Never Die Villain

"Daughter, what do you want to do?"

About a week after the incident, Valentin finally summoned Anastasiya to his office. It was the first time she had seen her father since Diane’s death, and even before he spoke, she could tell that something about him had changed.

"Do you still wish to succeed me and inherit the North?"

"If I say no...?"

"Then it will fall to your brother, naturally."

"I see."

Anastasiya lowered her eyes and thought about it.

A week ago, perhaps she would have accepted that answer without thinking twice. She had spent years complaining about the training, running to Ilya whenever she couldn’t take it anymore, and dreaming about the day her little brother would become strong enough to take everything she never wanted from her shoulders.

But that had been before Rabelle.

In his current state, Ilya was in no condition to shoulder any of it.

Anastasiya hadn’t managed to have a proper conversation with him since he returned. She had tried several times, only to find herself sitting beside a brother who barely acknowledged her presence, and whenever she attempted to bring up something they used to talk about, the conversation died before it could even begin.

There was something else she didn’t want to admit.

Ilya had been declining recently.

Anastasiya had tried to ignore it whenever the subject came up, telling herself that everyone struggled eventually and that Ilya would recover sooner or later.

Yet it had become difficult not to hear what the other members of the family were saying, especially when those whispers seemed to follow her wherever she went.

’The prodigy has finally reached his limit.’

’Perhaps they praised him too early.’

’He was impressive for a bastard, but blood eventually tells.’

Relatives who once crowded around the training grounds just to watch him practice no longer bothered showing up, and after Rabelle, even his name seemed to be spoken with more disappointment than expectation.

Anastasiya hated hearing it.

She hated the way they spoke about her brother as though everything he had accomplished before meant nothing just because he had stopped improving.

Yet no matter how much she wanted to dismiss their words, she had seen the change herself, and pretending otherwise had become increasingly difficult.

But somewhere inside her, an even uglier thought had begun to form.

What if they were right?

She remembered the promise Ilya had made when they were children. He would become stronger, convince Father to make him the heir, and take the burden from her shoulders so that she could live however she pleased.

Back then, she had believed him without question.

Now her little brother could barely bring himself to leave his room.

"If I refuse..." Anastasiya asked. "...You’re really going to make Ilya the heir?"

"If you relinquish your claim, Ilya becomes the natural alternative, but whether the elders would accept him is another matter."

Valentin rubbed his temple.

"I would have to fight them for it, and Ilya would eventually have to prove himself worthy of the position."

"And what if he can’t?"

"Then House Belozersky will find itself discussing successors again."

Anastasiya’s hands tightened over her knees.

She didn’t like that answer.

For years, becoming Grand Duchess had sounded like a punishment, something forced upon her simply because she had been unfortunate enough to be born first. Yet hearing Valentin speak so plainly about handing everything to Ilya no longer brought the relief she had imagined it would.

She thought about her brother sitting alone.

She thought about the relatives whispering that he was finished.

Then she remembered herself running to him whenever her hands hurt, crying into his back and demanding that he become Grand Duke so she wouldn’t have to.

"...I’ll do it."

Valentin looked at her.

Anastasiya swallowed.

"I’ll succeed you."

"Are you certain?"

"...N-No."

"...?"

"I’m still scared of the training. I still hate getting up before sunrise, I hate being hit whenever I make a mistake, and I still don’t know whether I’ll ever be good enough."

She looked at her hands.

"But Ilya can’t do it right now."

"...."

"So I’ll do it."

Anastasiya slowly raised her head.

"...I’m the older sister, after all."

After leaving Valentin’s office, Anastasiya went looking for her mother. She eventually found Mariya in one of the sitting rooms, only to discover that, once again, she was taking care of Ilya.

He was asleep with his head resting on Mariya’s lap.

Anastasiya approached the two of them before huddling close to her mother’s side, careful not to make enough noise to wake him. Ilya looked more peaceful asleep than he had at any point since returning from Rabelle.

"There you are."

Mariya smiled and gently opened one arm for her daughter.

"I was wondering where you’d gone."

"Father called me."

"Oh?"

Anastasiya leaned against her mother’s shoulder, her eyes remaining on Ilya.

"He asked if I still wanted to become Grand Duchess."

Mariya’s hand stopped halfway through Ilya’s hair.

"And what did you tell him?"

"...I said yes."

Anastasiya lowered her gaze toward her little brother.

"Ilya can’t do it anymore, Mother. At least not like this." She reached over and carefully brushed a few strands of hair away from his face. "He was always the one taking care of me before, so I thought... maybe it’s my turn."

"My." Mariya’s expression softened. "When did my Ana become so dependable?"

"...I’m being serious."

"I know."

Her mother kissed the top of her head.

Anastasiya remained pressed against her side, watching Ilya breathe peacefully against Mariya’s lap. Even now, it felt strange seeing him this helpless when nearly every memory she had of their childhood was the opposite, with Anastasiya crying and complaining while Ilya patiently listened to whatever problem she had brought him that day.

"I’ll become Grand Duchess," she whispered. "Then Ilya won’t have to worry about it anymore. He can take as long as he needs to get better."

Mariya continued stroking Ilya’s hair.

"That’s very kind of you."

"I’m his older sister."

"Yes, you are."

Anastasiya carefully took Ilya’s hand. It felt smaller than she remembered.

"So this time, I’ll protect him."

Mariya looked down at her daughter, then toward the sleeping boy on her lap.

A gentle smile remained on her face.

"I’m sure Ilya will be very grateful."

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