Queen of Someday Page 2

  Her face flushes as her voice raises pitch. No doubt, she is thinking even now how this tragedy might be used to her advantage. Her head snaps back to me, as if she’s really looking at me for the first time.

  “My heavens, Sophie! Where are your clothes? Did that horrible man…?” She doesn’t finish the sentence. I know where her mind is spinning off to. If he had touched me in any way, I would be ruined. Sullied and unfit to marry the prince.

  “No, Mother. I only fell in some thick mud. I had to rid myself of the gown in order to escape.”

  She lowers her chin and appraises me carefully, as if she could see the damaged virtue like a spot on her favorite table linen. Finally, she nods, accepting me at my word. Beside me, Sergei slips off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s warm and soft and smells vaguely like the winter pine of my homeland.

  “Here you go, Princess. You must have a terrible chill. Would you like us to make a fire for you to warm yourself before we continue to the palace?”

  His voice is tender, the way a person might speak to a child. I’m not sure why, but it unsettles me. Perhaps it is pride, but I don’t like it at all.

  “I’m quite all right, I assure you. I think my mother would be quite pleased to ride on ahead. No need to make a fuss.” I pause. “And please, call me Sophie.”

  He bows his head. “As you wish, Sophie.”

  He barks orders to his men, who form a tight ring around the carriage with their horses.

  “Are you quite certain those bandits won’t come back?” Mother asks as she hikes up her skirts and climbs back into the sled.

  Sergei smiles, winking at me behind her back. I catch his eye, and a small warmth forms in my belly.

  “I’m quite sure they are gone. And should we be set upon again, I’m sure young Sophie will defend your honor.”

  I can’t help but grin at his words. I carefully climb in behind Mother, and Sergei follows me.

  “In any case, I shall ride here with you—for your protection, of course.”

  Mother shrugs indifferently, and Sergei takes a seat beside me.

  “They destroyed all our lovely gowns,” Mother begins, not meeting his eyes. “We will need new ones. And since this attack occurred on Her Majesty’s road—”

  Sergei waves her off as if it’s nothing. “Yes, of course. I will let the empress know the situation. I’m sure she will make recompense.”

  Mother nods and sits back, closing her eyes as the carriage rolls into motion.

  Sergei leans over to me, his voice a whisper.

  “Where did you learn to handle a knife like that?”

  Mother answers, her eyes still closed, but her nose wrinkling up in disgust as she speaks.

  “Her father let the child run quite wild during our time in Settin. Too indulgent, I always told him so. Young ladies should be taught to sing and sew, not to fight and swing a sword. Still, dangerous times he would say. Posh. To this day, the girl can’t sew a straight line and her singing voice is just awful.” As if suddenly aware she was articulating all the wrong things to a man who, for all she knew, had the ear of the empress, she sits up starkly, opening her eyes. “That is, Princess Sophia’s strength lies in other accomplishments. She can play the piano quite well, she can read Latin, and she is in every way a true Lady of Prussia.”

  “I quite agree,” Sergei says gently. Mother nods and rests back again. Within minutes, she’s snoring gently.

  Even under the warmth of his coat, I’m shivering. I hope Sergei doesn’t notice the uncontrollable shaking as we bounce along. After a few minutes, he takes my hands in his. I open my mouth to protest, but he brings my fingers to his mouth and blows on them. The warmth of his breath feels so good against my frozen skin that I almost sigh in relief. He repeats the process a few times, blowing my hands and then rubbing them with his. All the while, I’m watching his face. It’s not a romantic gesture, yet it’s strangely intimate. I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this before, not by a man—and a terribly handsome man at that. My heart races in my chest, making me warm with flush.

  “Better?” he asks finally.

  I nod, taking my hands back reluctantly and folding them in my lap. “Yes. Thank you.”

  He grins. “So, tell me about yourself, Princess.”

  The muscles in my back stiffen. I wait for a moment, half expecting my mother to jump in with some nonsense about my feminine skills, most of which are blatantly untrue.

  “I like to ride,” I say weakly.

  “Do you hunt?” he asks.

  I nod. “I’m a good shot too.”

  A strange lump forms in my throat, as I realize I may never hunt with my father again.

  “Good,” Sergei says cryptically, peeking his head out of the carriage window.

  “Does that happen often? The attack, I mean. Do you often have a problem with bandits on the road?”

  He sits back, looking at me thoughtfully before answering.

  “No, never.”

  “Then why did the empress send you to escort us?” I ask.

  He’s quiet, looking lost in thought. “The empress didn’t send me.”

  I watch as an array of emotions play out across his chiseled face, worry, dread, and finally, resignation. He says nothing else, but I can read the tension in his squared shoulders, the tick working in his jaw.

  “It wasn’t a random attack, was it?” I ask boldly. “It was an assassination attempt.”

  His eyes flicker to mine. “You are a surprising creature, Princess. Clever as well as brave. Wherever did you come from?”

  I ignore the backhanded compliment.

  “Why would someone attack us?”

  He frowns, wiping his hand down his face and rubbing his neck.

  “There are those in court who are unhappy at the prospect of an alliance between Prussia and Russia, those who seek instead to fortify a bond with Austria. The empress favors you and your family, but that favor will extend only so far. If they can prove you unfit—in any way—she will have no choice but to send you away and find an Austrian princess to put on the throne.”

  I take a deep breath, drawing myself up in my seat.

  “Then I must be sure they have no complaint against me. Thank you for your honesty. I appreciate your warnings, and I will heed them.” I pause before adding, “And thank you for riding out to save us.”

  Reaching up, he picks a small clump of mud from my hair.

  “Oh, I suspect you had the situation well in hand.”

  ***

  I drift in and out of sleep as we ride on through the day. Just as dusk falls, Sergei nudges me gently.

  “We have arrived, Princess.”

  Pushing back the curtain, I watch out the window as we roll into the grand city of St. Petersburg. Even in the dim glow of the setting sun, the view is breathtaking. The iron-and-gold gates of the Winter Palace stretch before us, the Romanov crest, a glorious golden crowned eagle, watching us from the top. The carriage stops and Sergei steps out, speaking to the guards in quick Russian. The gates slide open and we roll inside, Sergei waving to me as we pass. The grounds are a menagerie of ice sculptures and glowing lanterns. I expect the carriage to stop in front of the grand entrance but it continues, rounding to the rear of the massive estate. Two guards step forward to assist us out as Sergei reappears and leads us into the servants’ entrance.

  “Why on earth were we not greeted formally?” Mother demands as we weave through the empty kitchens. The hearth is roaring with fire, and I can feel the chill melting out of my skin.

  “Surely you would not have the young princess introduced to court in just her petticoats?” Sergei says in the tone one might use with a whining child.

  She sighs. “No, of course not.”

  He tilts his head in a gesture of deference and leads on, up the back staircase and down the left wing of a long, ornate hallway. The walls are marble and granite with decorative, golden wreaths and swirling vines along the ceiling. Massive fresco
s and beautifully woven tapestries hang from the walls, while tables with fresh-cut flowers sit at every door. I’m tempted to remark on the absurdity of it—fresh flowers in the middle of winter. Being raised by a man who saw such things as unnecessary frivolities, it’s an instant reaction. But I’m sure here, at the Grand Imperial Court, they don’t have an old man hunched over a ledger complaining about the cost of tulips, so I bite my tongue. I must remember that here, excess is completely ordinary and I ought not to make a fuss about it.

  “These are your rooms,” he says motioning to the last door at the end of the hall. The steward pushes the massive, oak door open, and the sitting room inside is nearly the size of my entire home back in Settin. There’s a writing desk, piano, and half a dozen chairs and chaises scattered about. A large, round table boasts a silver tray full of meats, cheeses, and breads. There are three doors beyond, two seem to be bedchambers, but I’m not sure about the third. I’m quite sure these rooms alone are the size of our entire home back in Germany. I look to Mother, who frowns, unimpressed.

  “Are the accommodations to your liking?” Sergei asks me directly, as Mother begins touring the room, commenting on the color of the drapes and the size of the fireplace.

  I nod. “They are; thank you.”

  “Then I will leave you to rest. I will send up a maid with some nightclothes, and I will have the seamstress attend you first thing in the morning.”

  Mother turns, “Do tell the empress we’ve arrived. I’m sure she will be most excited to see me.”

  Sergei bows gallantly. His eyes flicker up for only a moment and catch mine. A sly grin spreads across his face as he stands and turns to leave, the white-wigged steward closing the door behind them. No sooner are they gone than Mother opens the third door and nods happily.

  “A washroom. Good. I could use a hot bath after such a strenuous journey.” She turns to look at me. I hold up the hem of my soiled petticoat. She frowns. “You will need to wash too, of course. But I should go first. You will spoil the water with your muck.”

  Opening our door, she orders the steward back, demanding hot water be brought up from the kitchens.

  Sometime later, the water has grown cool as I finally slip out of my clothes and into the tub. Still, it’s warm on my cold skin. The soap smells like honey and goats milk as I wash away the last of the snow and mud from my body and hair. I rest back against the side of the copper washtub and try to imagine in my head what it might be like to see Peter again. He would have grown devastatingly handsome, that much I can be sure of, and he will see me and smile. He will take my hand, we will dance and laugh, and he will insist we go for a walk in the garden. The moonlight will be pale and glowing, he will look into my eyes, and… I let the vision trail off. For a moment, one insane second, it wasn’t Peter, but Sergei’s face in my thoughts. I brush it aside quickly. Sergei is a kind man, handsome, and not much older than I am. A gentleman who went out of his way to keep me safe. But even so, he is not the reason I’m here, and I cannot afford to be distracted by a few kind words and handsome eyes.

  I must win the heart of the future king.

  “Come along, dear. As I expected, we have been summoned to see the empress first thing in the morning. You will need to be rested.”

  With a heavy sigh, I step out of the bath and dry myself before slipping into the soft, green dressing gown the maid brought for me.

  When I walk into the room, Mother is sitting at the writing desk, furiously scribbling notes on parchment.

  “Are you writing Father? To let him know we arrived safely?” I ask.

  She looks up at me and blinks, as if the idea was so foreign that it never crossed her mind.

  “Of course not. I’m writing to King Fredrick.”

  “Oh,” I say flatly.

  King Fredrick of Germany had been overjoyed at the prospect of my sitting on the throne when we stopped for a visit in Berlin on our way here. He sees it as a way to secure an alliance, Mother sees it as a way to regain her lifestyle, and I see it as the only alternative to marrying my Uncle Edward.

  She points the feather quill at me. “Make no mistake, Sophia, this union is a political alliance sanctioned by the king himself. And if you are successful in securing the prince’s hand in marriage, our family will be rewarded with wealth enough to rival the most prestigious noble’s in Berlin.”

  I freeze. The thought of facing this task alone is beyond daunting. Dread shoots up my back like spikes.

  “Will you go back then? Back to Prussia?”

  She pauses, then sets down the pen and holds her hands out to me. I step forward and take them. “Sweet child. I will never leave you. For as long as you need me by your side, I will remain. Even if it means living with these monstrous Russian winters.”

  I smile, relief flooding through me. Mother might be shallow and, at times, callous, but what she does, she does for me and for our family. It’s easy to forget that sometimes.

  She sends me off to bed; the warm blankets and soft pillows soothe me into an instant slumber. All too soon, I see the first rays of daylight sneaking through the slit in the curtains. The maid from last night rushes in and throws them open, flooding the room with warmth and light. I sit up, rubbing my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I mutter. “I’m sorry; I’ve forgotten your name.”

  The maid curtsies. “Isobel, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Isobel. Is the seamstress here yet?”

  “She only just arrived.”

  “Thank you,” I say, throwing back the blankets. Isobel gathers them and begins making the bed as I step out into the foyer.

  There are three trunks of gowns, all open and overflowing as Mother and the seamstress bicker. As soon as I enter, the seamstress bows her neck.

  “My lady.”

  I nod. “What is all this?”

  “Fifteen gowns,” Mother says, throwing her hands in the air dramatically. “You are getting fifteen new gowns.”

  I step forward. “That’s wonderful.”

  Mother snorts in disagreement. “No, it’s barely enough to replace what we lost. And I am only getting nine.”

  I don’t remind her that we only had four gowns between us, and that they were mysteriously destroyed. Or that all four were old and had been remade at least half a dozen times already.

  Instead, I turn to the seamstress. “The empress is too generous. We are grateful.”

  The seamstress smiles and motions for me to come to her. She appraises me thoughtfully.

  “You are about the size of my daughter, lucky enough. She often stands for me to try new fabrics and styles on. And your coloring, the brown hair and dark blue eyes, you will look lovely in most colors. I’m so glad. Only last week we had to work for a lady with hair orange as fire and pale skin. There were so few colors we could put her in that didn’t make her look sick.”

  She prattles on under the watchful eye of my mother as she discusses patterns, bustle sizes, and sashes. I just close my eyes, lift my arms when told to, and let them choose. There’s a sharp tap at the door and the steward comes in, a large box in his arms. He sets it on the floor and backs up.

  “A gift from Lord Salkov.”

  Mother shoos the steward out and opens the box, pulling out a lovely pink-and-black lace gown. The style is French, a low bodice and tight sleeves. Compared to anything else I’ve ever had, it’s downright scandalous. Yet, I remember seeing many ladies dressed in similar styles in Berlin and the idea of wearing it, looking so grown up, makes my heart pound. The notion of Sergei admiring me in it makes my heart pound harder.

  Mother holds it up to herself and grins wildly. “It’s just lovely. I think I’ll go put it on.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s for the princess. See the cut of the waist? It’s far too narrow for you,” the seamstress says, not looking up from her work.

  Frowning, Mother drapes the gown over her arm. “Insolent girl. The gown is obviously for me.”

  I shrug, “Maybe he’s put a note
in the box?”

  Mother walks to the box and pulls a tiny scrap of paper out, reading it aloud.

  “‘Since you have no gown to wear today, please accept this humble gift.’ It’s signed Sergei Salkov. It doesn’t say who it’s for.”

  I point to her bedchamber. “You have the gown you were wearing yesterday. I have no gown at all,” I say simply.

  She glares at me. “I can’t wear that. It’s filthy.”

  The seamstress looks up at me with sympathy in her eyes.

  “Well, then I suppose I will have to meet the empress naked. I’m sure she will understand, Mother. I mean, it wouldn’t make her think less of me—of my fitness to marry her nephew—to meet her like this, don’t you think? Yes, I’m sure she will understand.”

  I hold my breath. I’ve never employed this particular tactic with her before, and I’m not sure how she will react. I’ve put her vanity against her plotting as I’ve seen my father do so many times. It’s always a risk. Sometimes, she would react with a quiet acceptance of his will. Other times, she simply tightened her mouth into a line and left, scheming behind his back until she achieved her goals.

  She stares at me for a second before tossing the gown on the seat beside me.

  “You are quite right, of course. A kind gift though it is, I will simply have to let you borrow it for the day. I’m sure Sergei will understand.”

  And with that, she spins on her heel and heads into her bedchamber, closing the door behind her. On her knees in front of me, the seamstress smiles widely and winks at me.

  The maid is helping me into my gown when the steward arrives with a request from the empress to join her for breakfast in her private chambers. Mother, dressed and leaving her room for the first time since her tantrum, accepts the invitation graciously and helps Isobel finish buttoning the dress. Behind me, Mother drapes something across my neck. Catching a glimpse of it in the mirror as she fastens the clasp, I gasp softly. It’s one of the few jewels her family passed down to her, and one of her prized possessions. A dozen black-onyx teardrops dangle from a strand of black beads at the base of my neck. The stones are warm against my skin and I wonder if she’s been holding them all this time, debating whether to put them on me or wear them herself. Apparently, her desire to put me on the throne is greater than her own vanity—which is something I won’t soon forget.