'Anna…
Anna…
Wake up, my dear…
It's time to greet the new day with a big, bright smile…
Come on now…
Time to get up…'
Anastasia groggily opened her eyes.
She turned toward the voice.
A woman stood beside her—dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders, warm brown eyes, a sharp nose, and soft rosy lips. Her smile was radiant.
"Good morning, my darling. Rise and shine—it's time for breakfast. Don't forget, you've got etiquette lessons before school. Mrs. Phil doesn't like slowpokes… or you'll be watching the turtle again," she chuckled.
"Come on now. Your father must be waiting."
Anastasia smiled faintly, watching the woman move around the room—opening curtains, rummaging through the closet, laying out clothes for both etiquette lessons and school.
She wanted to rise from the bed.
To hug her.
To tell her how much she loved her.
And how deeply she missed her.
But as she tried to move, her head felt like a bulb of titanium steel. Her limbs were bolted to the bed. Her tongue was absent, her voice box hollow—like sound had never lived there.
All she could do was watch.
Watch in pain.
In longing.
In sorrow.
In silence.
The woman's image began to blur as tears welled in Anastasia's eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
'Mama… Mama…'
She could only cry in her mind.
As if sensing her daughter's grief, the woman stopped abruptly and rushed to her side.
"Anna… what's wrong? Why are you crying? Oh, my girl… it's okay. Shhh… there, there… it's okay."
She cradled Anastasia gently, her voice soft and steady.
"Hey… don't cry. Everything's going to be alright. I know you're scared. Scared of whether you can pull this off. But my dear… you are the bravest girl I've ever met. You defied death like a warrior forged from steel and platinum. You rose from the ashes like a phoenix. Yes, even though your pain has turned you into a vulture… I believe that one day, that grizzly creature will melt away to reveal the majestic phoenix beneath.
Until that day comes, I'll be here. We both will. You're the greatest gift the Heavens ever gave us, and we're so proud to call you our daughter. Whatever you do, remember this: You're stronger than you know. More powerful than you can imagine. The Heavens didn't give you to us for no reason. That power will shine—will manifest—the moment the North Star glows brighter than usual. That's your destiny. And it will bring you glad tidings… to you, and to this world. Be brave. Be strong. Be courageous. I love you. I always will."
She leaned in and kissed Anastasia's forehead.
Just then—
A flash of blue light engulfed the room.
"Hugh!! Hugh!!"
Anastasia gasped, heaving for breath as she shot upright in bed.
It was a dream.
She blinked slowly, taking in her surroundings.
A plush peach canopy bed cradled her body, and the room was bathed in soft hues—furniture in gentle peach tones, curtains fluttering faintly with the breeze.
She turned toward the dressing table mirror.
Her reflection stared back—disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes, lips pale and cracked.
On a nearby stool sat a small bowl with a damp towel, folded neatly.
She pushed the blanket aside, wincing as she checked her wound.
It was dressed with a clean white bandage, soft against her skin.
A groan escaped her lips as a dull throbbing pain coursed through her body.
She sank back into the pillow, fingers brushing her forehead, eyes fluttering shut.
Her mind drifted.
Back to the memory.
The one that surfaced while she was unconscious.
Her heart clenched.
It was the first memory she'd had of her mother since escaping death's grip three years ago.
She had buried those thoughts deep—refusing to revisit the pain, the loss, the unbearable ache. She'd convinced herself she'd steeled her heart against softness. That vulnerability was weakness. That predators didn't cry.
But still…
Whenever fear crept in, whenever uncertainty whispered, her defenses cracked.
And she hated that.
Hated the exposure.
Hated the reminder that beneath the armor, she was still human.
Still hurting.
Still longing.
But maybe being a predator didn't mean you couldn't have a soft spot.
Her thoughts circled back to her mother's words.
The North Star.
She'd heard the tales—how it was the Heavens' guide to answers not easily found. How, if it shone brighter than usual, it meant a destiny-bound blessing was near. But only the seeker would witness its glow.
Anastasia snorted.
"I can't believe I listened to such folklore shit."
Yet…
Now that her mother had spoken of it—whether real or imagined—a sliver of doubt crept in.
Clawing at her resolve.
Shaking it.
Just a little.
Knock knock.
The soft sound of a knock, followed by the creak of the door, pulled Anastasia from her thoughts.
She turned her head slowly.
A maid in her mid-forties entered the room. She had long, straight black hair, small dark eyes, a flat nose, and soft pink lips. Her figure was graceful, subtly defined beneath a pink uniform, white apron, and black flats.
She smiled gently as she approached the bed.
"Good morning, Lady Ariel."
"Good morning, Sylvia," Ariel (Anastasia) replied, her voice hoarse and quiet.
Sylvia stepped closer, placing a hand on Ariel's forehead.
"You seem to be improving. His Lordship was worried you might be bedridden for a while, but it looks like you're still as strong as ever."
She picked up the bowl and towel from the stool.
"A little more rest today should help. For now, His Lordship—Duke Raymond—would like to have breakfast with you. I'll return these to the kitchen and come back to help you get ready, hmm?"
"Thank you, Sylvia."
Sylvia offered a polite smile, then turned and exited the room.
Yes—Anastasia was living under a new name, a new identity.
She was now Lady Ariel Benedict Fortmore, daughter of Duke Raymond William Fortmore of the Duchy of Lisboa.
Lisboa was a fief of the Kingdom of Flambodia—an island located on the kingdom's outskirts.
Flambodia was one of the world's most powerful kingdoms, ruling over two hundred states divided among eight duchies. Fortshire, Florence, and the kingdom capital held the lion's share of power, governing more states than the rest: Fortshire ruled forty-five, Florence fifty-six, and the kingdom capital, sixty. The remaining states were distributed among the other five contingencies.
Lisboa, though small with only two states, wielded influence through international merchandising and tourism. Its lush tropical landscapes drew visitors from across the globe, turning the island into a thriving paradise.
Ariel rose from the bed, still slightly feverish, her head spinning faintly.
She walked slowly to the window.
Outside, a vibrant tropical garden overlooked the sea port. Magnificent yachts—large and small—lined the bay. The wind swept through their sails, strong but gentle.
People strolled along the beach, even in the early morning. But who could blame them? It was summer—the hottest season of the year.
Ariel opened the window, letting the fresh sea breeze kiss her skin. Her fiery red hair shimmered in the morning light.
She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of salt and sunlight.
"Oh, I see you're on your feet."
Ariel turned to see Sylvia standing behind her, smiling warmly.
"Let's get you ready."
After a bath, Ariel dressed in a cream-colored slack suit with a white blouse and matching cream flat shoes.
She sat at the dressing table, watching her reflection as Sylvia styled her hair. Her fiery red locks were neatly pinned into a hair net, hidden beneath a long, wavy black wig styled so flawlessly that no one would suspect it wasn't real.
Her golden-brown eyes were concealed behind black contact lenses. Sylvia applied heavier makeup than usual—just enough to make the disguise believable.
Ariel studied herself in the mirror.
Even beneath the layers of concealment, she looked striking—more captivating than most women.
She admired the transformation.
Then she stood.
And walked out of the room.
...
Downstairs…
"Chaos and mayhem reign supreme in the fief of Florence, as protestors continue flooding the streets, demanding the removal of the current ruling Duchy. Ever since the death of His Lordship Alexander Philip Sinclair, the fief's economy has faced mounting challenges. Initially minor, these issues have now spiraled into full-blown crisis. Many believed his daughter, the late Duchess Anastasia Roseline Sinclair—convicted of murder and sentenced to death—would have been a promising ruler. But her execution led to the rise of her former husband, Duke Aaron Dinkley, who shamelessly married her stepsister, Lady Luciana, just two weeks after the sentencing. The public suspects a calculated ploy for power. Since the new regime took control, chaos has followed—especially with the disappearance of the Blue Diamond Roses, the fief's and the world's most precious stones. Their absence has crippled both the local and kingdom-wide economy. Protestors claim the Heavens are punishing Florence for its corrupt, adulterous rulers, and demand their removal..."
The broadcast played on in the luxurious sitting room.
A man in his early sixties sat on a white sofa, watching the screen. He wore a crisp white short-sleeved shirt, cream slacks, and matching shoes. His short, wavy black hair was streaked with grey, a sign of age. His black eyes were sharp, his nose defined, and his lips plush and pink.
Footsteps echoed.
He turned.
Ariel approached in slow, deliberate steps.
She bowed slightly in greeting.
He acknowledged her with a nod, turned off the television, and rose to his feet. Without a word, he walked into the adjacent room.
Ariel followed.
They entered a small dining room—glass table trimmed in black and gold, surrounded by six matching wooden chairs.
The table was a feast.
Freshly baked bread, toast, waffles, pancakes, biscuits, muffins, fruits, and cereal filled the air with mouthwatering aromas.
Ariel's stomach growled as she sat, ready to indulge.
But just as she reached for a plate of waffles, a hand slid it away and replaced it with a bowl of porridge.
She turned.
Sylvia stood beside her, eyes stern.
'Really? Are you serious?' Ariel growled inwardly, her glare sharp as daggers.
Sylvia returned the look with a smile.
'Old witch,' Ariel cursed silently.
"Eat," Duke Raymond murmured. "You're still recovering. Solid food after a fever can upset your stomach."
He poured himself coffee and bit into a warm muffin.
Ariel glared at him, for showing off, grumbling under her breath as she took a spoonful of the bland porridge. The taste made her gag.
Raymond noticed her twisted expression and smirked.
Ariel's eyes flared.
'Why don't you try eating this crap, old man, and see if you're still smirking.' She growled inwardly.
"This is what you get for being reckless. That's all for now, Sylvia. Thank you," Raymond said, dismissing the maid.
Ariel frowned and continued eating.
For a while, silence reigned—only the soft clink of cutlery breaking the stillness.
Then—
"You know…" Raymond began. "When I found you on that dirt road, on my way to visit my ancestral burial ground near the Cursed Battlefield—the resting place of the wicked and condemned—you were naked. Covered in goring scars and black dirt. You looked vulnerable… and scared. Unsure if you were truly alive or not."
Ariel froze.
That memory haunted her.
She could still feel the crows pecking at her flesh, their claws slicing through her skin, their squawks echoing in her ears.
Her grip tightened around the spoon. Her body trembled—rage and trauma surging through her. It was a horrific experience for her and the more she remembered it, the more her hunger for revenge grew.
Raymond saw the shift.
He sighed.
"If you remember that day clearly, then I advise you—think before you act. Recklessness will undo everything you've fought for. All your effort to rise from the ashes and defying the will of death will be for nothing."
He wiped his hands and mouth, then continued.
"I didn't save you that day, to help you get revenge, only to see you waste all your efforts by being shot down by petty gangsters from the slums. We're close, Ariel. So close to burning the world down for what they did to us. Don't let recklessness ruin that. Understand?"
Ariel looked at him and nodded softly.
"Good. Finish your food and meet me in the library."
He stood and left the room.
Ariel slowly finished her meal.
Then rose.
And followed him.
.....
The library was a majestic sight—books stacked to the brim, gilded in shimmers of black, gold, and silver. Knowledge whispered from every shelf, and Ariel longed to explore them all.
But her new role didn't allow it.
Lady Ariel Benedict Fortmore hated books. She preferred social media trends to dusty tomes.
Back when she was Anastasia, she'd spent hours in the Sinclair library—reading, rereading, absorbing everything about her Duchy, her kingdom, and the romantic classics that gave her comfort after her parents died.
Miranda had stripped away every other joy, every source of solace, under the guise of protecting her from becoming "uncultured" and ruining the fief.
That evil bitch.
She would pay.
She would regret everything.
Ariel spotted Raymond at the far end of the room, eyeing a bookshelf with quiet intensity.
He turned as her footsteps approached.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
Ariel raised a brow. "Ready for what?"
Raymond didn't answer.
Instead, he punched in a code on a hidden drawer and pulled out a small briefcase.
Ariel stepped closer.
"If you truly want to crush your enemies," he said, "You need to gain more power. By getting a taste of the forbidden fruit."
The briefcase clicked open.
Inside: a sleek gun, tiny earpieces, a small vial of yellowish liquid, and a ring.
"What is all this?" Ariel asked.
"Exactly what you see," Raymond replied.
"The gun doubles as a stun grenade—twist the trigger slightly to the right. The earpieces are for communication and can emit a sleep-inducing frequency. The ring is elegant, yes—but it's also a spy tool. A microchip camera is embedded inside. Tap it three times to activate. The vial contains a rare perfume that renders you invisible to heat detectors. Your target is bedroom number three, third hallway, at the West Wing ."
He closed the briefcase and met her gaze.
"A masquerade ball will be held at the palace in a few days. It marks the beginning of the Royal Bride Selection Season. The Crown Prince will choose his bride—the future queen of the kingdom."
He stepped closer.
"And you… are going to be that queen."
What?" Asked Ariel blinking trying to register what Raymond just said. "But that can't be, I am a daughter of a lowly Duke. I would have had the chance to compete if I was still the future Duchess of Florence. Right now they won't accept me. Lisboa is regarded as a fief in the lower rank and unworthy to complete in the Royal Bride selection season."
Raymond sighed.
"My sources say a member of the Royal Family is engaged in an...illicit affair. They meet in room three, third hallway at the West Wing, during palace events. They would slip out as people enjoy the event. Your job, plant the ring in the room. Retrieve the footage. We'll use it to bend the rules."
He placed his hands on her shoulders.
"The only way to defeat your enemies… is to become a more powerful enemy. The Crown Prince is the most feared man in the kingdom—and the world. If you become his… you'll be unstoppable. You'll have access to destroy them all. And they'll never see it coming."
Ariel pondered his words.
He was right.
Lisboa was a lowly fief. Florence and Fortshire were the backbone and anchor of the kingdom. Too far out of reach for a lowly fief to wage war against. Just like what Raymond said, she needed to gain more power. And if it means being the Queen of the world's most powerful kingdom then so be it.
"Okay. I'll do it," she said, her voice firm, her resolve sealed.
Raymond smiled.
"Good. Get some rest. We leave for the Kingdom capital tonight."
Ariel nodded, turned, and walked out of the library.
Raymond watched her disappear through the doorway.
Then he pulled out his phone and dialed.
"Hello."
"Tell the Sect the first phase of the plan is in motion."
"Understood."
He ended the call, placed the briefcase back in the drawer, and walked to the window overlooking the ocean.
The waves shimmered under the morning light.
"Erisa…" he whispered.
********
Spoiler alert!!
"I didn't choose you to be my queen, Red." Daniel remarked. As he sat on the bed, clad only in a dark red robe. His chiseled chest glistening beneath it. His eight pack muscles flexing under the dim lighting of the room. His hair was wet, flowing down like thick strands of silk.
His eyes shiny like smelted copper as he locked his eyes on her.
"You're the one, who willingly walked into the lion's den. So don't blame me if I become merciless.."
His eyes slightly glowed as he said those words. Before his lips curled in a seductive smirk.