Anastasia couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Her eyes remained fixed on the entrance to the ballroom, silently willing Aaron or Leticia to walk through and soothe the unease twisting in her chest.
But the doors stayed closed.
She shifted her gaze toward Miranda, seated with practiced elegance yet utterly disengaged. The woman was typing on her phone—boldly, carelessly—despite the fact that the event was being broadcast live across the entire kingdom. Everyone else was attentive, reverent. Miranda, as always, was an exception.
As if sensing Anastasia's stare, Miranda lifted her eyes and met her gaze. A small, smug smirk curled her lips before she returned to her screen.
Heat flared in Anastasia's chest.
Brazen witch.
'It doesn't matter,' she thought, jaw tightening. 'Once I'm crowned Duchess of Florence, I'll deal with her—and her spoiled, rotten daughter, Leticia. I will make them pay for what they did to me these past few years. They will pay. And neither of them will ever touch my family's inheritance. I'll make sure of it.'
Her thoughts were interrupted by the Priest's voice.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, her Ladyship Anastasia Roseline Sinclair will recite her oath as she is sworn in as the ruler of the Duchy of Florence. My lady."
He gestured for her to turn and face him, holding the golden scepter adorned with the Blue Diamond Rose at its crest.
"My lady, please say the oath."
Anastasia inhaled deeply, steadying herself. Her eyes swept the room one last time.
Still no sign of them.
But just then...
The ballroom doors opened.
And there he was.
Aaron.
The love of her life.
His dark hair shimmered beneath the chandelier's glow, his black eyes sparkling like polished obsidian. A sharp nose, plush pink lips, and a jawline carved with quiet strength—he was every inch the noble heir. His toned physique was sculpted beneath a dark green suit, the emblem of Fortshire embroidered proudly on his jacket: a white bird nestled on an olive branch, with golden wheat beneath it.
He walked with deliberate grace toward his seat beside his parents and settled there, calm and composed.
Anastasia's heart eased.
She hadn't wanted to begin without her husband. This moment—this oath—wasn't just about her succession. It was about their union. Their future. She wanted him to witness it, to feel the weight of their shared destiny. Florence and Fortshire, side by side. Ruling in harmony.
She stepped forward took a deep breath.
"I, Lady Anastasia Roseline Sinclair," she began, voice steady and clear, "hereby make this oath in the presence of the Heavens, in the presence of my family, in the presence of the King in absentia, and in the presence of the good people of the Duchy of Florence and the kingdom of Flambodia.
I hereby succeed my father, the late Duke Alexander Philip Sinclair of Florence, as the new Duchess.
I promise to rule with integrity, loyalty, perseverance, and honor—both to the King of Flambodia and to the people of Florence and the kingdom.
I vow to protect my people from those who seek to destroy our peace, and I will not turn a blind eye to corruption, deception, or treason against my Duchy or the kingdom.
I shall judge with transparency and deliver justice to my people, for as long as I hold power.
So may the Heavens help me."
She spoke with unwavering resolve, each word etched into her heart like a sacred anthem. A song of duty. A promise of protection. A vow to stand firm—even if the world turned against her.
The Priest stepped forward.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he declared, "in the presence of the Heavens, the King, the Sinclair family, and the people of Florence and Flambodia, I—appointed by the Heavens and the Royal Seal—hereby crown Lady Anastasia Roseline Sinclair as the new ruler of the Duchy of Florence. May she rule until the end of time."
He placed the succession crown gently on her head—a golden circlet adorned with Blue Diamond Roses, glistening like stars.
Anastasia bowed slightly as the crown settled into place.
The Priest gestured for her to turn and face the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "I present to you—her Ladyship, Duchess Anastasia Roseline Sinclair of Florence! All rise and hail the Duchess!"
"Hail the Duchess! Hail! Hail! Hail the Duchess! Hail! Hail!"
The room erupted in thunderous applause, voices echoing like a chorus of triumph.
Anastasia's heart swelled with pride.
The first ceremonial task of the night was complete.
And soon… it would be time.
Time for the consummation.
Time to become one with the man she loved.
She could hardly wait.
...
Moonlight spilled across the marble courtyard, casting soft shadows over trimmed hedges and glistening fountains. Anastasia stood beneath the archway, her crown still nestled atop her fiery red hair, her thoughts swirling like wind through the garden.
One thing was clear—her anticipation for the night's final ceremony was growing.
She didn't hear Monica approach until her best friend's voice broke the silence.
"Anastasia! Hey, sister-in-law," Monica greeted warmly, wrapping her in a hug.
"Monica! Oh… I didn't hear you," Anastasia replied, surprised but smiling.
"How could you? You've just stepped into the bigger circle. Your mind must be spinning with all the new possibilities. Anyway—you did it. And you looked like a goddess up there."
Anastasia smiled faintly. "Thank you. I just wish it felt more… complete."
Monica snorted. "What? Because of Aaron?"
Anastasia nodded gently. "He arrived late. And Leticia didn't show at all. It's not like her to miss a chance to be seen. Just like her mother she always loves chasing the spotlight, acting like the true heiress."
Monica glanced around. "Or maybe she didn't want to be seen tonight. It must've stung, watching you take center stage. Her ego probably couldn't handle it. But don't worry—tonight is yours. Shine like you own it, because you absolutely do."
"Indeed she does."
The voice came from Duke Andrew and Duchess Catherine, who stepped into the courtyard with warm but measured expressions.
Duke Andrew offered a slight bow, which Anastasia returned with a graceful curtsey. "Congratulations, my dear. Florence couldn't ask for a finer Duchess. Your father would be proud."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Anastasia said. "I hope to honor his legacy and strengthen the unity between our fiefs."
Duchess Catherine chuckled softly. "You already have, my dear. We couldn't be happier to have you as our daughter-in-law. May the Heavens bless your reign with wisdom and grace."
Anastasia met her gaze. "Thank you, Mother."
Just then, the rhythmic tap of a cane echoed across the courtyard.
Grandma Felistus arrived, her presence commanding yet tender.
"Alright, alright—pleasantries are over," she said with a playful huff. "If I may steal a moment with my granddaughter, please. You'll have plenty of time to fuss over her later."
Everyone chuckled, but Anastasia's smile lingered longer.
"Come here, my child." Grandma Felistus pulled her into a warm embrace. "Congratulations. Alex and Stephanie would be so proud."
Tears stung Anastasia's eyes at the mention of her parents. "Thank you, Grandma."
"It's alright, child." Felistus cupped her face gently. "You look beautiful. Just like your mother. Come—I have something to show you."
They left the courtyard and entered the mansion, the quiet echo of their footsteps trailing behind.
Inside, Grandma Felistus handed Anastasia a small blue velvet box.
"Your father wanted you to have this—after your succession ball."
Anastasia took a deep breath and opened it.
Inside lay a stunning Blue Diamond Rose—darker than any she'd seen before. It glowed faintly, a soft blue light pulsing as she held it. Unbeknownst to her, the glow seeped into her wrist, her veins shimmering briefly before fading.
"It's beautiful…" Anastasia whispered.
"Yes," Felistus said. "This is the first Blue Diamond Rose your great-great-grandfather, Maxwell Richard Sinclair, discovered. In a cave during the Great War, 150 years ago. That jewel earned him the title of Duke from King Anthony the First. It's been in our family ever since.
Your grandfather used to say it wasn't Maxwell who found the jewel—but the jewel that found him. As if it chose him. The moment he touched it, the cave lit up with the glow of other Blue Diamond Roses. Since then, Florence has never run dry of them. They became our sovereign symbol—our emblem of wealth and power."
"Mmm… I see. But what about the cave? Is it true only someone from the Sinclair bloodline can access it? Is that why no one's found it since Father died?"
"I believe so," Felistus replied. "If that's true… then your brother Nathaniel could find it too."
Anastasia felt a wave of revulsion rise in her chest. The thought of her half-brother accessing the cave—of Miranda using him to steal the family's legacy—was unbearable. And if Aunt Gabriella, the witch, also discovers the truth…
No. She wouldn't allow it. Not while she lived and breathed.
"This secret must remain hidden," she thought. "I'll protect it. I swear it."
"Don't worry, my child," Felistus said gently. "You're Duchess now. You have the power to guard our legacy from greedy hands. But a word of advice—guard your heart with wisdom and grace. Be careful who you keep close. You never know when one might turn into a wolf and devour it."
Anastasia raised an eyebrow, sensing something deeper in her grandmother's words. She opened her mouth to ask—but Felistus cut her off.
"Oh look… the moon is rising," she said, pointing to the window.
"Now go find that husband of yours. It's harvest moon, child. Time to seal the union—and remind Fortshire why Florence leads."
She winked.
Anastasia felt heat creep into her cheeks. She looked down shyly, placed the jewel back in its box, and stood to leave.
"Good night, Grandma. I'll see you tomorrow."
Felistus nodded, watching her go.
Then she turned to the window, her voice barely a whisper.
"Oh Alex… protect your child. I beg you."
Her gaze lingered on a framed photo of her son—Anastasia's father—smiling in his succession robes. She clutched her chest as if in pain. Then her gaze returned to the glorious site of the Harvest Moon. Although tonight it seems to be tinged with a red glow.
A bad sign.
.....
Warning the following scene contains some mature content. Readers advised to read with caution or skip the part.
...
The candles flickered gently in the dimly lit room, casting soft shadows across the walls. Rose petals lay scattered like autumn leaves—on the floor, across the bed, and nestled between folds of silk. The air was rich with the scent of flowers, and delicate smoke curled upward from a small incense burner, weaving through the room like threads of longing.
Anastasia sat quietly on the edge of the bed.
She wore a red lace ensemble—delicate, sheer, and daring enough to stir the imagination, yet modest enough for a first night. The fabric clung to her skin like a whisper, hinting at the curves beneath without revealing too much.
She had considered something bolder, but tonight was sacred. Her first time. And she wanted it to be beautiful, not brazen.
Her eyes kept drifting to the wall clock, her lips curled in a soft smile. Every tick brought her closer to the moment she'd dreamed of—the moment Aaron would walk through the door and finally make her his.
Creak.
The door opened.
Anastasia lifted her gaze.
There he was.
Aaron.
The love of her life.
His dark hair shimmered under the candlelight, and his black eyes gleamed like polished onyx. A red robe draped over his sculpted frame, accentuating every line of his muscular physique. He looked like a warrior god stepped out of legend—powerful, graceful, and hers.
Her heart raced as he approached, each step deliberate, each glance filled with heat.
"Were you waiting long, love?" Aaron asked, his voice low and husky, laced with seduction.
Anastasia shook her head gently. "No, my love. I didn't mind waiting for you," she replied, her voice soft and warm.
"Good," he murmured, climbing onto the bed and leaning closer.
Anastasia felt like a huge wave of butterflies were fluttering in the pool of her stomach. It was a feeling she had never felt before.
As Aaron leaned in closer, the sensation increased. She could feel like her insides were melting as she took in the sight of him. His masculine scent accompanied with the scent of shower gel, drove her mind crazy.
Anastasia felt like her body was hit with electricity the moment that Aaron touched her thigh. Her heart beat thumped louder as he leaned in to kiss her whilst his hand roamed up her thigh and inside her outfit.
This is it. The moment I have been waiting for. Oh..it feels so electric that I want to scream.
Anastasia's breath hitched and her body shuddered the moment she felt Aaron's hand inside her underwear. He started placing kisses on her nape and on top of her breasts.
Anastasia closed her eyes to lean into the moment. She felt like the adrenaline was making her feel lighter and lighter. She reached out her hands inside his robes and started roaming them around his chest. Feeling every contour of his chiseled muscled chest and warmth emitting from his body.
She hissed as she felt heat pooling beneath her and she felt wet. A sign that something needed attention and fast. She felt a strange animalistic sound wanting to tore out of her mouth the moment she felt, Aaron's fingers brush under there. But she held it in. But she didn't know for how long because the moment was heating up and fast.
As the moment deepened, the warmth between them began to simmer.
Then—
"Aaah!"
Anastasia gasped, her body jolting as a sharp pain pierced through her back—like a needle dipped in fire.
Her breath hitched. The burning spread.
She lifted her head slowly, confusion clouding her vision as the pain intensified.
Aaron stopped kissing her.
He raised his gaze to meet hers—and smirked.
A dark, twisted smirk.
Then he lifted his hand.
A tiny syringe gleamed between his fingers.
Anastasia's eyes widened, her breath growing shallow. Her chest tightened. Each inhale felt like a battle.
"What's wrong, darling?" Aaron murmured, his voice low and syrupy. "Don't worry. It's okay."
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.
Then he licked it.
"Don't worry… the fun has just begun."
His chuckle was soft, but it echoed like thunder in her ears.
Anastasia tried to speak—but her tongue felt heavy, useless. She tried to move—but her limbs refused to obey.
The flickering candles blurred before her eyes.
Her vision dimmed.
Her body went cold.