Page 65 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

The adviser opens his mouth to argue, but Ivan raises his hand. "Samuil is right. We relocate to the Galkin estate. Make the arrangements."

The convoy forms up again, this time with Ivan in the lead vehicle surrounded by physicians and guards. Ana rides with her father, refusing to leave his side.

As we prepare to leave, I take one final look at the ancient symbol carved into the timber. Fresh knife marks surround it. Someone recently tried to destroy the carving but stopped before finishing the job.

33

ANA

The morning sun streams through the tall windows of the guest suite where my father has been settled for the night, casting golden light across the dark wood floors and expensive furnishings that mark this as one of the finest rooms in the Galkin estate. I've been awake since before dawn, unable to sleep after everything that happened yesterday, and the moment the physicians gave permission for visitors, I came straight here to see him with my own eyes. My father sits propped against a mountain of pillows, his face still bruised, his left arm in a sling, and his cracked ribs wrapped up tight, but he's alive and that's all that matters right now.

"I'm fine, Ana." My father's voice is rough but steady. "You don't need to stand guard over me like I'm going to disappear."

"I'll decide when you're fine." I cross my arms and turn to the lead physician, a stern older man who's served our family for decades. When he'd heard that my father had been found, he'd insisted on attending to him alongside Samuil's doctor. "Tell me everything. I want details, not reassurances."

The physician exchanges a glance with his colleague before answering. "The injuries are painful but not life-threatening. With proper rest and care, he should make a full recovery within six to eight weeks."

"What about internal bleeding?" I press.

"We've monitored him closely throughout the night. There's no evidence of internal bleeding at this time, but we'll continue watching for any signs of complications." The physician's expression softens slightly. "Your father is strong, Princess Anastasia. He's been through worse and survived."

I nod slowly as relief courses through my body. I heard the same report from Samuil's doctor last night, but I needed the reassurance. I'll probably ask a hundred more times before the day is through. My father watches me with a mix of pride and amusement, probably because I'm acting like an overprotective mother hen. But I can't help it. I nearly lost him, and I'm not taking any chances with his recovery.

When the physicians finally finish their report, I turn to the attendants waiting near the door. "I want someone with him at all times. Rotate shifts so no one gets exhausted. If anything changes, anything at all, you come find me immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, Princess." They bow their heads respectfully.

"And make sure he actually rests." I shoot my father a pointed look. "That means no business meetings, no strategy sessions, and no trying to run the Rostova operations from his bed."

"You're worse than the physicians," my father mutters, but there's warmth in his voice.

"Someone has to keep you alive." I lean down and kiss his forehead gently. "I'll check on you later."

Only after I've satisfied myself that everything is properly arranged do I finally leave the guest suite and make my way back through the hallways toward the master bedroom I share with Samuil. My feet ache from standing so long and exhaustion pulls at my bones, but I refuse to show weakness in front of anyone.

The moment I close the bedroom door behind me, an unexpected wave of nausea hits me hard and fast. My stomach lurches violently and I barely make it to the bathroom before I'm sick, my body heaving as I grip the edge of the sink for support. The nausea passes after a few minutes, leaving me shaky and weak. I rinse my mouth and splash cold water on my face, then stare at my reflection in the mirror. My skin looks pale and there are dark circles under my eyes that no amount of makeup will hide.

I'm just so exhausted. Too many sleepless nights and emotional strain from nearly losing my father. When was the last time I ate? I frown as I try to remember. I think it was right before rescuing my father. I'm going to have to eat something soon before I end up passing out. And that just won't do. Besides, it would be embarrassing.

I dry my face with a towel and straighten my shoulders, determined not to let anyone see how rattled I am. The last thing I need is Samuil or the physicians fussing over me when my father needs their attention more. I'll rest later, after I've made sure everything is running smoothly.

By the time I make my way downstairs, the estate is in complete chaos. Raised voices echo from the staff area, and I can hear the unmistakable sound of an argument brewing. I follow the noise and find several members of my father's royal household standing in the main corridor, facing off against Samuil's household staff with expressions that range from irritated to outright hostile.

"The Princess's father requires his meals prepared according to specific dietary restrictions," one of the royal attendants is saying, his tone sharp with frustration. "Your kitchen staff refuses to accommodate his needs."

"We've got thirty people to feed now instead of fifteen," Samuil's head cook shoots back. "I can't reorganize my entire kitchen because one man wants his food prepared a certain way."

"That one man is royalty," another royal servant interjects coldly.

"This is Pakhan Galkin's estate," one of Samuil's guards says flatly. "We follow his rules here, not yours."

The argument escalates quickly, with both sides talking over each other and nobody listening to anyone. I can see this situation spiraling out of control if someone doesn't step in immediately, and since Samuil is nowhere to be seen, that someone is going to have to be me.

"Enough." My voice cuts through the noise like a blade, and everyone falls silent immediately. I step into the center of the group and look at each person in turn, making sure they understand I'm not asking for their attention. "This stops now. We're all living under the same roof, working toward the same goal, which is keeping my father safe and helping him recover. That means we work together, not against each other."

I turn to the royal attendants first. "My father's dietary needs will be accommodated, but you need to work with the kitchen staff instead of making demands. Provide them with a list of restrictions and preferences and give them time to adjust their schedules accordingly."

Then I face Samuil's household staff. "You're hosting members of a royal household who've just been through a traumatic experience. Please show them the same respect and hospitality you'd show any important guest in this estate."