Chapter 39 – Her Throne Is Not Love
POV: Anastasia Celeste Volkov
Location: Undisclosed Volkov Residence – Level B5 (Private Command Deck)
Time: 02:13 AM – Post-Broadcast
[SYSTEM ACTIVE: R.A.I.]
– Live Analysis: AUREUS Variety Show – Episode 2 Complete
– Subject: Kang Jaeheon
– Detected Markers: Ritual Devotion. Obsession. 138 Linguistic Transcriptions of "I Love You". Subject did not break. Paper ran out before content.
The holographic wall was a grid of language scripts—swirling across the transparent glass like falling snow.
138 declarations.
Every one written with mechanical perfection.
R.A.I. Voice – Precise, male, emotionless:
"Analysis complete. Subject did not falter. Emotional indicators suppressed. Motivation: unknown."
She didn't need the report.
Anastasia Celeste Volkov had been watching live.
Barefoot in obsidian silence, wrapped in a floor-length robe of midnight velvet, hair loose like a blade of gold that never dulled.
Her expression?
Blank.
Eyes like cut glass. Lips still.
The only sound was the low hum of the AI.
And Jaeheon's image flickering on the massive screen.
Writing.
Writing.
Writing.
Until the page surrendered.
A dare. A confession. A ritual. Or a delusion.
She stared at the footage of his face.
Stone.
Cold.
Empty—but burning.
She turned away.
Walked slowly to the window overlooking Moscow's night skyline. Every light bowed to her presence.
Her reflection in the glass looked like a painting no one dared frame.
And then—her voice broke the stillness:
Anastasia (flat, clinical):
"He is not in love with me."
R.A.I. paused.
"All evidence suggests—"
Anastasia (sharper now):
"He's in love with what I represent. Power. Fear. The myth. That… throne."
Silence.
Her words fell like blades.
Anastasia:
"Just like the rest of them."
A flick of her finger and the screen shifted.
Now: grainy surveillance footage from her private archives.
A montage of men.
Powerful men. Rich men. Kings. Politicians. Scientists.
All smiling.
All kneeling.
All saying the same thing—
"I love you."
But every single one of them—
Feared her.
Wanted her influence.
Needed her to win.
And they lied.
She crushed them all.
One by one.
Because they didn't love her.
They loved what she could give them.
A crown.
A shield.
A God.
She turned back to Jaeheon's frozen image on the screen—his face calm as he bled beneath her blade in that old video.
Anastasia (quiet, venomous):
"Even he."
She said it like a curse.
"Even he's no different."
The AI hesitated.
R.A.I.:
"Subject's behavioral patterns do not fully match those historical samples."
Anastasia:
"They never do in the beginning. That's how they get close."
She walked closer to the screen.
Zoomed in.
His eyes.
Unblinking.
Unwavering.
Her blade on his throat.
His blood on her wrist.
And that impossible smile.
Anastasia (low, bitter):
"He smiled like dying was worship."
She didn't move.
She didn't blink.
Her voice dipped.
Anastasia:
"But I don't need worship."
A beat.
Then colder—
Anastasia:
"I need someone who would die for me… not because they love the throne… but because they love me."
Her fingers hovered over the control pad.
Anastasia:
"He doesn't love me. He loves what I am. What they all wanted. What they all feared."
She looked away.
The screen dimmed.
R.A.I. (quietly):
"Shall I erase him?"
Her voice was soft now.
Deadly.
But not uncertain.
Anastasia:
"No. He's already erased himself. He just doesn't know it yet."
She turned her back on the screen.
And walked out.
The room darkened. The AI dimmed.
And on the massive monitor—still frozen—
Was the man the world now called devoted.
But to her—
He was no different from the rest.
And yet…
She didn't stop watching.
Not truly.