As Anastasia reached the center of the ballroom, her parents stepped forward.
Lucian Vasiliev, regal yet deceptively kind.Valeria Raventhorn, cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless.
Between them stood their only daughter.
And together, they would crown her.
Lucian's voice rang through the hall, deep and unwavering.
"You are my daughter. The only heir of the Vasiliev family. You hold within you our bloodline, our strength, our empire. Do you accept the weight of power?"
Anastasia's voice, as calm as a frozen lake, resonated through the grand hall.
"I do."
Then, Valeria spoke.
Her voice was sharp, merciless.
"You are my daughter. The only heir of the Raventhorn family. You have inherited my intelligence, my cruelty, my power. Do you accept the responsibilities of our empire?"
Again, without hesitation—
"I do."
The final act was the crowning.
A black velvet cushion was presented, and atop it rested the crown—the same one her ancestors had worn, yet never with such absolute certainty.
Lucian and Valeria lifted the crown together and placed it upon Anastasia's head.
And in that moment—
The world changed.