Queen Anastasia was invited to the king’s study that evening.
"Your Majesty," Anastasia said with a bow. She looked graceful in her gown.
"Sit," the king said, studying her. He couldn’t understand what gave her the confidence to request a divorce. After all, when he looked at her, all he saw was a weak woman.
Anastasia walked over and took her seat. There was an air of nobility about her that the king had never noticed in all these months.
"I’ll give you a chance to withdraw your statement from this morning," King Edward said. Though he was prepared to be ruthless, he still knew the value of caution.
"In exchange?" Queen Anastasia asked.
The king looked directly at her. "The royal celebration will not be held. You can adopt the boy under your name. That way, it will make perfect sense when he is named crown prince."
"No," Anastasia shook her head. She would not play the fool. Even without the warnings from her dreams, it would be utterly foolish to accept that child. Now she saw things clearly—there were only two ways to escape her nightmare: either divorce the king and distance herself from his love for his mistress, or destroy the mistress and her son. But she didn’t want blood on her hands. That was why she had chosen the first option.
"Then, what does the queen want?" the king asked, raising his brows. His aura was intimidating, but Anastasia remained composed.
"Your Majesty has broken his promise time and again. All I ask is a royal divorce. I will not continue to stand in the way of you and your lover," Anastasia said with a gentle smile. Her gaze was calm and unwavering.
Her demeanor made the king feel a flicker of guilt—but he quickly suppressed it.
"Then I will give you one last chance to be reasonable and forget this nonsense about divorce..." He paused and looked at her with a ruthless gleam in his eyes. "Otherwise, don’t blame me for not showing mercy," he threatened.
Anastasia felt a shiver run down her spine. His behavior reminded her of her dream—he had been just as cold and merciless there. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ noveⅼfire.net
Though afraid, Anastasia composed herself and stood.
"See you at the royal council tomorrow, Your Majesty," she said, then turned and walked out of the king’s study, doing her best not to show any fear.
Royal Palace – Queen’s Receiving Chamber
The late evening sun cast long golden rays across the marble floor of the queen’s receiving chamber. The mood in the palace was tense, but Queen Anastasia sat quietly by the window, a calm expression masking the storm in her heart.
The doors creaked open, and the chamberlain announced with an uneasy voice, "Your Majesty, Duchess Anita seeks audience."
Anastasia turned her gaze slowly. "Let her in." Since she had come, Anastasia wanted to know her reason.
Duchess Anita swept into the room, her movements graceful, her expression tightly composed. Behind her followed Elizabeth, her steps light, her smile sharp.
"Your Majesty," the duchess curtsied deeply, though her tone lacked warmth. "I come bearing a message from the Duke—your father."
Anastasia inclined her head, saying nothing. Her silence was not new to the duchess. Since Anastasia’s marriage to the king, the duchess had learned to accept her silence and thin smiles.
"The Duke was most concerned upon hearing the rumors from the royal chapel this morning," Anita began, stepping closer. "He wishes to remind you that such decisions as a royal divorce are not to be made in haste or without counsel from your family."
"My family?" Anastasia replied, her voice soft but cutting. "I don’t recall being offered counsel before I was sent to marry the king. I saw no concern or worry when you poisoned me. Don’t forget I am in this situation because of you," Anastasia pointed out.
If she had never been poisoned to begin with, perhaps things would not have turned out this way.
An awkward pause followed. The duchess regained her composure. "How can you say such a thing? I admit I failed to manage my servants well, but I would never harm you," she quickly denied.
Anastasia looked at her, unsurprised by her cowardice. She hadn’t expected her to own up to her actions.
"You are queen. You must learn not to act on emotion. Your actions have consequences beyond your personal grievances," Duchess Anita continued, relieved Anastasia did not press further about the poisoning.
"Grievances?" Anastasia’s lips curved faintly. "You speak as though I were complaining about a stain on a gown. I have endured a year of neglect, humiliation, and betrayal. I have done so in silence. I will not remain silent now."
Elizabeth let out a scoff from where she stood near the door. "So dramatic. You finally found your voice just to throw your crown away."
She hated seeing Anastasia still looking so graceful despite everything. She had followed her mother to witness Anastasia’s fall, but to her surprise, the queen remained composed and elegant.
Elizabeth could not swallow her jealousy—or keep the promise she’d made to her mother to stay quiet.
Anastasia’s eyes turned slowly to her stepsister.
"Tell me, Elizabeth, does it comfort you... seeing me here, standing alone?" Her voice was low and calm. "You wear your satisfaction so plainly."
Elizabeth’s expression faltered briefly, but she quickly masked it with a smirk. "It’s not my fault you were too stupid to keep your husband’s attention. Honestly, what did you expect? That he’d fall madly in love with a quiet, dutiful little wife?"
"Enough, Elizabeth," the duchess said sharply. She regretted trusting her daughter and bringing her along.
"No, let her speak," Anastasia said, rising. She stood graceful and composed. "She thinks I’ve lost because I chose to walk away. But I’ve only just begun to reclaim myself."
Turning back to the duchess, she added, "You may tell the Duke I appreciate his concern. But I will speak for myself at the royal council."
"You’re making a mistake," the duchess said coldly.
"Then let me make it. Don’t stand here pretending to care," Anastasia replied. She would be a fool, if she trusts and hope that her father will help her.
"And dear sister, you’d better hope the young man still wants you after my divorce," she added, glancing at Elizabeth.
Seeing her stepsister’s smile freeze, Anastasia felt satisfied.
She had come to mock her; how could Anastasia let her leave without returning the favor?
"Let’s go," the duchess snapped. She turned and walked out of the chamber, her steps stiff with restrained anger. Elizabeth lingered a moment longer, locking eyes with Anastasia. It was a silent declaration of war; then she turned and followed her mother in silence.
As the door closed behind them, Anastasia exhaled. Her hands trembled slightly, but her face remained calm.
Tomorrow, she would face the royal council.