Anastasia looked at Morgan’s interested expression and suddenly felt a bit uneasy.
His Majesty had never been so interested in anyone before; that Wind God, whom he had only known for a day, could already chat with him about music, bartending, and jokes.
Yet, despite having been by his side for so many years, she recently felt that he was drifting further and further away from her.
“Are you still going to leave me behind to keep that appointment?” she asked, her tone carrying a hint of resentment she didn’t even realize was there.
Morgan turned his head to meet her gaze, a flash of helplessness crossing his eyes.
“Oh, Anastasia,” he said, “don’t look at me with that expression, as if I were a heartless lover.”
Anastasia turned her face away, remaining silent.
Morgan felt a headache coming on.
Ever since they had that heart-to-heart talk in Anastasia’s carriage last time, she seemed to have become as clingy as she was when she was a child.
He had indulged the young lady, followed her wishes, and even helped tease Barbatos, yet it still wasn’t enough to fully appease her.
Those Fae Grand Duchesses were right.
Anastasia had a hidden desire for control over the things she cared about—whether it was power, land, or the people she valued.
If things developed beyond a certain point, her mindset would become restless.
But Anastasia was also a benevolent Grand Duchess.
She was always generous to the subjects of her territory; she “loved” the things she held dear.
This “love” contained both tenderness and possessiveness.
Morgan sighed.
“I haven’t tied your hair in a long time,” he said.
“Come over and sit down.”
Anastasia froze for a moment.
Morgan had already walked to the vanity and picked up the wooden comb that had been used for many years.
It was the comb Anastasia used when she was a child; although she had replaced it with countless more luxurious ones since, she had always kept this one.
For this child he had raised with his own hands, Morgan was always indulgent.
But Anastasia had always been easy to take care of, never making difficult requests.
Yet, she had been quite unusual lately, easily becoming fussed over trivial things, and her mood swings were much more intense than usual.
Anastasia remained silent for a moment, then walked to the vanity and sat down.
In the mirror, her long, silver-white hair cascaded over her shoulders, with hints of deep blue dyed into the tips.
It was a color scheme similar to Morgan’s, though they had no blood relation.
Fae nobles, regardless of gender, all kept beautiful long hair, and Anastasia was no exception.
For her, the most relaxing way to unwind was to have her maid comb her hair.
But the one holding the comb at this moment was Morgan, and this was also a gesture that allowed the father and daughter to have a heart-to-heart.
The comb slid down from the crown of her head, passing through her silk-like hair all the way to the ends.
Morgan’s movements were very light and slow.
“What are you feeling uneasy about?” he asked in a calm tone.
Anastasia lowered her eyes, looking at her own reflection in the mirror.
“I worry that one day,” she said, “you will leave this place.”
The hand combing her hair paused slightly, then continued.
“Why would you think that?” Morgan asked.
“Because of your recent behavior,” Anastasia said.
“You have the attitude of someone who is truly about to hand Snezhnaya over to me.”
“Whether it’s giving me full diplomatic responsibility for this trip, or designating me as the crown heir within the royal court some time ago.
Many Fae say that I will be an excellent Empress.”
Morgan didn’t respond, listening quietly.
“But recently, your words always assume that you won’t be here.”
Anastasia’s voice lowered.
“How the Fae should do this, how Snezhnaya should do that…”
She pursed her lips.
“You said you once had two homes.
One was a homeland so distant you could never return to it, and the other was the Astral Express that gallops across the universe.”
“But you have never called Snezhnaya home.”
Anastasia looked at his reflection in the mirror; Morgan’s expression hadn’t changed.
Knowing that this conversation hadn’t touched upon her father’s painful memories, she continued.
“You are always looking at the sky; are you missing the Astral Express?”
“After you stay here for a while,” Anastasia’s voice tightened.
“Will you eventually abandon everything here—abandon me—and return to the Astral Express?”
After she finished speaking, she lowered her eyes, and silence fell before the vanity for a moment.
There was only the faint, distant noise of the streets outside the window.
Morgan looked down at her.
Anastasia sat there, her back straight, but her shoulders were slightly tense.
She lowered her eyes, her eyelashes casting a shadow on her cheeks.
He suddenly understood something.
The source of Anastasia’s recent abnormality was nothing else.
It was simply because she was afraid of him leaving.
She was already strong enough, capable enough, and sufficient to support the operation of Snezhnaya.
But emotionally, Anastasia still relied on him.
Morgan was the only guardian who had raised her; it had always been him since she was little.
Morgan sighed softly.
“Anastasia.”
He said, continuing the motion of combing her hair, deftly dividing the long hair into three strands and beginning to braid a fishtail braid.
“Home is a somewhat narrow concept.”
“That homeland I cannot return to has my parents and siblings.
That is the beginning of the person named ‘Morgan,’ and it is also a regret I never forget.
Afterward, I traveled the universe and ultimately chose the Astral Express as my second home.
Because the composition of its members is very similar to my first family.
Their beliefs also align with my morals and values.”
His movements in braiding were very skillful, strand by strand, intertwining.
“I have told you many stories about my companions on the Astral Express.
You should be able to understand that to me, they are very important family and friends.”
Anastasia didn’t speak.
She looked at Morgan’s reflection in the mirror, looking at that small, gold-red ticket clip on his collar.
His entire outfit was haute couture hand-sewn by Fae tailors, with exquisite materials and fine workmanship.
Only this small ticket clip didn’t quite match the style of the overall outfit.
The Trailblazers on the Astral Express all wore this mark on their clothes.
So, to you, we still don’t compare to your past family?
Anastasia’s hands on her knees tightened.
Even I am…
“I carry responsibilities in those families,” Morgan’s voice continued.
“But in Snezhnaya, it is different.”
Anastasia’s fingertips clenched even tighter.
“The Fae of Snezhnaya trust me, submit to me, and revere me.
This is leadership and being led, not family.
They sing in poems that I am the Father of Frost and Snow, the Master of the Fae.
But true family should not have such a vast disparity in status and class.”
He braided to the end of the hair and tied it with a ribbon.
“But Anastasia,” Morgan said, “you should know that you are a special existence.
I have always regarded you as a junior and a daughter.
Not just because I need an heir.”
“You are the first person I saw in this world, and you were the first to accept me.”
His voice was very soft.
“In this world, you are the only family I acknowledge.”
Anastasia’s shoulders trembled slightly.
She didn’t turn back.
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”