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.
Holding up his glass of wine, he says, “To Princess Sophie. The someday queen of Russia.”
The others join in and take a drink. By the time they are done, I’ve managed to recover myself, if only slightly.
“So Peter, will you stay here after your birthday celebrations are complete, or will you be off to Moscow?”
“I think I’ll remain here. My aunt has ordered the construction of a new Winter Palace. I’ve seen the plans; it makes this one look like a peasant hut.”
“That sounds amazing,” Rina says, winding a tendril of yellow hair around her finger.
“It will be,” Mikhail answers. “Would you like to see the plans? I’ve been helping the architects design the rooms. There’s one made completely of green malachite and gold.”
“That would be lovely,” she says
“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.
Holding up his glass of wine, he says, “To Princess Sophie. The someday queen of Russia.”
The others join in and take a drink. By the time they are done, I’ve managed to recover myself, if only slightly.
“So Peter, will you stay here after your birthday celebrations are complete, or will you be off to Moscow?”
“I think I’ll remain here. My aunt has ordered the construction of a new Winter Palace. I’ve seen the plans; it makes this one look like a peasant hut.”
“That sounds amazing,” Rina says, winding a tendril of yellow hair around her finger.
“It will be,” Mikhail answers. “Would you like to see the plans? I’ve been helping the architects design the rooms. There’s one made completely of green malachite and gold.”
“That would be lovely,” she says
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