"What did you hear about us?"

"Just a terrible rumor. It's laughable. I don't know how anyone could think of it." I begin to braid my hair again. 

It's going to be sloppy, but so are all my braids. 

I still can't seem to braid as well as Hidi. And I am nowhere near as good as Maddie. But, still, I like to have it braided. And since no one else will–

I laugh just thinking about it again.

"How can anyone think of marriage right now?"

"Marriage? " Mykhol stiffens. "With me?

"Ha. I'm ashamed to have let it get to me. Let's forget it." I shake my head, still half-laughing. Marriage? Now? The very idea is absurd. I have far too much to do—far more important things than entertaining nonsense like that.

And Mykhol, of all people? He's my cousin. My family. Why would anyone even suggest such a thing? No, those maids were just spouting silly words.

Mykhol and I would never. It's all nonsense. It's just too strange.

I finish and tie the end with the ribbon. I can already feel hair slipping out from the knot. 

I'll have to do it again later. I pull my hand from him to adjust my shawl. 

"I'll set the situation straight once the coronation is over." 

"Straight as in…" He speaks in a measured tone, watching me carefully.

"The Bulgeons and the southern colonies, of course." I prompt, a bit surprised he didn't think that. "There are much more pressing matters at hand." 

Handling the Bulgeons, the colonies, everything–My mind is already full of them. I just want to get started.

"Marriage will have to wait."

"Wait? What do you mean wait?" His brows knit, his mouth opening, closing– like he can't quite grasp the idea. "Ana, surely you don't want to-"

"Yes, I said wait." I exhale and suddenly, I feel lighter. It's absurd I even let that ridiculous idea bother me in the first place. Marriage? With Mykhol? Just gossip. Pointless speculation. Why did I even let it rile me up?

The thought feels so far-fetched now that I almost laugh. As if that would ever happen.

The knock at the door is low and hard, carrying weight. Not Naska. Bruno isn't that strong. 

Someone else, then. A servant? My aunt and uncle?

"Come in," I call, expecting a servant. But when the door swings open, my breath catches in my throat.

The man standing before me is a shadow of himself.

Admiral Nugen barely manages to drop to one knee, his hand moving to his heart in a delayed salute. He wavers as he does, the motion slow and unsteady, as if his body no longer knows how to carry his own weight.

Still, he tries to bow.

"Your Empress." His voice is barely a rasp, his throat so dry he has to swallow between syllables.

I don't even think before I move. "Admiral Nugen!"

I reach for his hands, gripping them as I pull him upright. His fingers are ice-cold, his nails rimmed with dirt. Up close, I see the way his breath comes too shallow, too fast, as if even standing takes effort.

His eyes widen slightly at my touch—half in surprise, half in relief—but he quickly collects himself.

"Forgive my tardiness." His voice scrapes against his throat like gravel.

I have to laugh, though the sound feels strange in my own ears. "No, Admiral. You've finally returned."

 Finally his punishment is over. It seemed so long.

I step back, looking him over fully now.

"It's good to have you back. You look…" I trail off, my gaze catching on the bruises beneath his collar, the deep-set exhaustion in his face.

Did they beat him?

That wasn't part of the punishment. I had never ordered anything like that.

The relief of his return is quickly overshadowed by something colder, heavier.

"It's good to have you back." Repeating myself at last, I step back, giving him space to stand properly, though even now I see the slight limp he's trying to hide.

Admiral Nugen straightens as best he can, but he's not as tall as I remember. Or maybe it's me—maybe I've grown. My head now reaches his chest.

"You should… go rest first." I straighten, "Afterward, we can hold a council in a few days–"

"No need, I can do it today." He gruffs, bowing stiffly, his body flinching just slightly with the movement, but he doesn't let himself falter.

"Just give me a moment to wash and we can start."

"That…" My lips pinch together. He looks awful, tired. 

 No, he should heal first. Sit down at the very least. But the eager look in his eye tells me different. And I hate to admit it, but I am relieved to see him. 

Knowing I have at least one person on my side. 

"Then, let me bring you up to speed on the events so far." I return with a sigh.

"We'll hold a meeting after. And Cousin," I turn back to Mykhol," I suggest you attend. You are my right hand, after all."

Mykhol tilts his head slightly, the words rolling over his tongue like he's tasting them. "Right hand?"

Before I can respond, Admiral Nugen clears his throat.

I glance back at him, catching the quick flick of his gaze to Mykhol before he looks at me again. There's something in his expression—a tension—but I can't place it.

"Right," I say, brushing it aside. "Admiral Nugen, follow me." I reach for his arm, feeling the wiry tension beneath his sleeve.

He straightens, and for the first time since stepping into the room, something lights in his face. His hand covers mine—warm despite his exhaustion—and I see it clearly now.

He's eager. Desperate, even.

Because just like me, he wants to work.

I take a deep breath, my chest filling with the feeling of momentum.

Finally.

Finally, things can start working again.

But—

"Cousin," Mykhol's voice calls after me, stopping me just short of the door.

I glance back to see his fingers half-raised, reaching.

"We were just discussing something—" But his voice trails off. As if thinking better of it. In the end, he drops his hand, his back straighter.

"I'll see you at the meeting." He murmurs. 

"Yes, see you then." I farewell and take Nugen with me.

*Mykhol*

Mykhol stood frozen, watching as Ana disappeared beyond the door, the flowing stream of silver and red vanishing from his sight.

Gone.

Again.

His hands raked through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as he exhaled hard, eyes flicking to the ceiling.

This was not going to plan.

The suitors were already a hassle, but now Ana herself—

His lips curled slightly, recalling her words.

"Marriage will wait."

Wait? What the hell did that even mean? And for how long?

A deep breath. Another. His fingers raked back through his hair again, a sharp exhale punctuating his frustration. Then—he stilled. A familiar scent clung to his fingers, rich and warm. Sandalwood.

Sandalwood-Ana.

His lips parted slightly, his breath catching in something between surprise and revelation. A slow, creeping grin followed, amusement flickering in his darkened gaze.

Actually… waiting wouldn't be so bad.

In fact, the more he thought about it…

It was perfect. More time meant more opportunities. More control. 

More ways to make her his.

The laugh that left him was low, dark, curling through the empty room like smoke.

His fangs gleamed in the dim light.

"I suppose a little war can be fun, too."

The creak of the door cut through his thoughts like a blade, yanking his attention sideways.

A small figure stood there, silent.

He narrowed his eyes, barely holding back a snarl. How long had the boy been there? Had he seen—?

His nerves frayed further. He's too damn quiet.

"What are you still doing here?" His voice snapped through the air like a whip.

The child didn't flinch.

He stared, searching his expression for something—fear, hesitation, obedience—but the boy's face was unreadable. That blank, dark-eyed stare met his own, steady and unshaken.

Irritation simmered under Mykhol's skin.

"Go find your mother." He lifted a dismissive hand, already turning away.

He expected the boy to listen. To leave like he always did.

But then—

"You lied."

The words were soft, nearly swallowed by the air between them.

Mykhol stilled.

His head snapped back toward the boy, eyes narrowing.

"What?"

But the room was empty.

The door swung shut with a quiet click. 

Bruno was gone.