She Will Be Impressed Prt. II

Chapter 97 She Will Be Impressed PRT. II

*Ana*

"Thank goodness," I collapse onto the bed, finally free from Hidi. I just realized how tense I am. My whole body feels sore and knotted up.

The day's gotten the better of me. But that's no surprise. With court and Hidi–her early arrival is already adding to my growing list of things to tend to.

But I have support now. I smile. Real support. So, I can handle a little inconvenience. 

 "I think this is the most I've talked in one day." Or in the past few months, at least. Hidi sure does like to talk. 

"Just like Maddie." I finger the hem of the shawl. My eyes flutter heavily as my fingertips over the embroidery. The sensation calming and easy.

I could steal a little nap. With reasonable consideration for the rest of the day's schedule, I have time.

 Yes, a short nap will suffice. Ten minutes? That should be more than enough to rest. And then I will be back up to do more-

A knock on the door crinkles my nose with a groan.

 I grumble softly. "No." I just got alone. 

But bite back the urge to bark at them to leave. 

What if it's Bruno and Naska back from the kitchen. I perk up a little at the chance it might be him..

I don't think I'll ever say no to Bruno. I can't help it. There is a soft spot when it comes to the boy. Even if I miss a nap for him, I don't mind. 

"Are you back already?" I sit up, calling toward the door. "How was the kitchen—"

But my words fall flat as the door pushes open further. It's not Bruno.

It's Mykhol.

The wilt in my voice is hard to mask. "Hello, Cousin."

He strolls in, something white and blue bundled in his hands. There's a gleam in his eye, the kind that often precedes trouble. I brace myself, half-expecting one of his elaborate jokes.

But instead, Mykhol beams. "I have a surprise for you."

"A… surprise?"

"It's just finished." His smile stretches, fangs flashing.

I blink, my eyes flicking to the object again. The fabric peeks between his fingers. Embroidered, delicate. Whatever it is, it's pristine. It's nothing like the rough-spun shawls I'm used to.

"Finished?" I echo, hesitant. What is?

But Mykhol doesn't leave room for questions. Practically bursting with energy, he thrusts the white cloth into my hands. The gesture is so sudden I nearly drop it, fumbling to keep hold. The fabric is soft, the stitches intricate. Far too fine for someone like me.

"Mykhol?" I barely manage, my gaze snapping to his.

"Happy Birthday!" He declares, his grin wide and triumphant. Before I can react, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. Then he pulls back, his face lingering close — watching. Waiting.

For something.

I stare. Happy birthday?

He's still grinning, his excitement palpable. But I can't mirror it. My mind struggles to catch up. A birthday gift? For me?

I should say something. But the words don't come.

When was the last time I was given a gift? Years? Longer? Most birthdays passed like any other day. There are vague memories of Father doing so, but that was before I was sent to Nochten. They are foggy at best. Since then, I never got anything. Not from Aunt or Uncle. Not from anyone.

And now, Mykhol stands before me. Eager. Anticipating.

I should be grateful. He's smiling. He wants me to be happy.

But I don't know how to react. The correct response feels distant, like a custom I was never taught. I know I should smile, maybe laugh. I should gush, like I've seen others do when they receive presents. But the weight of the scarf in my hands is unfamiliar. Like holding something I'm not sure I'm allowed to keep.

"Thank you?" The words come out strained. Mykhol's grin falters. Just barely.

Was that wrong? Should I have sounded more excited? I try to fix it, but it's too late. That flicker of disappointment lingers.

"It's beautiful," I add quickly. That's what people say, right? When they like something? But even that feels unnatural. The words are thin. Empty.

Mykhol's smile stiffens at the edges, but he recovers fast. "Well," he prompts, flicking his hands with exaggerated flair. "Take a look!"

"This—" I swallow. "This is for me?"

"Of course!" He nearly laughs. "I noticed your old one was getting worn down." He gestures to mine. "And I thought, why wouldn't my dearest and sweetest Ana have a new one?"

He holds the scarf out proudly, stretching it so the embroidered moons and stars shimmer in the light.

"And even better," Mykhol's grin sharpens. "It's a gift from none other than her favorite cousin."

"But you're my only cousin," I point out, my voice faint.

Mykhol scoffs, though not unkindly. "So literal," he mutters with a shake of his head. The gold earrings dangling from his ears catch the light, gleaming like little drops of fire. He even dressed up — ruby accents and all. For this?

"Anyway," he presses on, undeterred. "Go on." Mykhol lifts the scarf closer, his vermillion eyes glowing with expectation. "Tell me how much you love it."

Love it?

The demand rings in my head. That's what I'm supposed to say. I love it. But I don't know what it means to receive something simply because someone wanted to give it. 

Just… a gift.

I manage to nod, though it feels stiff. "It's… thoughtful."

His grin remains, though I see the faintest crack beneath it. I've said the wrong thing. Again.

Mykhol's hand twitches, but he covers it quickly. "Why don't you try it on?" He spreads the scarf between his hands, displaying the fine embroidery like it's a masterpiece. "Here, I'll help—"

"No!" The word comes out sharper than I intend. My body jolts back instinctively, hands clutching the shawl still draped over my shoulders. The old one. The one that's safe.

Mykhol freezes. His red eyes widen. "Ana?"

"I—" My voice wavers. "Maybe later."

His brows furrow, the tension barely hidden. "Don't be silly," he says, though his tone is softer. "I'm here now. I want to see you in it."

He steps closer, but so do I — back, away from him. My hands tighten around the scarf in my lap. "I… no. I don't want to."

The words drop like stones.

Silence stretches. Mykhol's expression flickers — frustration, confusion, something else I can't place. His brows arch before wagging his head. His smile back on.

"Don't be silly," " I'm here now and want to see you in it." He steps closer. 

 I step back and throw my hands over my head. "I–no, I don't want to."

"You don't?" Mykhol frowns, fully surprised. "But why?" He lifts the scarf. "Don't you think it's pretty? It's specially commissioned, and I spent a lot on that-"

"You spent more money?" My feet stop to blink at him.

Mykhol scratches the back of his head with a slight frown before shaking it off.

"Is that all you heard?" A slight laugh. "Ana, I designed this for you. Look, I even put a heart with our initials to show you how much I care for-"

"Take it back." 

"What?" Mykhol freezes

"I don't need it." I go with another step. The back of my knees hit the bed. Can't go any further. "Take it back, I said,"

Mykhol's grin fades. He blinks at me.

"But why?" His voice cracks, speechless for a moment. "I-No. It's a gift." He steps closer. Pinning me between him and the bed. "I can't take it back."

"I never asked for this." I turn my head from him. Eyes firm on the rug. I won't look at him or the scarf.

"But I–" 

"I already have enough rumors about me." It comes out in a force, hard and cold. "Rumors have already gone far enough that Hidi's heard about my dress. They'll say I spend too much." And I can't have that. It will damage my chances of getting more supporters.

I need to be careful.

"Ana, that's—" Mykhol blinks, startled. But the words tumble out before he can stop me.

"What will they say if I suddenly have a new scarf?" My hands clutch the familiar fabric draped over my shoulders. "No. I don't need to add more fuel to the fire."

His mouth opens, but the light in his eyes has already dulled. "Ana, I used my own money. Not the treasury." There's an edge to his voice now, low and firm. "I did this on my own."

"You shouldn't have done this." I meet his gaze, but regret coils tightly within me. Mykhol's face hardens, though there's no disguising the way his shoulders have dipped — like something inside him is sinking.

Neither of us looks away. Neither of us gives in.

But I can't.

He doesn't understand. He never has. Mykhol's world has always been gilded with easy laughter, playful gestures, and meaningless extravagance. Even now, he thinks this is just a token of affection. It's a silly indulgence. But for me, it's another burden. Another accusation waiting to happen.

"I don't want it." The words sting as I say them, but I refuse to soften. Leaving no room for argument. No room to ply or reason. No way for Mykhol to just do what he's always done. Getting his way over mine. 

 My heart races, yet I maintain eye contact with him. My hands are clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I've never said no to him like this before. I usually acquiesced. Gave in to avoid his tantrums. But not this time time.

Because I can't accept it. 

My fingers pinch my shawl. Grazing the soft fabric before a wave of memories wash over. I've grown accustomed to its weight, texture, and even the rough threads. Brushing my skin daily, comforting me like a constant in my life.

A reminder of a connection that once was. Her smile comes to mind before I push it down.

But what if, one day, it were gone? A bittersweet smile pulls up. Silent. My fingers grip the scarf closer. Unyielding.

"No, Mykhol. No." I will not budge on this. He can not win here. 

Mykhol watches me for a long time before stepping back slowly. 

"Don't want or don't need it?"

I turn up to see something dark and unreadable muddy his eyes.

Mykhol's eyes darken. But he's not looking at me anymore. His gaze drifts past me, lost in some unseen thought. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. "It's been years, Ana. I thought you'd be over this by now. I thought-" He trails off.

 "I don't need it, Cousin," I repeat, but my voice is softer now. I'm tired, and it's been a long day. Tomorrow is going to be even longer with Hidi here. And I don't want to continue this.

I turn my head from him.

It's over. 

I swallow hard, refusing to let the words linger. "Take it back."

"But Ana-" His voice breaks. The shimmer in his eyes catches the firelight. He blinks quickly, but it's no use. The betrayal is etched into every line of his face.

Did it mean that much to him?

The thought tugs painfully at my chest. My fingers twitch, almost reaching for him — to explain, to apologize, to say anything that might dull the ache in his expression. But I pull back. No. I have to be firm. I have every reason to refuse. I can't waver now.

"I don't want it." The finality in my voice hangs in the air.

"You don't?" The words are barely audible. The crackling fire fills the silence, each pop and hiss driving the wedge deeper between us.

Mykhol's jaw tightens. He swallows, the strain visible. Then, without another word, he strides to the hearth.

The scarf dangles loosely from his fingers. White silk embroidered with moons and stars — delicate, carefully stitched. A labor of affection.

My breath catches. "Wait, Mykhol! What are you—"

But it's too late.

The flames leap, eagerly consuming the fabric. Threads curl and blacken, the white turning to brown, then black. It takes seconds. That's all. And then it's gone.

All the while, he doesn't move. His face is still, but the tension in his clenched fists says everything. The words he doesn't speak burn hotter than the fire before us.

"I can't believe I actually thought this would…fucking stupid," he mutters, the venom not directed at me — but at himself.

He turns sharply on his heel. The heat lingers in the air, but his absence is colder.

"Mykhol?" My voice barely rises above a whisper.

He doesn't answer. The shimmer in his eyes is gone, replaced by a hollow resolve. He won't even look at me as he storms out, slamming the door behind him.

And I'm left gazing at the void he has left behind. The bitter aroma of burnt silk still lingers in the air.