Never Die Villain

"If you’ll excuse me, Lord Ilya, and Lord, uhm..."

"Aleksei."

"Yes, right. Lord Aleksei."

Sherry gave the two of them a hurried bow before gathering the basin and bloodied towels from beside the bed.

With one last glance toward Ilya, seemingly to make certain he wasn’t going to suddenly collapse the moment she left him unattended, she slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

Aleksei watched her leave before turning his attention back toward Ilya.

"Cousin Ilya. Mind if I sit here?"

"Go ahead."

Aleksei pulled over the stool beside the bed and sat down, only for Ilya to push himself upright almost immediately afterward.

Ignoring the pain running through his body, he reached for the pitcher on the nearby table, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it down in several large gulps.

"...Should you even be moving around?"

"If I remain idle for too long, my body will only stiffen up." Ilya lowered the empty glass and poured himself another. "Besides, I’m covered in cuts, not broken bones. The healers already dealt with anything serious."

"...You nearly had your throat opened."

"And fortunately, my throat isn’t a bone."

"That’s some resilience..."

Ilya finished the second glass before setting it down and slowly rolling one shoulder. Pain immediately shot through the cut along his back, causing him to frown, but after testing his arms and legs one after another, he seemed satisfied enough that everything was still working.

"You have any cigarettes on you, Cousin Aleksei?"

"I don’t do that stuff, man."

"Figures. I should’ve told Sherry to bring me some before she—"

The door opened before he could finish, and both cousins turned.

Sherry re-entered the room with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter already in hand, walked directly toward Ilya, and placed both into his waiting palm.

"I thought you might need these, Lord Ilya."

"Ah..."

Ilya looked down at the cigarettes. Sherry gave a small bow.

"Then... I’ll be off."

Before either of them could say anything else, she turned around and walked straight back out of the room, closing the door behind her as quietly as she had entered.

"...."

Ilya stared at the closed door.

"...."

Aleksei stared at Ilya.

"...."

"...?"

Neither of them said anything for several seconds.

* * *

That evening, a banquet was held in the grand hall of the Belozersky estate.

While banquets were hardly unusual during the Winter Assembly, tonight’s gathering was centered almost entirely around Anastasiya and the declaration Valentin had made earlier that day.

As the future Grand Duchess, Anastasiya occupied the seat beside her father at the head of the hall, placing her where every member of the family could see her.

One after another, the heads of the branch families approached to offer their congratulations, presenting gifts and reaffirming their support with all the ceremony expected of nobles who had spent the better part of the assembly doing anything but supporting her.

"Lady Anastasiya, allow me to congratulate you."

"Thank you, Elder Yusupov."

"Your performance earlier was extraordinary. I imagine even His Grace must be proud to see how far his successor has come."

"You’re too kind."

Anastasiya accepted the compliment with a polite smile.

She had heard variations of the same words countless times that evening, enough that responding no longer required much thought.

The very elders who had entertained questions about her succession only hours earlier now praised her strength and the future awaiting the North beneath her leadership, as though none of those doubts had ever existed.

Valentin watched the procession from beside her.

He rarely interfered with the conversations and offered little more than an occasional acknowledgment whenever one of the elders addressed him directly.

That, too, was part of the evening’s purpose, because Anastasiya was no longer supposed to hide behind the Grand Duke whenever another noble approached her.

Tonight, she represented herself.

"Your Grace."

Margrave Volnograd raised his glass from several seats away.

"If I may offer a toast."

Valentin gave a slight nod.

Volnograd rose.

"To Lady Anastasiya Valentinovna Belozerskaya, whose sword has given us all a rather convincing reminder that the future of the North remains in capable hands."

His gaze settled briefly upon Anastasiya before his smile widened.

"May the day she inherits her father’s mantle remain far in the future, but when that day inevitably comes, may House Belozersky stand behind her as firmly as we stand behind His Grace today."

Glasses rose throughout the hall.

"To the future Grand Duchess!"

Anastasiya lifted her own. "To the North."

The response came immediately.

——To the North!

Anastasiya drank.

Applause followed, accompanied by the clinking of glasses and the noise of conversation throughout the banquet hall.

Anastasiya lowered her cup and looked across the gathered family, taking in the hundreds of faces now smiling toward her with respect that had been considerably less certain only that morning.

This was what she had spent years working toward.

Not just becoming strong enough to inherit the title, but becoming someone the North could no longer afford to dismiss.

Whether the elders loved her, resented her, or would have preferred another successor hardly mattered anymore, because they had witnessed the difference between her and Ilya with their own eyes.

Anastasiya had won. And there was no qualification attached to it.

Her gaze drifted toward the seats occupied by the main family.

One remained empty.

Ilya had not come.

Considering the state Anastasiya had left him in, there was nothing particularly strange about his absence.

The family healers had ordered him to rest, and nobody expected someone covered in bandages to drag himself into a banquet simply to watch everyone celebrate the person who had put him there.

Still, Anastasiya found herself staring at the empty chair longer than she intended.

"Is something wrong?"

Mariya’s voice drew her attention away.

Anastasiya turned toward her mother, who sat nearby with the same gentle smile she had worn throughout the evening.

"No."

"You seem distracted."

"I’m just tired."

"I imagine you are." Mariya reached over and gently adjusted a strand of Anastasiya’s hair that had fallen out of place. "You’ve had quite the day."

Anastasiya gave a small smile.

"Did you watch the duel?"

"Of course."

"And?"

"You were wonderful."

The answer should have satisfied her.

Yet Mariya’s smile had weakened, and Anastasiya immediately knew what her mother was thinking about.

"...He’s alright."

"I know."

"The healers said he’ll recover."

"I know that too."

Anastasiya looked away. Neither of them spoke. Then Mariya gently placed her hand over Anastasiya’s.

"Tonight is about you, Ana."

Anastasiya looked back at her.

"Don’t worry about anything else." Mariya squeezed her hand and smiled. "You’ve worked very hard for this, haven’t you?"

"...Yes."

"Then smile."

Mariya’s thumb brushed affectionately over the back of her hand.

"Everyone is looking at you."

Anastasiya stared at her mother for a moment before slowly turning back toward the banquet hall.

Another elder was already approaching with a glass raised in her direction.

"...."

So Anastasiya smiled.

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