From Anastasia (The Anastasia Series Book 3)

by Jordi Burton

  Gods and Angels, she wished her mother was around. Anarose would know what to say, what to do, to help her make this decision. As it was, her mother was unconscious, still recovering from Adrian’s torture.

  Anastasia’s stomach soured. That was not the proper train of thought for this sort of evening. She needed to focus on the task at hand: getting through the night without snubbing her family’s efforts.

  Turning to Gerrard, she forced herself to focus on him. “What about your parents, are you close with them?”

  “I am.” He shrugged again. “We all have dinner together once a week. My sisters portal to town and we just get together and talk. It’s been a family tradition for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, all of my cousins would come, too. But now, they live too far away for it to be plausible. They come when they can.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  He gave her a sheepish smile. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  A young man to their left cleared his throat. It seemed her next suitor was ready. Anastasia and Gerrard slowed, and Anastasia turned to her next partner. Gerrard bowed, pressing a hesitant kiss to her hand.

  “Perhaps I shall see you again this evening,” he said, and then moved away.

  Her new partner, a young man she hadn’t seen before, bowed gracefully. He was dressed in the traditional clothes of the east and wore his family’s crest emblazoned on the front of his tunic. He was nice enough, but Anastasia quickly forgot his name.

  And so the night went on in a barrage of young men. There was Durrik of the riverlands, and Samin of the Sand Isles, and Fen from Talrom. There were gardeners, armorers, musicians, and knowledgists; healers and tradesmen, dancers and potters. And then there were their sisters, cousins, and friends; an endless parade of names and faces, swimming along a background of food and drink. Anastasia struggled to keep them all straight in her head.

  Taking a breather, she stopped at the banquet table. There were a number of Jacquelinian delicacies, but nothing really drew her eye. She absently picked at some fruit, just glad to be still for a moment.

  “Anastasia Moneth.”

  She turned to see Zethus, Prince of the Demigods, standing behind her. A circlet of gilded leaves bound back his wild curls, matching the golden fasteners on his toga-like chiton and the bracelets on his biceps. He didn’t seem too pleased to be standing in her presence, but, then again, Zethus was never too pleased about anything.

  “I didn’t realize you were here.”

  He eyed her. “I received an invitation.”

  “Sure.”

  Unsure of what else to say, she turned back to the table. Zethus came up beside her, plucking a honeyed fig from a platter. As he licked his fingers, he regarded her.

  “Do I not get a dance?”

  She rounded on him. “I wasn’t sure you were my biggest fan.”

  “I don’t dislike you, Anastasia. I never have. We just don’t see eye to eye on politics. That can be easily remedied.”

  She tilted her head. “And what if I don’t like you?”

  He wagged his brows suggestively. “That, too, can be easily remedied.”

  A full-bellied laugh burst from her lips, much to her own surprise. Zethus chuckled, taking another fig. Shaking her head, Anastasia turned to him and held out her hand.

  “Zethus Spiros, would you care for a dance?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m particularly in the mood, now. I don’t enjoy having to work for my affections.”

  She turned away, as though leaving. “That’s fine. I don’t particularly care for the chase.”

  He came up behind her, grinning mischievously. “Oh, but dear Anastasia, that’s the best part.”

  She rounded on him and he faltered, stumbling back a step. With a grin, she reached around him to grab another piece of fruit from the table. She brushed his arm with her sleeve, stepping close so he was pinned between her and the table.

  “Is it?” she questioned, her voice low. “Is it really the best part?”

  With a playful wink she moved away from Zethus, popping the grape into her mouth. Another song played, and more couples littered the floor. She hoped at least one person found a suitor here tonight. Someone in this room deserved happiness. Just as she thought it, however, her aunt appeared. She’d certainly taken her time getting ready, and she looked it, draped in jewels and ice green silk.

  As she descended the stairs from the balcony, moving toward her, Anastasia wondered at the likelihood of escape. But she was weighted down with skirts, and the guards at the doors had no such hindrance.

  “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” her aunt asked.

  “Sure.”

  Celia frowned. “You don’t have to look so surly about it. A lot of these men are quite handsome and have strong backgrounds.”

  “Sure,” she repeated.

  Her aunt frowned. “Just narrow down your pick, Anastasia.”

  Anastasia started. “What do you mean?”

  “You need to offer a list of candidates to the Privy Council and the Court tomorrow morning. Those men will be invited back, and so on, until we pick an appropriate future King.” At Anastasia’s shocked expression, Celia added, “You really didn’t think we’d throw this extravagant ball for no return, did you?”

  Of course she had. She’d expected the ball to end, the suitors to leave, and for her to be firmly single until she figured out what to do about William. Turning, she looked up at the balcony. Her father chatted amiably with his brother, seemingly unaware of the position he’d put her in. Though they were giving her some say in her next husband, it wasn’t much. The Privy Council had hand-picked these suitors, vetted their backgrounds, undoubtedly looked into their family histories.

  Smoothing her expression, she scanned the room. One of the men here would likely be her husband, whether she wanted them or not. They would be the future King, the father of her daughter. The thought made her stomach roil.

  “Narrow it down to at least twenty-five candidates,” Celia murmured.

  Twenty-five? She didn’t even know twenty-five of these guys’ names, much less anything of value about them or their character. Gods and Angels.

  Disheartened, Anastasia moved away from her aunt. The band struck up another waltz; the sound suddenly grated on her ears. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself one brief moment. She could do this. She’d accepted an arranged marriage with Aatu, and that had turned out alright—for the most part. All she needed was time. If she went along with her family’s plan, she’d get the time she needed.

  She only hoped it would be enough.

  Opening her eyes, she approached Gerrard. He stood with his sister and a handful of others, all of whom turned to stare at her as she approached. Only Gerrard didn’t look. He kept his back resolutely turned to her, even though she was sure he knew she was there. She found that endearing.

  Reaching out, she tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and genuine happiness touched his eyes. “Princess Anastasia.”

  She cocked her head, offering a smile. “How would you like that second dance?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  F our weeks, two more balls, and three more seizures had come and gone. Anastasia’s list of potential husbands was getting smaller and smaller, whittled away by her Aunt Celia’s insistent needling. Now, only ten names remained, but Anastasia couldn’t care less.

  It felt like the realms were holding their breath. More bodies had been found, in exactly the same manner as the others. Homes were still being rebuilt, families reunited. Mass graves had been dug and filled; mourning clothes seemed to be a new uniform. William still hadn’t been found, Chris was still in prison, the Shadows were still frozen, her mother was still unconscious, and more and more warriors were being rounded up as deserters.

  Anastasia found herself in her mother’s study, pouring over stacks of parchments, struggling to find a way to prove William’s innocence and find a connection between the victims.


  William had been found guilty of conspiracy to commit treason, but treason on whom? Surely not her, not her family. She reread notes she’d gotten from Sira Vellen, the royal judge. They weren’t very conclusive. Which meant that it had been an inside job. One of the Representatives—or more—had decided they needed William out of the way, permanently. But who? And why? Because of what he knew of the alternate universes? Or because of his relationship with her?

  She sighed. The victims weren’t easy, either. She’d thrown her Ancients theory out the window as soon as the other bodies were found. Each one was from a different realm. From what she’d learned from Knowledgist Woodsman’s studies on the Ancients, each realm wasn’t represented. So that meant something else was connecting them.

  Leaning back in her chair, she studied her list of potential husbands. They all came from old Nadmilise families, ones that could trace their roots back to the founding of old cities. Maybe she had a type, after all. The thought brought a bitter laugh to her lips. As well as—

  Gods and Angels, why hadn’t she seen it before? She returned to the list of the victims. Ourla, and the elemental girl from the Center Realm…these people all came from ancient families, ones with pure blood. They could trace their families back to the founding of realms, not just cities. That’s why their DNA was special. That’s why it could be used in a ritual, even though most of them couldn’t do magic. Shuffling through parchments, she searched for her aunt’s original list of potential suitors.

  “Lili!” she called. “Lili, get the pageboy and my aunt!”

  Circling the names of the men with ancient Nadmilise roots, she rifled around the desk for the list of families in Jacqueline. A census had been taken recently, as a way to reunite lost family members post-Chaos. It would have a list of the old families, and ancestral homes.

  She was a quarter of the way through the census when her aunt hurried into the room, a pageboy on her heels.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Celia demanded. “I don’t appreciate being summoned like a dog.”

  Anastasia shoved the list of potential husbands at her aunt. “You need to round up these men and bring them to the castle.”

  Her aunt’s face lit up. “Have you narrowed down your selections already?”

  “They’re in danger.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Anastasia turned to Lili. “Get Warrior Worris in here, as well. We need to—”

  Celia grabbed her, forcing her to look over at her. “You will tell me what is going on here, Anastasia. Do not dismiss me.”

  She really looked at her aunt then. Her icy green eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, her usually pristine white blond curls disheveled. She was afraid. For all her bravado, for all her orders and rules and lists, she didn’t know what to do. And she was looking to Anastasia for answers.

  “The murders,” she explained. Her aunt’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “The killer is going after ancient families, ones with ties to the founding of the realms.”

  “Then why these particular people?”

  Anastasia motioned to the stack of letters on the desk. “The Nadmilise are the only ones left. The sorcerers, werewolves, elementals, ghosts… a member of their ancient families, their pure bloodlines, has already been killed. Only the Nadmilise remain. We must do whatever we can to protect these people, to prevent the killer from finishing their job.”

  Celia nodded, her mouth a flat line. With a clear directive, she seemed to have composed herself. Anastasia was glad; she couldn’t be the only one here holding it together.

  Lili cleared her throat. “Shall I send for Warrior Worris?”

  Anastasia nodded. “Then come help me go through the census. We need to round up all the ancient families.”

  Her aunt shifted her weight. “What shall I do?”

  “Contact the men on this list and have them gather in the throne room.”

  Nodding, Celia hurried off. The pageboy, who Anastasia had even forgotten was there, stood huddled in the corner. If he had been nervous around her before, he was downright frightened now. She wished she had the time and patience to sit with him, help him feel more comfortable, but she didn’t.

  As it was, she wordlessly handed him a letter. His hand trembled as he took it. Lili ushered him out of the room, giving him instructions on where to have the letter sent once he reached the royal messenger. When Lili returned, she sat across from Anastasia and took the bottom half of the census, working her way through the names. Grateful, Anastasia resumed her own work, scrawling names on the parchment in front of her.

  By the time Celia returned, having contacted all the men on the list, Anastasia and Lili had finished. Their compiled list was, thankfully, shorter than they’d anticipated.

  “Would you send word to these families as well?” Anastasia asked of her aunt.

  Celia nodded. “Of course. The others are awaiting you in the throne room.”

  A knock sounded on the door and one of the guards announced Warrior Worris. Her dark eyes took in their harried states, and the papers scattered across the desk, before they finally alighted on Anastasia.

  “You asked to see me, Your Highness?”

  Anastasia inclined her head. “There will be people arriving in the throne room today. They need to be protected at all costs. And I will need you to up the guard that escorts me.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  “I cannot tell you of the threat we are under, for I don’t know it myself. Just know it should be formidable.”

  With a nod, Warrior Worris exited the room. Anastasia was glad it was so simple with her, giving directions and having them followed. She only wished other parts of her life were the same.

  Handing the list of names to Celia, Anastasia followed Warrior Worris from the room. Lili hurried along after her, shouldering her way through the guards. As they headed for the throne room, Anastasia wondered what she would say to the people. She didn’t know how long they would need to be under guard, any more than she knew the threat they were facing. There were certainly enough rooms in the castle to house everyone, but that was no way to live a life.

  They wouldn’t be able to go to work, attend social occasions, see friends. They would, for all intents and purposes, be prisoners in the castle. Though it was rather posh, it was still imprisonment. They couldn’t sustain that long-term.

  As they rounded the corner to the throne room, they ran smack-dab into Vlad. Startled, Anastasia just stared at him. He looked tired, and rumpled, but that was to be expected with a new baby. Still, she’d only ever seen Vlad without a cravat once in all the years they’d known each other, and that had been at the pajama party of sorts they’d had with Mohan and Aatu.

  “Anastasia,” he said, surprise coloring his voice.

  “Vlad.”

  “What are—what are you doing here?” He gave her a wan smile. “I mean, of course you’re here. You live here.”

  She frowned. “Were you not looking for me?”

  “I was.”

  She blinked.

  He tried again. “Do you have a moment? I need to talk to you about something.”

  Turning, she waved Lili and her guards ahead. They made their way to the throne room without her. As they opened the door, Anastasia saw the men gathered within. It was almost humorous, seeing them all standing there waiting for her, like a ball without the dress clothes and music.

  “What’s going on?”

  Vlad twisted his hands together. “There’s something I—we—Ostana and I would like to ask of you.”

  Anastasia pursed her lips. She hadn’t been naïve enough to believe that the dinner was the last time she’d see Ostana. She and Vlad were to get married—despite the lie that they’d already done so, to keep their son from being a bastard—and Anastasia and Vlad would be on the High Council together someday. Plus, they were friends. But she hadn’t expected for Ostana to be back in her life so soon.

  “What is it?” she deadpann
ed.

  “We want you to be our son’s godmother.”

  She flinched. “What’s his name?”

  “Aagney Vali Roza. With a double ‘A’ in honor of…” he trailed off, but Anastasia knew who he meant. Aatu.

  Blowing out a breath, she turned away from Vlad. She was honored, flattered, that they wanted her to be the godmother of their child. And if life had panned out like they planned, she would be that little boy’s aunt. But life hadn’t gone that way, and Ostana was a big part of the reason why.

  Could she put that aside for the sake of the child? Could she ignore Ostana’s actions, her hand in her brother’s death? And now that she’d had the baby, hadn’t she said she was going to turn Ostana in?

  “Look, I know—I know our families aren’t close. But Aatu would’ve…”

  “He would’ve wanted us to be in the baby’s life.”

  Vlad nodded. “Will you consider it?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Anastasia nodded, and Vlad wrapped her in an embrace. As he pulled back, he flushed. She knew how important it was to him in light of him being so emotional with her. Viireans were not known for their openness and emotionality, to say the least. A small part of her felt better about her decision to be godmother in light of it.

  “There will be a formal ceremony day after next.”

  She huffed. “What would you have done if I’d said no?”

  “Ostana was sure you wouldn’t.”

  With that, Vlad turned to go. Anastasia watched after him, her stomach souring. Ostana had been a good friend to her at one point. Now, all that was between them was bitterness.

  She made her way to the throne room.

  The men gathered within turned to stare at her as she entered. They all had a hungry look in their eyes, knowing just how close they were to becoming her husband and the future King of Jacqueline. It saddened her to see it. She couldn’t help but think of William. He’d never wanted anything from her, other than honesty and companionship. He’d stuck by her not only because it was his duty, but because he wanted to. He believed in her, and not just because she was the Princess.