(Anastasia POV)
The morning light, if that's what it could be called here, slid through the windows like smoke, more suggestion than sunrise. Warm, but not real. I stretched, surprised to find myself… rested. In this place. In his place. The bathroom was obscene in its indulgence. Marble counters. Sinks carved deep into stone. A shower so large it felt like I'd stepped into the belly of a waterfall. The water adjusted instantly to my preference, cascading in perfect rhythm over my skin. Relaxing. Suspiciously perfect.
When I stepped out, towel wrapped around me, I caught sight of the mirror. I refused to look. The runes were always there. Beautiful, they said. Sacred. A divine masterpiece. A lie carved into my skin. I turned away. Dried off. Dressed fast. The wardrobe was exactly what I expected: silks, lace, gowns meant for being seen, not lived in. His taste. His joke. His theater. I ignored it all, digging until I found something useful. Pants, a shirt with sleeves long enough to hide most of the truth. Gloves would be too obvious. My hands would have to remain what they were: Ahyona's precise cruelty on display. I tugged the sleeves down anyway. Maybe he wouldn't notice. Or maybe he would, and that would amuse him too.
The mansion had changed overnight. Last night's onyx and flame was gone. Now, white stone floors, clean, clinical walls. Stark. Cold. As if the house itself couldn't decide what it wanted to be. Ever-shifting. Ever-chaotic. Just like him. I wandered. Parlors bloomed open as I passed. Libraries with books that floated. A hall of mirrors that reflected things that weren't real. But nowhere, no matter how far I walked, was there a kitchen. I walked for what felt like hours.
My stomach growled. Irritation simmered. "Where in the hell is the kitchen?"
A door opened immediately to my left. I stared. Then sighed. "Of course."
The kitchen was massive. Sleek counters, a glowing hearth. But what stole my attention was the shrine. To coffee. An entire altar dedicated to caffeine. Espresso machines, siphons, cold brew towers taller than me. Beans from places I didn't know. Syrups. Creamers. A parade of mugs. So the god of chaos had one devotion after all. Coffee. That almost made me smile. Almost.
I chose the simplest option: drip coffee. Strong. Real. A splash of milk. One spoon of sugar. No circus. The warmth spread through my chest like a small rebellion against everything else. The refrigerator, on the other hand, was empty. Predictably. I tilted my head. "Greek yogurt and berries?"
They appeared instantly. I blinked. Then patted the fridge. "Thank you."
The food was simple. Perfect. Exactly what I needed. I ate in silence. Wondering, Does he sleep? Does he ever stop performing? As if the thought conjured him, of course it did, the door swung open.
He strolled in like he owned the realm. (He does.) Hair tousled, the deliberate mess of someone who could look flawless after clawing through a storm. Expression lazy. Smug. Infuriating.
"Hello, Annie darling," he drawled. "Sleep well?"
I sipped my coffee. Nodded. "Yes. I slept great. Thank you."
That made him blink. Brow arched. Gratitude. From me. Real. Not laced in sarcasm. His brain visibly stalled. I love that look. He covers it quickly.
I tilted my head. "And you? Did you sleep well?" That was all he needed.
His grin bloomed like sunrise. "Dearest Annie, I only sleep when I choose to. And last night? I did not choose to." He leaned against the counter like it belonged to him. "No, no, I embarked on a perilous journey. A voyage of epic proportions. Locked in battle with a celestial phoenix over the last drop of divine ambrosia. Flames, lightning, a symphony of power!"
He swept his hand dramatically. "But betrayal! A rogue band of time-traveling sorcerers, jealous of course, ambushed me. They wept at my brilliance. I allowed them to leave with some dignity intact." He sighed heavily, like the tale truly exhausted him. "And that, my dear Annie, is why I did not sleep."
I stared at him. Took another slow sip of coffee. "So… you stayed up doing absolutely nothing."
He gasped, clutching his chest. "How dare you!"
"You could've just said that."
He squinted at me. "You are no fun at all."
I raised my cup in silent cheers. Took another sip. He stared a beat longer. Then smirked. And in that smirk, I saw it. Oh yes. He was going to make a game of me.
⟡⟡༻⟡⟡⟡༺⟡ MALVOR ⟡⟡༻⟡⟡⟡༺⟡
She finished her breakfast with that maddening precision of hers. Last bite of yogurt, spoon set down, one final sip of coffee. Then, without ceremony: "What am I supposed to do today?"
Ah, there it was. An opening. Glorious. I lounged against the counter like the smug cat I am, flashing her my second-most charming smile. The first, of course, is for seduction. This one? Purely engineered for annoyance. "What do you want to do, Annie Doll?"
She hesitated. Just for a second. And I pounced. I live for those tiny cracks in her armor. The flicker of uncertainty. That fragile pause before she snaps it all shut again. Delicious. I clapped my hands together like a child overdosing on chaos-flavored candy.
"Oh, Annie, I know!" Her face shifted instantly into that lovely mix of suspicion and disdain. This was my best pun yet.
"I want you to dress in rags and scrub the floors like Cinderella," I declared, practically vibrating with glee. "Cinder Annie!"
Genius. Absolute genius. She stared at me. Blinked once. Slowly. Then stood, carried her mug to the sink, and set it down with surgical precision. No words. No theatrics. I leaned forward, waiting for the groan, the eye-roll, the bite of her tongue.
Instead, she turned back, perfectly calm. "Sure. Get me a bucket and a brush." I froze mid-smirk. "…Wait, what?" "If that's what you want, I'll do it."
Crack. Right through my grin. That wasn't surrender. That was power. I squinted. "Are you… messing with me right now?"
She shrugged. I staggered back dramatically, clutching my chest. "You absolute monster, Annie! Twisting my own games against me! And here I thought we were bonding."
She exhaled through her nose. Not a laugh, no, no, she'd never give me that. But close. The closest yet. Victory? Loss? Hard to tell. I rolled my shoulders, theatrically recovering.
"Fine. Clearly I can't throw you into menial labor for my amusement. Tragic, really. I'll just have to invent something else."
She crossed her arms. "I thought I was supposed to be yours. Isn't it your job to tell me what to do?"
My grin came back, slow and sharp. "Oh, Annie. I don't tell you what to do. I provide… opportunities for chaos."
Her eyes narrowed. "And if I don't take them?" I shrugged.
"Then I make them more interesting."
She sighed. "That sounds exhausting."
"It is. But it's deeply rewarding," I said, waggling my brows.
She rubbed her temple like I was the migraine made flesh. "I'm going back to my room."
"Don't forget the ash stains, darling!" I called after her. She didn't look back. I leaned against the counter, smirk lingering. She might have won that round. But the next? Oh, the next would be spectacular.
⟡⟡༻⟡⟡⟡༺⟡ Anastasia ⟡⟡༻⟡⟡⟡༺⟡
I slipped back into my room and eased the door shut with a soft click. For a moment I just stood there, letting my eyes roam over the impossible beauty around me. This place was chaos wrapped in marble and velvet; a gorgeous, maddening contradiction that set my teeth on edge. I needed… something that made sense. Silence. Control. A choice that was truly mine.
Books always had my back. They didn't flirt, didn't talk in circles, didn't try to get under my skin with a smirk and a head of scandalous hair. But did this absurd house even have a library?
I stepped into the hallway and glanced left, then right. White stone stretched on forever. Great. "Would you take me to the library?" I asked aloud, feeling a little ridiculous.
For a heartbeat there was nothing. Then—click. A door directly in front of me swung open. I blinked. Of course. The house listened. Useful… and creepy.
Inside, the library took my breath away. Shelves towered up toward a ceiling swallowed by shadow. Leather-bound books, parchment, and volumes wrapped in shimmering material lined the walls. Floating crystal chandeliers cast soft, shifting light. Massive windows revealed swirling galaxies and skies that could never exist anywhere else. It was stunning.
I moved forward, fingers trailing along ancient spines that smelled of ink and magic. "Thank you," I murmured to the empty air. It felt like the right thing to say.
And then the reality of choice hit me. Shelf after shelf, story after story. Where did I even begin when I'd never really been allowed to choose for myself? I swallowed, cleared my throat, and tried, "A romantic fantasy book?"
Three books plopped onto the nearest table, stacked as neatly as if they'd always been there. The top one, The Duke's Sinful Dagger by Callista Wildfire, was familiar. "I've read this one," I told the room softly. "It was excellent." Maybe that bit of information would help it get my taste. I gathered the other two under my arm and turned to go.
Naturally, peace was never an option. Of course, the house probably told him I was awake. Or maybe he's just always watching. Gods are weird like that.