Queen of Someday (17 page)

I turn and open the door, not looking back as I take Sergei’s arm and let him lead me back to my room. I’m alone in my bed before I let the grief overtake me.

The weeks pass quickly after that, spring blossoming into summer like the roses outside my window. I spend my days in lessons, either with Sergei—though he tells me I’m practically fluent already—or with Madame Groot, or with the empress herself. I quickly become accustomed to sitting for hours at the banquets and balls. I dance only with Peter and only when he insists, a false smile is my shield against the never-ending pain of my loneliness. I sit in on many meeting with the senate and the synod, learning what I can. They are all impressed with my quick mind and fair judgment. I find the empress well reasoned and slow to anger, though she is also easily swayed by the seemingly endless parade of men who share her bed.

Sergei is charming as ever, his manner relaxed and playful. He never speaks of my last moments with Alexander; I don’t even know how he came to bring me to the door that day. Perhaps it was Alexander himself who confided in him, but I do not bring it up. Sergei flirts, jokes, and tries to lighten the mood. Though it’s hard not to respond to him, some days it feels too false, too tiring. Some days he sits next to me and reads, and I close my eyes, letting the timber of his voice carry me away like leaves on the wind. Those are the only times I feel even half alive, and his company is my only respite.

The chancellor is reinstated, at the empress’ behest. And though he still bears the scars of Peter’s abuse, he seems to remember as clearly my kindness and has become my ardent defender.

Peter’s moods are ever inconsistent. One day, he seems to have nothing to do with me at all. The next, he refuses to leave my side. He even sneaks a kiss once in a while, which I don’t discourage. I simply close my eyes and pretend he is someone else.

I do not speak to Alexander, except when absolutely necessary in polite company. I don’t look inside our book or visit our secret room. I try very hard not to think of his touch, not even in my dreams, which often betray me with visions of his face.

The empress busies herself making plans for our wedding, and thankfully asks little of me other than the occasional opinion on food or music. She has me moved into Peter’s wing, the hall of the grand duke and duchess. I have new ladies and maids, and we often wile away the evenings with games and cards. She even brings in a dance instructor, a short, slender Frenchman named Pierre, to teach us all the latest dances from Paris in preparation for the wedding.

Gifts from the empress keep arriving, nearly daily. Gold, silver, and diamonds. Most of it I send back to my father, some I keep for new gowns and ribbons, some I even send to Mother, who had been indisposed on her way home, extending her stay in King Frederick’s court.

Operas, plays, and dances buzz through the palace every night in an unyielding event of gaiety. I, however, can barely tolerate them. Finally tired of the noise, I wake up early one day and have an archery station erected in the meadow. I once thought to use it as a ploy to catch Peter’s attention, but now I instruct the whole thing be kept as quiet as possible, so as not to draw his notice.

As I stand in the meadow, releasing one arrow after another, only my silent maid Henrietta accompanying me, I feel the wind rush through my hair and I can relax. Each arrow that flies carries a piece of me away with it until I’m numb from everything.

“May I join you, Your Highness?” a familiar voice asks. I look over my shoulder and see Rina walking toward me, her golden hair blowing softly in the breeze.

I relax my arm, lowering the bow.

“Of course. It’s good to see you, Rina.”

She tilts her head.

“And you, we haven’t spoken in some time.”

I nod and dismiss my maid, sending her off to the kitchen for some water.

“How have you been?” she asks, gently.

I frown.

“Busy. There’s always so much to be done.”

She nods, looking over her shoulder to be sure the maid has gone.

“I just wanted to apologize,” she begins, but I stop her, raising my hand.

“No, it is I who am sorry. You were dragged into this because of me. I know you did what you did for fear for my life, and at your queen’s order. I do not blame you. I never did.”

She walks closer, handing me an arrow.

“Yet, you avoid me, even with your eyes.”

I take the arrow and tap it against my chest.

“It’s not you who I avoid. But I think it is best if I keep my distance. It is not I, but the people close to me who suffer for my mistakes.”

She reaches out gently.

“I do not suffer, please don’t think that. Alexander is a good man. He is kind and patient. I could not ask for a better husband.”

I pat her hand, looking away quickly.

“I’m glad for that,” I manage weakly.

Turning back to the target, I draw my bow, letting the arrow fly. It hits dead center.

“I would hate to be whomever you are imagining on that target,” she says with a light chuckle.

“As would I,” another voice calls over. Peter and Alexander approach quickly. I feel myself stiffen as Peter rushes over, lifting me into his arms and placing a kiss on my lips. He releases me to my feet, and I look away.

“I didn’t expect to see you this morning,” I say. “I thought you had a meeting with the chancellor.”

Peter shrugs, as if it’s nothing at all, and takes the bow from my hand.

“Here, let me show you how it’s done.”

He takes an arrow and draws it back quickly, his form terrible, and releases it, sending it wide of the target.

“I think the wind took that one,” Alexander says lightly.

I glance over briefly, watching as Rina weaves her arm though his.

Peter laughs and shoots again, this time narrowly hitting the edge of the target. Frustrated, he shoves the bow back into my hands.

“Must be warped,” he grumbles.

I lift an arrow and pull it back, closing one eye as I find my target. I release the string and the arrow flies wide, landing in the distant tree with a loud thunk. I lower the bow.

“You must be right, my lord,” I say flatly.

He grins, clapping his hands together.

“Let’s do something else then,” he suggests wildly. “Let’s go for a ride. We can race through the trees; the first to the lake wins a chest full of silver!”

I glance over at Alexander, who hesitates.

“I think we shall pass on the game today,” he says, one hand resting protectively over Rina’s belly. I catch the gesture immediately, but it takes Peter a minute to catch on.

He laughs loudly, clapping Alexander on the back.

“Well done, you dog, well done.” He turns to me, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I can only hope my wife will perform as well.”

I feel the blood drain from my face as I force a smile.

“Congratulations,” I mumble halfheartedly.

“It looks like it’s just us then,” Peter says. “I’ll tell the groom to ready the horses if you will go and get changed quickly.”

I nod and smile, so he darts off toward the stables.

“It’s not—”

I hear Alexander begin to speak so I turn my back on him quickly, grabbing another arrow and letting it fly.

It hits the target dead center, the arrow flying so hard it’s halfway impaled in the hay behind it.

I set the bow down and unstrap my arm guard, dropping it at the ground at his feet as I walk past him, not looking back.

***

That night I’m summoned to the empress’ chambers. Sergei arrives and bids me come with him, though I am already in my nightdress.

“It’s urgent, and she will not wait,” he says.

Hurrying alongside him, wracking my brain to think of anything I might have done, any possible thing that might have displeased her, I nearly run to her room. The door opens and the physician is there, his expression grave.

“What, what is it?” I ask, pushing past him.

The empress is sitting in her bed. She orders everyone out, save for me. Once they are gone, I close the door and sit by her side, as she had once done for me.

“You must marry Peter right away,” she says urgently, taking my hand.

I shake my head. “I don’t understand. You said the spring. March…”

She frowns, clutching the blankets to her chest.

“No, I’ve had a vision.”

“A vision?” I ask clumsily.

“Yes, oh, I know how it sounds. But I was lying in bed, praying as I often do, and a vision came to me.”

“A vision of what?” I ask softly, wondering if I should call the physician back in. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes rimmed in dark circles. She looks quite frantic.

“Peter is sick.”

I shake my head, “No, you’re mistaken. I saw him only today. He’s perfectly well.”

She’s too lost in her own mind to hear my words.

“He’s so frail, he always has been. So sickly and small.”

I frown, but take her hands.

“You must marry him now. He must have an heir.”

I sigh deeply. “Even if we marry tomorrow, who knows how long it might be to conceive a child. Madame Groot says—”

She cuts me off.

“Yes, yes. Go see Groot for some herbs. She has herbs that can help with that; I’ve seen her give them to others.”

“But,” I begin, only to be cut off again.

“Next week. The wedding shall happen next week.”

I nod, not knowing what else to say. I stand to leave and she grabs my arm, pulling me down roughly.

“And you will conceive—and quickly. Or else.”

Her implication is clear. I nod once and leave, letting Sergei walk me back to my room in silence.

I don’t bother going to Madame Groot. We have already discussed the matter. She shares the empress’ concerns about Peter’s health. She even suggests that because of a rather nasty bout of fever he had as a boy, that he may have great difficulty conceiving a child.

Still, it will not be seen as a failure on his part, but on mine. Wives who fail to conceive—especially royal wives—do not suffer from very long lives. Madame Groot has given me two vials of herbs, one to help conception, the other to prevent it, to be used at my discretion.

The whole affair draws my mind back to that image, scarred into my memory, of Alexander’s hand on Rina’s belly.

I throw myself across my bed, unable to force it away. I ball myself up, wrapping my arms around my middle, until I finally fall asleep near dawn.

At one point, a maid comes in to tell me that I have a visitor. I tell her to send them away and fall back into my slumber. When I wake again, it’s nearly dinner and I know I must do my part, show up and, wearing my phony smile, pretend that everything is all right.

I can’t help but hope that if I just pretend long enough, maybe one day it will be true, and I won’t have to pretend any more.

My maids help me dress but before I can leave for dinner, my visitor returns.

“Rina,” I say coolly, trying to remain detached from the storm of emotions hovering around me.

“Your Highness,” she says with a curtsy.

“Might I have a word, privately?”

I nod and excuse my maids.

Once they are gone, I fold my hands in my lap, mentally preparing myself for whatever she wants to tell me.

“I want you to know,” she begins softly, “that Alexander is a good man.”

I nod, but say nothing.

“And someday, he might even grow to love me,” she continues. I feel my hands begin to shake. “Maybe even as much as he loves the ghosts in his heart.”

I force myself to relax, to keep my expression placid.

“And I hope so too. You deserve happiness.”

“We never meant to hurt you,” she whispers. “Even Elizavetta. She thought you might be in trouble; she never meant to betray you.”

I stand quickly, my tolerance at its level.

“If you believe that, then you are a fool. Elizavetta has wanted nothing more than to hurt me since she arrived, and on that, you can compliment her on a job well done.” I pause. “And as for you and Alexander, please, keep your distance. I believe you mean well, but I cannot… it’s too hard. So, if you love me, if you care for me at all, please find your happiness far away from me.”