As Graviil's thoughts drifted back to that moment, the scene unfolded once more inside his magnificent bureau.
The room had felt larger that night.
Colder.
Silence hung thick between them.
Graviil sat behind his desk, spectacles resting low upon his nose, carefully signing and reviewing documents as though this were any ordinary evening. His expression revealed nothing. His posture remained composed.
Before him knelt Anastasia.
Head lowered.
Hands resting neatly over one another.
Still as stone.
Yet beneath that stillness, dread coiled tightly around her ribs. Guilt pressed down on her lungs until even breathing felt like effort. A faint bead of sweat traced down her shin despite the chill of the chamber.
"As you may already know," Graviil began at last, voice calm — almost detached — as he continued scanning the parchment before him, "a council was held prior to my summoning you here. The high nobles. The dukes. The High Councils themselves."
Anastasia's fingers tightened slightly against her dress.
"We have reached an agreement regarding the punishment befitting the gravity of your offense."
Each word fell carefully.
Measured.
"You assisted in the disappearance of the youngest prince of the Russian Empire."
A page turned.
"You affiliated yourself with an underground espionage society."
Another pause.
"Your actions placed the Prince's life in mortal danger. Were it not for the grace of heaven itself… he would not be alive."
Anastasia's head lowered further.
She did not argue.
She did not justify.
She knew what she had done.
Whether out of loyalty. Whether out of love.
It had still been treason in the eyes of the law.
Graviil finally set his pen down.
His gaze lifted.
Cold.
Unyielding.
"Anastasia Orlova," he declared, voice echoing through the chamber, "the sentence placed upon you is life imprisonment."
The words struck harder than any blade.
Her body went rigid.
For a brief moment, even her breath abandoned her.
Yet she did not lift her head.
She did not protest.
"You will be confined within the most secure prison in this nation," Graviil continued. "A facility reserved for the most dangerous criminals."
"Your title as maid of the Ivanovich family has been revoked."
"Your protection under royal decree has been stripped."
"By law… you stand before us as a stranger."
The silence that followed felt suffocating.
Anastasia's shoulders trembled faintly.
"I understand… Your Majesty," she managed at last, voice barely steady. "I accept my punishment without complaint. I deeply regret the shame I have brought upon the Ivanovich family… and our nation."
A tear slipped from her lowered gaze and fell silently to the polished floor.
Then another.
She bit down on her lip to stop the trembling.
Before she could speak again —
A hand touched her cheek.
Warm.
Gentle.
She froze.
Graviil had risen from his seat.
He wiped the tear away with his thumb.
"That being said," he murmured quietly, his voice no longer echoing with authority but something far softer, "while Anastasia Orlova has been stripped of her title and banished by decree…"
His eyes met hers.
"The Anastasia I know is not being punished."
Confusion flooded her expression.
He gently helped her to her feet.
"I am disappointed," he admitted. "And angered by what you and Xavier chose to do."
His jaw tightened briefly.
"But hatred?"
He shook his head.
"Never."
He turned slightly, pacing once before continuing.
"If I had refused to pass judgment, the nobles would have taken it as weakness. The empire would fracture. So I punished 'Anastasia Orlova.'"
He faced her once more.
"But you are not Anastasia Orlova."
His voice softened even further.
"You are my Anastasia."
The words broke whatever restraint she had left.
Tears fell freely now.
"My wife is gone. My daughter is gone. My son-in-law as well."
His gaze grew distant.
"Only you and Viktor remain of that life."
He stepped closer.
"I cannot lose you too. I will not."
His voice wavered — just slightly.
"You are the last light that reminds me tomorrow still exists."
Anastasia could not speak.
She had taken the surname 'Orlova' years ago to avoid seeming like an opportunist. To avoid whispers that she clung to the royal family out of convenience.
Graviil's expression hardened — but not at her.
"I have always despised the way you lower yourself," he said quietly. "Svetlana and I accepted you as our own long ago."
"You were never indebted to us. Never a leech."
He placed a hand over her shoulder.
"You have always been Anastasia Ivanovich. From the beginning of time until its final breath."
He exhaled slowly.
"However… my decree still stands."
Her breath hitched.
"You will no longer serve as maid to this family."
He looked toward the window, where leaves drifted faintly beyond the glass.
"You will retire. Far from Moscow. In a quiet village deep within the mountains."
His voice grew steady once more.
"You will live there peacefully."
A pause.
"And when I relinquish the throne to Aleksander… when my time as king ends…"
He looked back at her.
"I will join you."
"And we will spend the rest of our lives there together."
Anastasia instinctively shook her head at once.
"Your Majesty—" she began, voice trembling. "You are the Saint of this nation. The pillar of the empire. You cannot speak so lightly of abandoning your life for someone like—"
"Enough."
The word was firm, but not harsh.
Graviil would not allow her to finish.
"Do not diminish yourself in my presence," he said quietly. "I have wasted too many years allowing you to believe you stand beneath us."
His gaze held hers, steady and unshakable.
"I would never allow the full punishment of the law to fall upon you. Not even if, in some unimaginable world, you raised a blade against me this very moment."
His voice did not rise.
It did not need to.
"You have always been my daughter. And you always will be."
Anastasia's lips parted, but no words came.
"And beyond that," he continued, softer now, "you are deeply important to Xavier."
He stepped closer.
"You are not merely his maid. Nor simply an aunt-like figure. To that boy… you are the mother he never had the chance to know."
Her breath caught sharply.
Graviil saw the hesitation flicker across her face.
"I know you resist that idea," he said gently. "You care too much for propriety. For titles. For social boundaries."
A faint, sad smile touched his lips.
"But there are truths that exist beyond position."
He looked toward the window briefly, as though recalling something far older than this conversation.
"The day you met him, something was woven between you. Not by decree. Not by blood. But by something far stronger."
His eyes returned to hers.
"Violet loves her brother deeply. She has tried to be everything for him. But even she knows there are roles one cannot force upon themselves."
His voice lowered.
"You never forced it."
A pause.
"You simply became it."
Anastasia's tears fell more freely now, no longer restrained.
"You need not accept the title today," he continued. "But I want you to understand that one day… you may have to."
His hand rested gently over her shoulder once more.
"So please… be his mother."
The request was not royal.
It was paternal.
"He needs one. More than he realizes. And he has grown attached to you in ways he himself does not yet understand."
Graviil finally drew her into an embrace.
Not as a king.
But as a father.
Anastasia clutched at his robes and wept quietly against his chest, the weight she had carried alone finally fracturing under warmth instead of judgment.
Graviil closed his eyes.
For he had always believed one simple truth.
Family is not defined by origin.
It is defined by love.
Blood may bind people by name.
But it is connection that forms the sacred covenant.
And that… above all else… is what truly endures."