A Reign of Roses

The Unwelcome Suitor

The next morning, as the golden light of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains of the drawing room, Anastasia could feel the tension in the air before she even entered. Her father sat at the head of the table, his expression as cold and unyielding as the marble pillars that adorned their estate. Her mother flanked him, her hands folded primly in her lap, her posture as rigid as the corset she wore.

Anastasia had been summoned after breakfast, though she had no idea why. There had been no hint of any trouble when she retired the night before, no indication that the evening's pleasant walk in the rose garden could lead to any sort of confrontation. But now, as she approached the room, she could hear the sharp tone of her father's voice cutting through the silence.

"Anastasia," he began, his voice steely and commanding. "Come here. We need to discuss something important."

Her heart stuttered, and she stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She could feel her mother's eyes on her, as sharp and calculating as ever.

"Sit, my dear," her mother said, her voice deceptively sweet. "Your father and I have had a conversation we think you should hear."

Anastasia did as she was told, though the uneasy weight of the situation settled into her chest like a stone.

"What is this about?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even. She had already guessed the subject of their conversation, but she wasn't quite ready to face it head-on.

Her father's brow furrowed as he leaned forward, his fingers tapping against the table. "It concerns your recent... associations."

Anastasia's pulse quickened. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, where this was going.

"I have no idea what you mean," she replied carefully, though she couldn't hide the flicker of defiance that crossed her features.

Her father's gaze hardened. "I'm referring to that... soldier. Lukas Rosenberg."

Her mother's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It's clear to us, Anastasia, that you have formed some... attachment to him. But you must understand—he is not suitable for you. Not in the least."

Anastasia's breath caught in her throat, and she looked to her father, her heart racing. "He is a man of honor," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "He has treated me with nothing but respect."

Her father scoffed, the sound of it like a slap. "Respect? Anastasia, he is a foreign soldier—a man from an enemy nation. His allegiance is to Austria, not to France. He is a man of war, not a man of our society. And you, my daughter, are a lady of high station, a woman who cannot afford to mix with such common men."

Her mother added sharply, "You will not tarnish your reputation and family bloodline by associating with someone like him. A soldier, yes, but not the kind of man a lady like you should entertain, let alone think of as a suitor."

Anastasia's mind raced. Her father's words stung, but it was her mother's coldness that cut through her the deepest. She had always known her place in this world, had always accepted her role as the second, perfect daughter, the model of decorum, yet something about her mother's disapproval—so absolute, so final—made her feel as though the very foundation of her existence was being shaken.

"I... I don't see what harm there is," Anastasia tried to reason, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep her composure. "He is kind, honorable, and he is more than simply a soldier to me. He—"

Her father's voice cut her off. "Enough." His eyes were icy now, filled with authority. "I don't care what feelings you may have for him, Anastasia. It is not the way of our world, and it is not the way of our family. You will distance yourself from him, and you will do so immediately."

He leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze never leaving her face. "You are not some common girl to entertain the attentions of a foreign soldier, especially one with no connections, no title, and no future. Your duty is to your family and to your name. If you choose to disregard that, you will answer to me."

Anastasia's chest tightened. She had never defied her parents, never dared to step outside the rigid expectations they had set for her. But something inside her stirred, a feeling she couldn't quite explain, a sense of rebellion against the life they were pushing her into.

"Father, mother," she began, her voice trembling but stronger than she had ever felt it before, "I cannot simply pretend that Lukas is nothing more than a passing fancy. I care for him. And I... I will not simply forget him."

Her father's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer. "You will do as you're told, Anastasia. This is for your own good. You will not see him again. Consider this your final warning."

Her mother's eyes held a darker, colder edge. "We will not allow this family to be compromised by your... romantic entanglements. Now, you will forget him, or we will see to it that your life is made much more difficult than it already is."

Anastasia's heart pounded in her chest as her parents' words echoed in her ears. The weight of their control, of their expectations, felt unbearable now. She had always lived by their rules, but now, as she looked at them—so resolute, so sure in their decisions—she couldn't help but wonder if she could live the rest of her life this way.