The tension in the room deepened as the king's sons were brought forth, each one a living

  embodiment of the power that Vasilisa was expected to help shape. Six sons, each blessed with

  gifts from the gods, each one vying for a chance to inherit the throne, but each with their own

  unique curse and strength.

  Prince Dima Radomirovich, the eldest of the twins, stood tall, his eyes burning with the heat of

  his control over fire. He was ambitious, and his cruel nature in battle was well known. He

  would stop at nothing to secure his place, even if it meant burning everything in his path.

  Beside him stood Prince Yuri Radomirovich, the other twin, his cold, calculating demeanor an

  exact contrast to his brother's fiery personality. He controlled water, a blessing that allowed him

  to manipulate the tides and currents, both literal and metaphorical. He was a strategist, often in

  conflict with his twin, but his mind was his most dangerous weapon.

  Then there was Prince Semyon Radomirovich, whose power of mind reading made him a

  terrifying figure in the palace. Quiet and manipulative, he could see into anyone’s thoughts, and

  it was said that no secret was safe from him. He was feared, and his eerie silence often spoke

  volumes.

  Prince Viktor Radomirovich was next, detached and prophetic, with the blessing of

  supervision, which allowed him to see across distances and even glimpse into time itself. His

  eyes were like those of a god, distant and unfeeling, as though he was already above the petty

  squabbles of men.

  Then came Prince Lev Radomirovich, the youngest of the sons and the one who carried the

  blessing of superhuman strength. His brutal nature in battle was undeniable, but there was a

  childlike simplicity to him, a naivety that made him both a warrior-born and an innocent in his

  own right.

  Finally, the outcast son, Prince Alexei Volkov, the bastard.Came not from a queen neither from

  a nobel woman,a son of whore, His blessing was unknown, possibly dormant or cursed. He was

  brooding, sharp-witted, and stood apart from his brothers, never quite fitting in with the royal

  bloodline. But there was something about him—something that made him possibly sympathetic

  to Vasilisa, though she couldn’t tell yet if he was a potential ally or just another pawn in the

  game.

  Vasilisa stood in the midst of these men, her purpose clear—though twisted and unnatural. She

  was a vessel, and her body, it seemed, would decide the fate of this kingdom. She would give

  birth to the future ruler. But who would it be?

  As she gazed upon the sons, she felt a knot form in her stomach. They were all bound to this

  throne, bound to power, and bound to her. And she, the unwilling vessel, was trapped in the

  middle of it all.

  Her fate was no longer in her hands.

  It was in the hands of the Six Blessed Sons.

  The sons of Emperor Radomir Volkov, despite their grandeur and the blessings bestowed upon

  them, found themselves faced with an unexpected reality. The woman they had anticipated to be

  meek and obedient—the vessel—was nothing like they had imagined. Vasilisa, once a helpless

  girl trapped by fate, had become something far fiercer than they could have anticipated.

  To them, she wasn’t the docile object they had expected to warm their beds and birth their

  children for the sake of their bloodline. She was not the submissive woman they had envisioned,

  waiting to be chosen. Instead, she was defiant, strong-willed, and sharply unappealing to the

  arrogant sons of the king.

  The ritual that had been built into the very bones of their world had one purpose—to produce

  the next ruler. But Vasilisa's reaction to it all was far from what they had hoped.

  She turned to the king, her eyes burning with a mixture of anger and defiance. The room fell

  silent as she spoke, her words cutting through the air like a blade.

  “I won’t be fucking for sons. Go fuck yourself.”

  Her words, brimming with vulgarity and rebellion, echoed in the silent throne room. It was a

  challenge—a rejection of the very thing she had been brought here to do. No one, not even the

  king himself, had ever dared to speak in such a manner, least of all the vessel. The cat, who had

  carefully chosen her, even seemed to shrink away from her fierce glare, something akin to fear

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  flickering in his otherworldly eyes. He had never seen such insolence from the one he had

  chosen.

  The king’s face twisted into a sneer of contempt, his patience long gone. His voice, cold and

  sharp as ice, rang out.

  “Chain her.”

  The command was given without hesitation, and Vasilisa was dragged from the throne room, her

  hands shackled and her defiance still burning. She was thrown into the deepest, darkest cell of

  the palace—cold and damp, a place where prisoners were left to rot. The darkness embraced her

  as she lay on the stone floor, her heart beating wildly but resolutely.

  Days passed, and rumors began to stir among the court. The council was in an uproar,

  questioning the choices that had led to such a disaster. Koschei, the messenger, was summoned

  before them, his cold, calculating eyes meeting theirs.

  The councilors were relentless, their voices filled with suspicion and accusation. “Why did you

  choose such a woman?” they demanded, their words dripping with disdain. “What purity does

  she hold? What qualities does she possess that make her worthy to bear the king’s heirs?”

  Koschei, ever composed, met their questions with calmness, his voice unwavering as he

  answered. “She is hot-tempered, yes,” he admitted. “But she has no dust upon her character.

  Her fire is her own, and it burns without being tainted. She may not fit your expectations,

  but she holds within her the raw power that this kingdom needs. You should not judge her

  so quickly.”

  He paused for a moment, eyes gleaming with a strange, distant wisdom. “In this world, the

  vessel is not merely a womb for the king’s children. The vessel holds blessings—gifts that

  are passed to the children she bears. These blessings are not random. They are gifts of

  power, ones that shape the future of the realm.”

  The council listened intently as Koschei continued. “The first queen, the one before her,

  blessed her first son with the power of fire—control over the flame. The second son was

  given control over water. The third son—mind reading. The fourth, the ability to see across

  distances and time, a gift of supervision. The fifth, superhuman strength. These gifts have

  carried through the generations, and now the question remains: what will she bring?”

  The room fell silent as the weight of his words sank in. They knew the blessings were of

  paramount importance. Without them, the line of succession could falter. And Vasilisa—whether

  they liked it or not—was the key.

  Koschei's eyes lingered on the council, his voice laced with an undeniable finality. “The first

  and second sons are twins—one with fire, the other with water. The third son sees minds.

  The fourth sees the future. The fifth carries strength. And the sixth—well, he is the bastard

  of the king, his blessing still unknown.”

  He paused. “But each of these sons carries their blessing because of their mother—the

  vessel who brought them into being. And now, the question is: will she accept her fate, or

  will she continue to resist?”

  The council murmured amongst themselves, their fear and uncertainty now palpable. They had

  assumed the ritual would go as planned—that Vasilisa would accept her role without question,

  that she would be compliant. But this was a woman who had not been bred to be compliant. She

  had been chosen, yes—but her power, her defiance, was undeniable.

  In the dark, cold cell, Vasilisa lay awake, her thoughts racing. The silence of the dungeon

  pressed in on her, but her mind could not be silenced. Fire, water, mind reading, supervision,

  strength... These were the blessings of the sons she would bear. And now, she was to be forced

  into this ritual, to bring forth children who would inherit the kingdom's powers, powers that

  could change the very fabric of the realm.

  But what of her? What power did she hold? What blessing did she carry?

  The council’s questions would not stop ringing in her mind. Would she choose to accept this

  fate? Or would she continue to fight?

  For now, however, one thing was clear: Vasilisa’s destiny was tied to the sons of Emperor

  Radomir Volkov. And she would have to navigate the dangerous currents of this world, whether

  she willed it or not.

  But she would not be silent.

  The fire inside her had only begun to burn.