Queen of Someday (4 page)

I nod, unable to keep the frown from my face.

Reaching out, Sergei lays a hand on mine. My shivers from earlier return and I gaze at him.

“This task will not be an easy one. The road to your coronation will be long, and fraught with danger and treachery. Are you certain this is what you want?” His expression is soft and full of kindness. If I choose to leave, I need only say so now, and he will see me safely home, back to the house of my father. For a moment, the idea fills me with joy. Then I remember that my joy would be short-lived. Two seasons from now, we will be so in debt that we will be forced to sell off our lands, and our kingdom and title will be taken. Mother, Father, and my sweet baby brother will live in poverty for the rest of their days and I, well, I will be sent off to marry my uncle. A slow chill crawls up my spine, and I have to fight off a shudder.

“My choice, General Salkov, is to do whatever necessary to win Peter’s heart and the crown that accompanies it,” I say boldly.

He sits back.

“Then I am at your service, Princess Sophie. But know this—it’s not Peter’s heart you should be concerned with. You must win the heart of the empire.”

I nod, squaring my shoulders and tilting my chin upward.

“Then perhaps we should begin with my first lesson.” I take a piece of paper from the desk and scribble on it. “Tell me, how do you say this in Russian?” I ask, sliding him the paper.

He grins.

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As Sergei predicted, the Ladies Vorotsova arrive at midday in a golden carriage. Their entourage is small, and they have a brief audience with both Empress Elizabeth and Count Lestocq before being sent to my rooms. By the time they arrive, I have three new gowns completed and my mother has returned from her long walk, a radiant smile plastered across her face. The girls greet me with deep curtsies. Elizavetta is short and plump with orange red hair and round eyes so light blue that they remind me of the morning sky. She’s round in the face and shoulders like the paintings of angelic cherubs, only her plump lips are dark red with beet juice, taking her look from childish to voluptuous. Her sister is nearly the exact opposite. Ekaterina has golden yellow hair that hangs in long, loose waves down her back. She is slender but not sharp of feature, her smile rich and genuine. Only her eyes betrayed their relation, the same light, icy blue.

“I’m so pleased to meet you,” I offer warmly. “I hope your journey was pleasant.”

Ekaterina speaks first. “It was quite uneventful. And please, call me Rina.”

I nod. Elizavetta steps forward, looking flushed.

“Is there anything you need right now, my lady? I should like to see to our things.”

I shake my head. “I’m all right for now. Please, see to your things and settle in. In a few hours, I will need your help preparing for tonight’s ball.”

With a curt nod, the red-haired sister glides off to her own room next door. Rina, however, stays behind. Mother quietly excuses herself, grabs the paper and ink well, and heads to her private chambers, closing the door behind her.

Soon, I hear yelling from the next room, Elizavetta screaming at the servants about mishandling their trunks. I turn a surprised glance to Rina, who blushes wildly.

“I think you will find my dear sister is… unused to serving others, as she is much more accustomed to being served.” She bats her eyelashes. “I blame my father really. He has spoiled her to the point of making her an incurable brat.”

I can’t help but laugh at the remark, because it reminds me of something very similar I said about my own brother once. At the memory, a sharp pain erupts behind my ribs, a longing for home that always seems to be just below the surface.

“I will leave her to the unpacking, I think. Retribution for the many, many verses of poetry she felt the need to recite on the journey.” She grins at me conspiratorially. “How are you settling into court? It must be very different than where you’re from.”

I’m not sure whether I should be offended by the remark, so I choose to wave it off.

“It’s very similar, on a larger scale, of course.”

She kneels down and begins gathering up discarded bits of fabric and lace.

“Are you hungry?” I ask suddenly. She looks up, a bit startled.

“I am famished.”

I turn to the maid. “Isobel, could you fetch some food for me and my lady? Some salted meat and bread with honey, please.”

With a quick curtsy, Isobel hurries off to the kitchen.

“Please, sit with me, Rina.”

She obliges, sitting in a chair across from me.

“Tell me, Rina, have you ever been to one of the empress’ balls?”

She nods. “Quite often. My family visits court regularly.”

“So you must know the prince?”

She frowns. “I have seen him a few times, but we’ve never spoken. He rarely attends the galas and when he does, he’s always surrounded by his men.”

“His men?”

“Young generals and advisors he keeps close to him. Alexander Mananov and Mikhail Andrei, most specifically. They are his closest companions.”

I nod, repeating the names in my mind until I’ve memorized them.

“Surely, he will be there this evening. It’s in his honor after all,” I offer pleasantly.

She shrugs. “I’m sure you’re right. He will be there, if only on orders from his aunt.”

She turns her head to the side, looking at me thoughtfully.

“Have you never met him then? The prince, that is.”

“Once, a long time ago. Honestly, I was afraid he wouldn’t even remember me, but when I saw him earlier…” I let myself trail off. I can still feel where his hands clasped my waist; his smile has brined itself into my memory. I feel myself blush at the thought.

She smiles warmly. “Then we have our work cut out for us. After tonight, Princess, everyone in court will know your name.”

***

Isobel is just beginning to light the lamps in my chambers when Rina is finished. She and my mother have managed to twist my hair into an elaborate design with curls and ribbons piled high on my head. I’m wearing a gown of soft sky blue with a large pannier bustle that makes the fabric wide over my hips. The top is cut low, swung across my upper arms to expose my neck and shoulders, only the soft organza in the bodice keeping my breasts from spilling out. Rina laces a pearl choker around my neck and completes the transformation with a small, pearl tiara from her own trunk.

“It’s so lovely,” I say softly.

She shrugs, as if it means less than nothing.

“There. You are all done. I will go slip into my gown, and I’ll be back in a few minutes to escort you to the staircase.”

As she slips out the door, Elizavetta comes back in. If my dress is large, hers is simply massive. Dark crimson satin, her gown is cut the same as mine in the bodice. Only without the grace of the organza, her ample bosom is on full display like a trussed ham on a platter. The red is the same color as her lips and the large, ruby tiara in her hair. The color, while bold, makes her skin look a bit green and unsettled, and it draws the natural flush from her round cheeks.

She curtsies. “My lady.”

I nod and turn back to the mirror, examining myself carefully one last time. My mother slips a dark blue sash over my head, and I secure it across my chest. She turns to Elizavetta and puts her hand to her chest in shock.

“Oh my. What a bold gown, wherever did you get it?”

The girl smiles.

“Paris, my lady. A gift from my uncle, the Imperial Chancellor.”

“Paris,” Mother mumbles. “That certainly explains it.”

Rina returns, her hair coiled into a wispy braid and fastened to the crown on her head. Her gown is the colors of spun gold, making her look like a radiant sun. She’s put a little coal along her eyes, and it makes them stand out against her otherwise porcelain skin.

Mother steps in front of them.

“Now, when we are introduced, I will lead my daughter down the grand staircase. You two will follow behind.”

They both nod. Mother opens the door and announces to the steward, “We are ready.”

He leads us down the hallway and through the corridor in the main part of the palace. Every room we pass is rich with color and finery. We go down two flights of stairs and end up on the west side of the staircase. Sergei is there waiting, along with Count Lestocq, who immediately takes Mother’s arm. Holding his arm out for me, Sergei smiles.

“May I have the honor?”

He’s traded his earlier attire for a navy-blue velvet Caftan with gold embroidery. The color is so rich and lush it’s all I can do not to reach out and stroke his arm. Carefully laying my hand atop of his, we line up. Across the staircase from us is Empress Elizabeth on the arm of Chancellor Bestuzhev, her silver gown shining in the lamplight. Behind her, a group of young men laughs good-naturedly.

I pick out Peter immediately.

He turns and our eyes connect for only a heartbeat before the empress steps forward, obscuring him from my sight. Still, I manage to hold that moment in my mind, that perfect moment when he sees me and smiles, his nose and eyes crinkling the way they did when we were little. I can see the very top of his sandy blond curls over her head. A deep sigh slides from my chest at the sight of him. Below us, the music stops and those who were dancing slide to the edges of the room as the valet announces the empress. She glides down the massive marble-and-gold staircase and the entire room honors her, their heads bowed reverently until she walks past.

But I’m not looking at the empress, radiant though she is in her finery. My eyes have locked on Peter’s face. He’s not looking at me now, but talking with the two young men flanking him. He says something and they laugh heartily, his gaze finally wandering up to mine in an expression I can’t quite place. He looks me over and it’s all I can do not to fidget under his scrutiny. When his eyes meet mine, again he gently dips his head to me and under my tight bodice, my heart races.

He is announced next, followed by his companions. Then Mother’s name is called, and she and the Count begin their descent. Beside me, Sergei pats my arm reassuringly as my name is called. I’m barely aware of my movement until we are nearly halfway down the staircase and I see all eyes on me, some joyful, some apprehensive, and some downright cold. Trumpets blast behind me, and we stop there on the stairs. Empress Elizabeth stands at the base, motioning to us as she makes the announcement.

“Princess Johanna and Princess Sophie have come a very long way to join us tonight. They have, in very short order, proven to be clever, courageous, and strong of faith. For this reason, I would like to bestow a great honor upon them.”

With a wave, she motions for us to join her. Sergei releases me and we descend the stairs, neither quite sure what’s about to happen.

One of her men steps forward as the guards around the room begin to drum softly. He kneels, holding up a red-velvet pillow on which two sashes and pins sit. Taking one pair, she approaches my mother.

“Princess Johanna, by the authority invested of me by God and man as Empress and the Great and Holy Saint Catherine of Alexandria, I bestow upon you, the Order of Saint Catherine, and the Lesser Star of Russia.” She drapes the sash over Mother’s head, and then pins the diamond inlaid cross to her bodice, placing a hand on her head to seal the ordination. Then she moves to me.

“Princess Sophia, by the authority invested of me by God and man as Empress and the Great and Holy Saint Catherine of Alexandria, I bestow upon you, the Order of Saint Catherine, and the Greater Star of Russia.”

She repeats the gesture, placing on me the sash of scarlet moiré with silver edges embroidered with the inscription: “ZA LYUBOV’ I OTECHESTVO”. Then she retrieves the pin, a massive, star-shaped pendant of diamonds and rubies attached to a red bow, and affixes it to my bodice.

She turns, addressing the room, and everyone erupts into joyous cheers.

I step forward and clear my throat.

I recite my short speech in nearly perfect Russian. “Thank you, Empress, for your kind welcome. Though I had never before seen the light of a Russian day, I fell in love the moment the sun rose in the sky. Being here to celebrate Grand Duke Peter’s birthday is a joy and a gift. I hope it is the first of many such occasions we will share.”

The crowd mutters a warm, “Here, here!” And the empress beams at me.

With a clap of her hands, the music begins and I feel a familiar hand at my elbow. I try to look pleasant, a hint of a smile on my face as Sergei takes me around, making introductions to all the emissaries from other courts. I listen to each with genuine interest even as, out of the corner of my eye, I’m searching for my fair-haired prince. The dance ends, and people clap. When the music begins up again, the empress takes the floor with the handsome, young Duke Rohebin, the envoy from Denmark. Soon, others join them. I glance around nervously. I’m sure Sergei can feel my hand shaking in his, but he says nothing. Behind me, my ladies giggle and flirt with the noble men around us. It takes me a moment to realize that the court is populated with a heavy ratio of men to women. My ladies and I, my mother, and the empress, being part of only a small handful of those in attendance.

When I finally catch sight of Peter, he’s across the room, walking towards me, a wide grin across his face. He looks incredibly handsome in his military-style green suit, his stride confident and determined. Reaching me, he stops abruptly and bows.

“My Lady Sophia, General Salkov. It’s nice to see you again.”

I curtsy.

“It’s nice to see you again as well, my lord,” I offer.

Sergei bows and politely excuses himself.

“Pardon me. I must see to Sir Rudolpho.”