Queen of Someday (6 page)

The morning air is brisk; the last embers of fire glowing in my fireplace do little to stave off the chill. It’s still dim, the sun only beginning to rise, yet there is a soft sound, the hum of a palace alive. I can already smell eggs and meats being prepared in the kitchens far below. I step quietly out of my bedchamber and into the sitting room. As good as her word, the seamstress has left a lovely red-and-gold riding habit for me. I run my fingers over the fine embroidery and buttons of the jacket. It’s thick, heavy damask with coils of silk and lace in the bodice—much nicer than anything I’ve ever owned.

With a gentle tap at the door, the maid sweeps in. She curtsies.

“Pardon me, my lady. You have a visitor.”

I stand, smoothing my hand down my dressing gown.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Ricovi, the grand duke’s valet.”

She walks over and helps me into a long satin and fur-lined robe that she’s brought with her. When I’m covered, I take a seat.

“Show him in.”

Ricovi is an older man with long, white hair coiled into rolls atop his head. He’s in a tight blue suit and bows deeply as he enters the room. “My lady, I’ve been told to deliver this.”

He holds out a simple, wooden box, which my maid takes and hands to me.

“A gift from His Highness, the prince,” he adds with another bow.

I take the box and open it. Sitting on a bed of white satin rests a diamond-and-emerald tiara. Even in the dim light, the stones glow as if they are made of moonbeams and starlight.

“It’s breathtaking. Please, send my deepest thanks to His Highness.”

“Yes, my lady. And His Highness also wonders if you would care to join him for breakfast?”

I sit back, thinking over last night’s events and the vague plan I’ve been forming in my mind.

“Please tell His Highness, that I would love to join him, but I have plans for an early morning ride. Tell him I’ll meet him in the dining hall when I return.”

The Valet looks mildly stunned at my refusal but bows and leaves the room.

As soon as he’s gone, I call to the maid, “Quickly, send word to the groom to ready a horse for me. And send someone to rouse my ladies.”

She nods, whispers to the guard outside my door, then comes back in to help me get ready.

I dress quickly and slide on a pair of riding boots—one of my few belongings they managed to retrieve from the woods—and brush my hair. I decide to leave it long and wavy, if only to feel the wind flow through it as I ride. My ladies appear soon after, both dressed and looking like they’ve been up for hours.

They curtsy, “My lady,” they offer in unison.

“Good morning, I hope you both slept well.”

Rina grins as Elizavetta wavers just a bit, her eyes droopy and her skin paler than I’ve seen it before.

“Some of us better than others,” Rina says playfully, nudging her sister, who shoots her a rotten look.

“I’m going for a ride, and then we are to join His Highness for breakfast. Please see to it that I have a gown ready to wear and that some lavender and sage is brought up from the kitchens.”

They nod, and I watch as the gesture makes Elizavetta grimace.

With a pang of sympathy, I add one more thing. “And Elizavetta, please go down to the kitchen and ask for a glass of spiced beer. If you drink it slowly, it will help the ache in your head.”

Lord knows I’ve had to prepare the concoction enough times for my father after an argument with my mother left his temples pounding.

She nods gratefully. “Yes, my lady.”

Writing a quick note to Mother, I head for the stables.

***

The last remnants of the snow are vanishing quickly as the sun rises over the trees. In a few days it will be mostly gone—a mild winter to be sure. The ground under my feet is soft and wet as I make my way across the vast estate to the stables. Looking back over my shoulder, I see the entire palace begin to glow as if coming alive. The green-and-gold decorations over rows and rows of windows make it seem as if the palace is alive, with the promise of spring and growing things. Great marble statues surround the building, a large hedge obscuring only part of it from view.

Tearing my gaze from the finery, I walk quickly to the stables to find the groom there, and a beautiful chestnut mare waiting for me.

He holds out the reins, pleased by my expression. I run one gloved hand down her nose.

“She’s beautiful,” I say softly.

“Peony is her name. She’s one of my finest.”

I take the reins. “Thank you.”

He nods and gently helps me into the saddle.

“Now, the best place to ride is just there in that open area in the courtyard.”

I smile, with no intent of telling him my true destination.

“Thank you again. We will return shortly,” I say briskly, nudging her into a trot. I wait until I’m sure he’s gone back into the tables before urging her to go a bit faster, and then a bit faster still.

We ride across the courtyard and into a thicket of trees. Peony seems pleased to be able to open up and run, and I don’t have the heart to hold either of us back. Soon the trees open up a bit and we are in another field, this one wide and full of gently rolling hills. Finally, I slow her down. I can feel the strain on my face as the muscles widen, holding the large smile in place. I can’t help it. It’s the first time in months I’ve felt… free. As if out here, nothing can hold me down or hold me back. Soon I hear something, a dull thump as another set of hooves rides up behind me. I turn Peony quickly and come face to face with Peter, riding astride a tall, black horse of his own.

“I got your message,” he says breathlessly as he trots up beside me. “It does seem like a nice day for a ride, doesn’t it?”

I nod. “Yes, my lord. I’ve been cooped up for weeks; I just felt the need to… run for a bit.”

He grins widely. “Yes, I know that feeling well.”

I let my eyes flutter downward. His riding clothes are German in style, almost military looking with red-and-gold buttons and dark breeches. They make him look older, more like a general than a boy.

“Oh, and Happy Birthday. I don’t think I got to say it last night.”

He lowers his chin, flushing just a little.

“Yes, about that. I feel I owe you an apology. I behaved poorly.”

I wave it off. “If we can’t enjoy ourselves to excess once in a while, what is the value in life?”

“You aren’t angry with me?” he asks, his tone becoming serious. I look up and see him watching my expression, trying to read my face as I respond.

“No, of course not. Should I be?”

His face frowns a little, and I can see he was hoping for something else.

“Though,” I add quickly, “I was a bit disappointed I didn’t get to spend more time with you. Perhaps more than a bit.”

At that, he perks up, the boyish grin returning to his face. I grin too, only mine is a smile of relief. Somehow, I feel victorious. I’ve not only forced Peter to chase after me, but I’ve managed to express my feelings for him in a way that’s not obsessive or dismissive. A delicate first strike in my counter attack, but a powerful one nonetheless.

“Well, why don’t we ride for a bit?” he offers, leaning forward on his horse and patting its long, raven mane.

I raise one eyebrow in challenge. “I don’t know, Peter. Do you think you can keep up?” With that, I’m off. Peony anticipates my desires as we move through the clearing back into the woods. Every turn, every jump, she’s gliding through the forest as if she were born to it. A hawk more than a horse. I hear Peter close in behind me, and I pull her back just a bit. Soon we are neck and neck. I glance over and he’s laughing, an expression of sheer joy plastered on his face. Passing in front of me, he rides ahead and then turns away. I follow, careful to stay close but not overtake him.

Before I know it, we’re back on the palace grounds. As we break through the last of the thick woods, I see something happening in the courtyard. A dozen small fires have been lit in copper pans placed in a circle around a large rug, which has been spread out along the ground. A short table covered with food, milk, and wine sits in the center. There are large, lush sitting pillows scattered about. Beyond the ring of fires, my ladies and his lords stand, waiting for us to arrive.

Startled by the sight, I let Peony slow to a stop and stare at Peter, who has stopped a few feet in front of me and dismounted. A groom rushes over to take his horse, even as another walks briskly toward me. I let him help me dismount and hand him the reins, pulling off my warm, leather gloves.

Peter meets me halfway, holding out his arm.

“I decided to bring breakfast to us,” he says proudly, as I take his arm and let him lead me to the feast he’s created.

Peter walks up to the ring of fires and releases my arm to go greet his men. Rina and Elizavetta rush over to me, Elizavetta draping me in a warm, white, fur robe as Rina slides the tiara onto my head and combs through my wild hair with her fingers.

“Isn’t it the most romantic thing?” Rina whispers.

“It’s cold,” Elizavetta complains softly, rubbing her hands together and blowing on them.

Peter returns, motioning for me to sit beside him.

“How was your ride this morning?” Alexander asks, taking a seat on Peter’s other side.

“Brisk,” I offer with a smile. “And quite what I needed.”

“Most ladies don’t ride in winter,” Mikhail offers, passing a plate of food to Peter. “Especially alone.”

Alexander interrupts, “But she wasn’t alone, was she?”

“Certainly not. Lord Peter is much too chivalrous to make a lady ride alone,” Elizavetta says, offering Peter a sweet smile, which sits ill with me. He raises his glass of wine and tilts his head, graciously accepting her compliment.

For the first time, something raises inside me, a feeling foreign and cold that I cannot quite place. I realize I do not like hearing his name on her lips.

Reaching over, I touch his hand gently.

“Yes, thank you for joining me. And thank you for this lovely gift.” I lower my chin just a little so he can see I’m wearing it. Then I look up at him from beneath my eyelashes. “It’s beautiful.”

Reaching out, he lifts my chin, looking me full in the face.

“Yes, quite beautiful. As if were made to sit upon no other head,” he says gently.

I feel myself blush at his words, and I don’t try to conceal it.

Around us, the others begin to chat about the weather and the state of the budding war between England and France. I listen politely as I fill my plate and begin to eat. Every so often, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Peter watching me, his expression calm. Somehow, the topic turns to Elizavetta complaining that the royal seamstress is too busy to complete a new gown she’s requested, and I feel the need to speak up.

“Yes, that’s my fault, I’m afraid. All our things were destroyed in the attack, save a few items Mother was able to smuggle in her corset.”

At that, the boys laugh.

“And you fought back? How terribly unladylike,” Mikhail comments, his tone so level I can’t tell if he’s teasing. I decide to take his words lightly.

“A sentiment my mother shares, I assure you,” I say.

“And what should she have done, Mikhail?” Alexander demands, his tone harsh. “Stepped out and stretched her neck so they could kill her without dirtying themselves?”

I feel my chest swell proudly as Alexander rushes to my defense. I offer him a grateful smile, which he returns.

Peter pipes in, “I quite agree. Savagery must be faced with savagery. Besides, I would have loved to see it, the lovely princess standing in the snow like a destroying angel.”

“In her undergarments,” Alexander mutters, and they burst out laughing again.

Peter’s gaze slides over to me, a wide grin still spread across his face. “Enemies of Russia beware. Someday, Sophie will make a fierce queen.”

I feel my throat tighten around the bit of cheese I’ve just swallowed.

It’s the first time anyone has spoken of our marriage, even in a distant way. I’m surprised and not sure what to say to that. As I sit there, gaping at Peter like an idiot, Alexander saves me.