CHAPTER 245: NEGOTIATE

Mary studied her for a long moment, as though weighing the tume between themthe broken marriage, the shame, the growing unrest in the court.

"You once called me mother and seek that I fight for justice for you." Mary paused and looked Anastasia.

Anastasia didn’t respond. She remembered that conversation, Mary had indeed tried her best to help her, it was the king who did not listen, and for her actions she respected her.

"Then I will speak plainly," Mary continued, she could tell that Anastasia still respected her. "The court is changing. Your presence here... your voice... still carries weight among the people. The rumors are spreading faster than the king can contain them. He is being mocked. Questioned. The nobles are becoming restless. And Lord Auraline has begun to move against us. The king might have failed you but if the kingdom falls into chaos you might not live the peaceful life you dream of,"

Anastasia’s brows furrowed, but she remained quiet.

Mary leaned forward. "I’m not asking you to return to the palace. I am asking you to use what you have left—to protect what peace remains. You know how to speak to the people. I am not asking you to do this just for the king, it for the kingdom, for peace "

Anastasia’s voice was steady. "And if I refuse?" she did not believe the queen mother asked her to the palace to negotiate.

Mary’s mouth tightened. "Then you’ve left the kingdom to wolves." she understood Anastasia was not a person to be forced.

There was a long silence between them, broken only by the rustle of papers as the wind stirred through the open window.

Finally, Anastasia rose. "I will think about what you’ve said."

Mary nodded slowly. "That’s all I ask." her smile become gentle, like a mother looking at her ch

As Anastasia left the chamber, she could feel the invisible threads tightening around her again—the ones she thought she had escape

When Anastasia left the palace safely, she felt as though she were dreaming.

"My lady, are you alright?" Rosa asked, noticing that Anastasia seemed lost in thought.

In the days that followed, Anastasia reflected on Mary’s words. She had no desire to speak on behalf of the king—doing so would only serve his image, and she was unsure of the consequences it might have on her.

As days passed without any further message or movement from the palace, her confusion deepened.

On the fifth day after her visit, an invitation arrived.

Mary was hosting the noblewomen of the royal city.

Anastasia frowned. It felt like a trap, but there was no polite way to refuse. With no other choice, on the day of the banquet, she dressed carefully and made her way to the palace.

The palace was radiant that afternoon, with golden light spilling through the tall stained-glass windows of the Queen’s Hall. Silken banners in deep red and royal blue hung from the arches, and servants moved like shadows, laying out delicacies and fine wine. Noblewomen arrived in clusters, their laughter mingling with the music of harps and lutes.

Lady Mary, the Queen Mother, stood at the center of it all—graceful, poised, and commanding in a gown of emerald velvet that reminded all present who she once was and still remained. Though she had stepped back from courtly affairs in recent years, her word still carried weight.

"Welcome, my ladies," she said with a practiced smile, extending her arms. "Let us not allow the troubles of the court to cloud this lovely day. Today, we celebrate strength, beauty, and the wisdom of women."

Murmurs of agreement followed. Her reputation was mixed, but none dared defy her hospitality.

As the last of the guests arrived, the great doors opened again, and the room quieted slightly. Heads turned.

Anastasia entered, dressed in a gown of soft ivory trimmed with silver. She wore no crown, no jewelry save a single sapphire ring—but her presence drew as much attention as any queen’s would have.

Mary’s smile did not falter. "Anastasia, how good of you to come."

Anastasia offered a small curtsy. "Your invitation was generous. I could not refuse."

"You are still the most talked-about woman in the city," Mary said smoothly, leading her toward the table. "Better that the talk be guided."

Anastasia took her seat near the middle, noting she was placed neither too high to be honored nor too low to be insulted. The message was clear—she was welcome, but not exalted.

This made her feel somewhat at ease. Had Mary placed her in a lower seat, it would have been an open insult. A higher seat might have meant she was being made a target. Her current placement was the most balanced for her status.

Throughout the meal, Mary directed the conversation with ease—touching on fashion, family, and the affairs of noble houses. Yet beneath the surface, every word felt deliberate, measured. She praised Lord Auraline’s generosity, Lady Beatrice’s charity, and subtly emphasized the importance of loyalty in troubled times.

At one point, she raised her glass. "To women of strength, who know when to bend and when to stand firm."

A few guests glanced at Anastasia. She said nothing.

Finally, as the musicians changed tune and the servants cleared away the first course, Mary leaned closer to her.

"I invited you not only for company, Anastasia," she said quietly, though others nearby pretended not to listen. "I wanted the nobles to see that you still walk among them. The rumors must be controlled."

"Which rumors?" Anastasia asked, thinking that Mary’s seating arrangement meant she did not intend to single her out—but clearly, she was wrong.

Mary’s lips curved faintly. "That you defied a king and left untouched. That you might speak against him."

Anastasia’s fingers tightened around her goblet. "Is it your wish that I deny such things?"

"It is my wish," Mary replied, her voice low, "that you remember whose crown gave you power in the first place."

For a moment, silence hung between them.

Then Anastasia straightened her back and smiled faintly. "I remember. But I also remember what that crown cost me. If I deny these rumors, on what grounds was I granted a royal divorce?"

Mary’s gaze was unreadable. One could tell she was not pleased.

The music rose again. Mary took a slow breath and smiled.

"As women, we can be humble and do our best. You don’t have to be so guarded or refuse to take a step back. I treated you as my own daughter. The king had much on his plate and made some minor mistakes. You can let it go," Mary said. Her voice was soft, but the women seated nearby could hear her clearly.

Anastasia clenched her fist. She could see clearly that Mary was minimizing the issue. Her choice of words was perfect—polished and gracious. She sounded like she was acknowledging the king’s fault, but in truth, she was subtly accusing Anastasia of being petty.

If Anastasia argued, it would give Mary’s words more weight. If she stayed silent, it would appear as though she regretted her actions and agreed with the Queen Mother.

She felt as if someone were choking her—but she had no choice but to swallow it.

"Ladies," Mary said, rising gracefully from her seat, "I recently had a few rare flowers bloom in my garden. Who would like to come and take a look with me?"

Many noblewomen stood, and Anastasia followed suit.

She had only taken two steps when she suddenly felt light-headed.

"My lady, are you okay?" Rosa asked, quickly stepping forward to steady her.

"I’m fine... I drank a bit too much just now," Anastasia replied.

Mary paused and looked over at her. "Go ask the kitchen to bring the smoothing soup for Lady Anastasia," she instructed one of the servants, her voice filled with fondness.

Anastasia shivered. Mary had never been this gentle with her.

The more she thought about it, the more afraid she became.

The Queen’s Garden was in full bloom, a tapestry of rare lilies, moonflowers, and velvet-red roses. Bees buzzed lazily through the warm air, and the noblewomen strolled in pairs and trios, murmuring in admiration. Mary walked at the front, pointing out blossoms with quiet pride.

Anastasia followed a few steps behind. The soup had warmed her stomach slightly, but a strange chill now prickled beneath her skin. Her vision swam faintly at the edges, and each step felt heavier than the last.

"My lady, you’re still pale," Rosa whispered, steadying her arm.

"I’ll be fine," Anastasia replied, though her voice trembled.

The scent of the flowers, once calming, now clung to her like perfume turned sour. A sudden wave of nausea rose, tightening her throat.

She pressed a hand lightly against her stomach and quickened her pace to catch up to Mary.

"Your Grace," she said, keeping her tone even despite the sweat at her temples, "forgive me, but may I be excused for a moment? I... I need to use the ladies’ room."