{Who Wants Her Dead?}
Azriel froze when the words reached him.
The castle had collapsed.
For a moment, the world around him went silent. His breath stalled in his chest, and his vision blurred.
"Azriel… you're not going to like this," Luke said carefully.
Azriel turned slowly.
"What is it?"
"When the building collapsed… Guinevere was inside."
Azriel laughed.
It wasn't relief, It wasn't humor.
It was the sound of something breaking inside a man who had already lost too much.
"That," he said darkly, "is almost poetic."
Luke swallowed. "I wasn't joking. Guinevere was crushed by the building. Her body hasn't been found yet…"
Azriel was already walking away.
Luke looked at Sofia, still asleep inside the chariot, unaware of the chaos that had nearly claimed her life.
"For everyone's sake," Luke whispered, "let's hope she's alright."
Back in the Castle
Azriel stood before the ruins of what had once been elegance and power.
Stone lay in broken heaps. Dust clouded the air.
The scent of destruction clung to everything.
His men searched desperately through the rubble alongside Guinevere's maids, their hands bleeding, their faces strained.
Azriel's jaw tightened, his blood burned.
"How the hell did this happen?" he demanded.
"No one anticipated it," Charles replied.
"I will have the head of everyone who was present today," Azriel growled.
"Brother, please," Rose pleaded. "Calm down. We are doing our best to find her."
"You're searching for her corpse," Azriel snapped.
A sudden scream cut through the air.
Pain.
Azriel's eyes darkened. "Every single one of you will learn the true meaning of pain when I'm done with you."
Then—
"My lady!"
Hannah's voice echoed across the ruins.
Azriel moved before anyone else could react.
He dropped to his knees beside Hannah, brushing away stone and dust with his bare hands. And then he saw her.
Anastasia.
Her skin was pale beneath the dust. Her lashes rested too still against her cheeks.
Azriel's hands trembled as he touched her face.
"No…"
The word barely left his lips.
The ruthless emperor — the man feared by kingdoms — looked like a broken boy kneeling in rubble.
He slid his fingers beneath her nose. A breath, faint but real.
His chest collapsed with relief.
He pulled her into his arms, holding her against him as if the world might try to steal her again.
Tears streamed down his face, unchecked and unashamed.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered.
Her lips moved slightly. Her voice was barely sound.
He pressed his forehead against hers.
"I'm here," he murmured.
He stood with her in his arms and turned to the crowd.
"You are all alive because she is alive," he said coldly.
"Had she been dead, I would have ended your entire bloodline."
No one doubted him.
Azriel carried Anastasia through the palace corridors as if the world itself had lost weight.
Servants pressed against the walls, whispering prayers.
The torches flickered as though afraid to breathe too loudly. Blood stained the hem of her dress.
Dust clung to her hair. She looked unreal in his arms — like something already halfway gone.
He pushed open the doors to his chamber and laid her carefully on the bed, his hands trembling despite every effort to stay composed.
Minutes later, the palace physician arrived, his expression calm, professional, and disturbingly detached — the face of a man who had watched too many lives balance between existence and silence.
He checked her pulse. Her breathing. The bruises along her arms and collarbone.
Azriel stood at the foot of the bed like a condemned man.
"How is she?" he asked, his voice low but breaking beneath the weight of fear.
The physician adjusted his glasses. "Her breathing is stable. Her pulse is normal."
Azriel didn't move. Didn't blink.
Charles stepped forward. "Is she alive?"
The physician looked at him as if the question itself was absurd.
"Of course she is. She's lucky. Nothing is broken. Just bruises. Painful ones — but survivable."
Azriel exhaled for the first time since he had found her.
But relief did not soften his expression.
It sharpened it.
He stared at Anastasia as though the world had dared to harm something sacred.
He looked like a man who would burn kingdoms for less.
"Brother," Rose said gently, touching his arm. "Breathe."
But Azriel didn't hear her.
He was already imagining every possible version of revenge.
Then there was a knock.
Zain entered.
The air shifted instantly.
"Your Majesty," Zain said carefully, "it has been confirmed. Two bodies were found in the debris."
Azriel turned slowly.
The look in his eyes made even Zain regret speaking.
Luke stepped forward. "Couldn't this have waited?"
Charles snapped, "What the hell is wrong with you? Can't you read the room?"
Zain lowered his head. "I thought he should know."
Azriel finally spoke.
"Leave."
Zain hesitated — then obeyed.
The room fell into a heavy silence broken only by Anastasia's shallow breathing.
Azriel walked to her bedside and knelt, taking her hand into his.
"You almost left me," he whispered.
Her fingers twitched — barely, but enough.
Enough to destroy him all over again.
He pressed his forehead to her knuckles.
"They tried to take you from me," he murmured. "And I will make them regret ever breathing."
Rose and Charles exchanged uneasy glances because they knew.
When Azriel loved, he loved with mercy.
But when he protected, he did it without forgiveness and whoever had caused this…
Had just declared war on a king who no longer had anything to lose.
The room was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet — but the kind that felt like everyone was afraid to disturb something fragile.
Anastasia's lashes fluttered Azriel noticed it first.
He was still kneeling beside her bed, his hand wrapped around hers as though letting go would make her vanish.
When her fingers twitched again, his breath caught in his throat.
"Anastasia…" he whispered.
Her brows drew together faintly, as if the world was heavy on her eyelids. Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes.
Light stabbed into her vision. She winced.
"Easy," Azriel murmured, rising just enough to shield her eyes with his hand.
"You're safe."
Her gaze moved sluggishly, unfocused at first. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar.
The air smelled of herbs and polished wood. Her body felt like it had been borrowed by someone else.
"Where…" Her voice was barely sound.
"You're in my chambers," Azriel said.
"Where's Sofia?." She asked, her eyes finally found his and something shifted between them.
She stared at him as if he were not just a man — but an anchor.
"She's fine" He replied.
"You're stayed by my side?," she whispered.
Azriel swallowed. "I never left."
Her fingers tightened weakly around his. "I thought… I thought I was dying."
His jaw clenched. "You almost did."
Rose stepped closer to the bed.
"But you didn't," she said softly. "You're stronger than you think."
Anastasia blinked at her, then at Charles, then back at Azriel.
"Where's Hannah? And Gabriella?" she asked.
Azriel hesitated.
Her eyes darkened slightly. "Tell me."
"They're fine" Rose replied.
"There was an explosion," Charles said carefully. "The west tower collapsed. You were trapped beneath the debris."
Her memory came back in fragments — dust, heat, screams, the weight pressing down on her chest. She shuddered.
Azriel squeezed her hand. "You're safe now."
Anastasia studied his face — the exhaustion, the fury barely restrained beneath his calm.
"You were afraid," she said quietly.
Azriel didn't answer because he didn't trust his voice.
She lifted her free hand with effort and brushed her fingers along his cheek. "I'm sorry."
The word broke him. "You almost left me," he said, his voice rough. "Don't ever do that again."
Her lips curved faintly despite the pain. "I'll try not to."
Silence settled again — but this time it was softer.
Then Anastasia frowned. "Why does it feel like I was… being pulled by ropes?"
The room froze. Azriel's eyes darkened instantly.
"Pulled?" he repeated.
She nodded slowly. "Before everything went black… something grabbed both my hands and legs."
Azriel stood slowly, dangerously.
Rose's breath caught. "Anastasia… are you sure?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Someone wanted me dead."
Azriel turned away from the bed, his fists clenched.
"They didn't fail," he said quietly. "They only delayed."
Anastasia reached for him again. "Azriel… don't let this change you."
He looked back at her. Too late.
"I will burn the world," he said softly, "before I let it touch you again."
She held his gaze — not afraid, but heartbroken.
"Then let me be your reason to stop," she whispered.
And for the first time, Azriel hesitated.
The palace moved differently after Anastasia woke.
Corridors whispered. Guards walked with their hands closer to their weapons.
Servants avoided eye contact. The air itself felt like it was holding its breath.
Azriel ordered the investigation the moment Anastasia confirmed she had been pushed.
No more accidents, no more coincidences.
Someone had tried to kill her and someone had failed.
Zain stood before Azriel in the war chamber, scrolls and reports spread across the table.
"The explosion was no accident," he said.
"The support beams were weakened days before. Whoever did it knew exactly where she would be standing."
Azriel's jaw tightened. "Names."
Zain hesitated. "Not yet. But there is one… inconsistency."
Azriel looked up.
"A guard was reassigned minutes before the collapse. On whose authority, we cannot trace."
Azriel's eyes darkened. "Trace it."
Across the palace, in a chamber veiled in silk and shadows, Luna shattered a glass against the wall.
"She was supposed to die," Luna hissed.
Her handmaiden lowered her head. "My lady… perhaps it is a blessing she survived—"
"Silence!" Luna snapped.
Her reflection stared back at her from a cracked mirror — beautiful, furious, humiliated.
Anastasia was not supposed to wake up. She was supposed to be buried.
Luna's fingers trembled as she clenched them into fists.
All her planning. All her patience. All her manipulation ruined.
"She was never meant to stand beside him," Luna whispered. "Never meant to be seen. Never meant to breathe."
She turned sharply. "Did anyone see her wake?"
"Yes," the maid answered. "Azriel has not left her side."
Luna's eyes burned. Of course he hadn't. He never had for Luna.
Back in Azriel's chambers, Anastasia lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Rose sat beside her. "You should rest."
"I don't trust sleep anymore," Anastasia said quietly.
She felt it in her bones someone in this castle wanted her gone. Someone close.
Rose hesitated. "There are rumors."
Anastasia turned her head. "About what ?"
Rose swallowed. "About Luna."
Anastasia's chest tightened.
Luna — beautiful, powerful, adored by the court. The woman who had always made her life a living hell, the woman who hate her for stripping her family of their title.
The woman who loved Azriel. Or at least, wanted to own him.
"She's not the one," Anastasia whispered.
"Then who?"
"I saw a man.... he looked at me like I was already dead."
Azriel entered the room moments later.
He knelt beside Anastasia, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.
"I won't let anyone touch you." He said gently
She searched his face. "Even if it's someone you trust?"
His expression hardened.
"Especially then."
That night, Luna stood at her balcony, watching the palace lights.
Anastasia's window was illuminated, alive. Breathing, protected.
Luna smiled — slowly, dangerously.
"Survive all you want," she whispered. "It only makes killing you sweeter."
She turned back into the shadows.
Because this time… she wouldn't fail.