The Debt Of Fate
Chapter 81: Felt Real

Chapter 81: Felt Real

The night had deepened by the time Anastasia was led through the quiet halls of the palace. The celebration had ended, the laughter and music fading into the distance as the guests slowly departed. The prince’s courtyard would be their bridal home.

Two maids walked ahead, their hands steady as they pushed open the heavy doors to the grand chamber. The room was vast, its high ceilings draped with silk, its large windows partially veiled by curtains embroidered with golden threads. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting a soft glow over the richly adorned space. The scent of fresh jasmine and lavender lingered in the air, likely placed there by attendants to set the mood for the night.

In the center stood the grand marriage bed, its canopy held up by intricately carved wooden posts. The sheets were of the finest linen, perfectly laid.

Anastasia stood at the threshold, her hands carefully folded before her. Her wedding gown had been replaced by a fine nightgown of delicate lace, the thin fabric whispering against her skin with every movement. Behind her, the maids lowered their heads and curtsied before silently retreating, leaving her alone in the chamber.

She did not have to wait long. Soon, the door opened, and the Crown Prince entered, his steps quiet against the polished floor. His formal attire had been removed, replaced by a loose robe of dark velvet, the fabric flowing as he moved. He did not speak at first, merely regarding her with the same distant expression he had worn throughout the day.

For a long moment, silence stretched between them. The weight of expectation filled the air—unspoken but present. Then, finally, he stepped forward, his gaze steady but unreadable.

"You may rest," he said simply.

Anastasia lifted her chin slightly. "And you, Your Highness?"

"I have duties to attend to."

That was all he said before turning around and leaving the room.

Anastasia exhaled softly, her expression unreadable as she moved toward the bed.

When they were preparing to leave the reception earlier, she had noticed the prince looking in a particular direction. Curious, she had followed his gaze and recognized the young lady clearly intoxicated; as the woman he had brought back from the eastern border.

Seeing the care and worry in his eyes had made her heart ache. She had watched as he signaled to Walter and gave him instructions. He had not left with her until two maids stepped forward to assist the woman away. Such tenderness toward another woman saddened her, but she had comforted herself with the thought that as long as he gave her the respect she deserved as his wife, it would be enough. Anyway within the Nobel family love was rarely for the wife.

Yet Anastasia had not expected the prince to leave her alone on their wedding night. Judging by his attire, she suspected he had gone to comfort his little lover.

Anastasia took another deep breath, unsure of what to do next. Sitting at the edge of the bed, she reached for the blanket, running her fingers over the fine embroidery. After a while, she decided to sleep.

Lying back against the pillows, she closed her eyes. The night would pass, as all nights did. And when morning came, she would handle things as they unfolded.

She had not thought she would fall asleep so easily, but shortly after closing her eyes, she drifted off.

Unfortunately, her sleep was not restful. A familiar nightmare came to her; this time, clearer than ever. She did not know if the day’s events had triggered it.

But this time, she did not dream of the dying Queen.

This time, she dreamed of the Crown Prince; now a King. (In her dream)

"You should have died sooner and made way for my love," his voice was cold, devoid of warmth.

The old Queen lay in bed, sickly and frail. The physician had just left after announcing that she had only a few days left.

"What did I ever do wrong?" the Queen whispered, her voice laced with sorrow. "I was a good wife. When you faced opposition after your father’s sudden death, I was there for you. I helped in every way I could. I never complained or made demands, yet you are heartless toward me."

Her voice was filled with regret, it was clear she could not accept his cold treatment.

Anastasia stood by, just as she had in her previous dreams. she understood, the old Queen was herself.

She turned to look at the King, whose face twisted with disgust.

"You have also enjoyed a life of wealth and power," he said dismissively. "But my love had no official position. You drove her out of the palace. It is time to return her to her rightful place."

Anastasia’s heart ached as she watched the old Queen writhe in pain—not from illness, but from his cruel words.

The King turned and left, not bothering to speak another word.

A while later, attendants arrived, claiming the Queen needed a quieter place to recover. They moved her from the main palace to another courtyard.

Anastasia followed and soon recognized it. It was the same courtyard where she had watched the old Queen die in her previous dream.

Even though she knew it was a dream, it felt real, sending a shiver down her spine.

Seeing the familiar courtyard, Anastasia struggled to wake up, unwilling to witness the death scene again.

But no matter how much she willed herself to awaken, she could not.

She watched, helpless, as the old Queen died amidst celebration.

Gasping, Anastasia jolted awake, covered in cold sweat.

She looked around, momentarily disoriented. The sight of the royal chamber, its rich decorations illuminated by the dim firelight, unsettled her. She jumped from the bed in fright, her pulse racing. Only when she realized she was still young and healthy did she calm down.

The memories of the day’s events flooded back.

"Could I have been wrong to marry the Crown Prince?" she wondered.

No matter how hard she tried to forget the nightmare, it always returned; fragmented yet persistent.

A shiver ran through her.

"What can I do?" she whispered.

It had never been her choice to accept this marriage. But she did not want to meet the same fate as the Queen in her dream.

As she was lost in thought, she heard the distant sound of a horse. The rider was moving fast. Because of the stillness of the night, the sound carried clearly to her ears.

She guessed it was coming toward her courtyard.

As expected, the front gate opened.

Anastasia was not sure if her hearing had sharpened or if the night’s silence merely amplified the voices outside, but she caught their conversation clearly.

"His Majesty requests the prince’s immediate presence in the front hall," said the rider.

"I will inform His Highness. Go ahead," came the reply—likely Walter, the prince’s personal guard.

The messenger must have nodded in agreement because she soon heard the sound of a horse galloping away.

Shortly after, she heard another horse depart from the courtyard but not towards the front hall.

She had suspected the prince had gone to see his mistress.

She had hoped, against reason, that she was wrong.

But having heard the conversation so clearly, she realized her suspicions had been correct.