The holy ruler

Chapter 5 - A Scheme Unfolds

Anastasia’s POV (Extended Version)

Anastasia sat at her vanity, gazing at her reflection as her fingers combed through her thick, curly hair. Each coil sprang back into place with its usual bounce, as though the strands had a mind of their own. Her dark hair, wild and unruly like her spirit, was a constant reminder of her strength. But today, as she stroked her hair, there was a slight heaviness in her heart. It wasn’t just the tight pull of the corset beneath her gown or the weight of the jewels hanging from her neck. No, it was something deeper, a gnawing feeling she couldn’t shake.

Prince Adam. The political marriage loomed over her like a shadow. His image had haunted her thoughts for days—his cold gaze, his unwillingness to even look at her with any hint of affection. Yet, it was him she was meant to marry, her duty. She couldn’t escape it. Would he ever truly see her as more than a political pawn? She doubted it. Would it even matter in the end?

Her mother’s voice cut through her swirling thoughts, familiar and sharp: “Anastasia, my dear, you must focus. You must reach the top. Your sister Mary is trying to undermine everything you’ve worked for. You cannot let her succeed.”

The words echoed in her mind, her mother’s disapproving tone the very essence of her childhood—always pushing, always demanding, never quite allowing her to settle. The last years of Queen Genevieve’s life had been spent teaching Anastasia the cold realities of royal life. There had been no room for softness, no room for anything but power. And it had worked, hadn’t it? Anastasia had become strong, calculating, a woman who had learned to command respect.

But lately, the words felt heavier, the advice more distant. Perhaps her mother’s obsession with power had clouded her vision. Anastasia had tried to embrace the lessons, but a gnawing feeling persisted. She couldn’t help but question: What if the top wasn’t where she truly wanted to go?

Before she could respond, the air around her chilled, and the unmistakable presence of her mother, long gone from this world, seemed to materialize behind her. She looked up at the mirror, feeling a strange pull in her chest. Queen Genevieve’s faint image hovered there, her figure a silken glow, half-transparent, like a wisp of smoke.

“Anastasia, you will be queen. You must. Do not let anyone—especially Mary—distract you from your destiny.” Her voice was a whisper, both a command and a reassurance.

Anastasia felt a shiver run through her, but something within her recoiled. Why must it always be Mary? She thought. Why must we always fight?

As quickly as she had appeared, her mother’s presence disappeared, leaving only the lingering chill in the room. Anastasia sighed, her chest tightening. She hadn’t even had the chance to argue or question. The advice, so often repeated, never seemed to change. Get to the top. Claim your place. Don’t let anyone steal your future.

But what if I didn’t want this life?

The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. She quickly brushed it away, forcing herself to focus. No time for such thoughts. There were more pressing matters at hand. Her gaze fell to the gown laid out before her.

Her handmaidens, Margaret and Elizabeth, entered the room then, carrying the dress with great care, their eyes wide with admiration for the intricate creation in their hands. The pink silk shimmered as it caught the light, rich and regal, yet alluring. A deep cut ran through the front of the gown, daring anyone to look too closely. Anastasia could already imagine the effect it would have on the court. Heads would turn. Eyes would be fixed on her. She would command attention.

“Is this the one?” Margaret asked hesitantly, her voice a whisper in the otherwise quiet room.

Anastasia’s lips curled into a faint smile as she examined the dress. It was perfect. No other gown would do for today. “Yes,” she replied, her voice soft, but her determination clear. “This is the one.”

The handmaidens helped her into the gown, the fabric hugging her curves as it flowed elegantly over her body. The deep neckline revealed a hint of skin, and the delicate embroidery shimmered with gold threads, catching the light. Once it was secured, Elizabeth draped a sparkling necklace around Anastasia’s neck. It was the Boleyn B pendant, a family heirloom, passed down through generations, signifying her bloodline and legacy. Anastasia’s fingers brushed over the pendant, feeling a surge of cold, familiar power.

For a brief moment, as she looked at her reflection, she caught a flicker of uncertainty in her own eyes. Was this who I want to be? She thought, but the moment passed quickly, replaced by a rush of anger. No. This is who I must be.

Her dark curls cascaded down her back like a waterfall of midnight, the richness of her hair matching the intensity of her resolve. She took a step back and surveyed herself in the mirror. The gown fit her perfectly, the colors bold and striking against her skin. She was every bit the image of the powerful queen her mother had dreamed she would become.

But there was a flicker of something beneath the surface. A small, persistent voice in her mind whispered, What if this isn’t all there is?

Shaking her head, Anastasia dismissed the thought and straightened. There was no time for weakness. No time for doubt. She would fulfill her mother’s legacy, as cold and demanding as it was. She would take her place at the top, and no one—not even her sister—would stand in her way.

Margaret stepped back and looked at her with admiration. “You’ll make an impression tonight, Your Highness.”

Anastasia nodded, her gaze fixed on the reflection before her. She was ready. Ready to take the court by storm. To show them all who she truly was.

The French court would know her name, and they would remember it. They would know the power of the Boleyn bloodline, the strength of Queen Genevieve’s daughter. The whispers of her legacy would echo through the halls of Versailles.

As Anastasia turned toward the door, her chest tightened once more, but she refused to let it show. She had a destiny to fulfill, and nothing—not even the weariness she felt deep in her soul—would stop her from reaching it.

I am Anastasia Boleyn. I am destined for greatness.

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This extended version introduces more internal conflict for Anastasia, where she starts to question the weight of her mother's words and the direction she is being pushed towards, but she ultimately suppresses these doubts, determined to follow her legacy and her destiny. Let me know if you like it