Winterdream

by Chantal Gadoury

  “I love him,” I whispered again. “I tried to save him. I tried. . . There was so much pain and sadness. The battle… And I saw his pain, Uncle.” He watched me, nodding slowly.

  “And then the Mouse King. . . he came. He came with all of his mice. I took him to the garden. I knew. . . I knew we had to kill him together.”

  Uncle Drosselmeyer studied me closely.

  “The king’s dagger appeared, and…” I shook my head, remembering the sound of his screams. “I saw him transform back.”

  The image of my nutcracker falling to the ground. The Mouse King’s cackle still echoed in my ears. “I picked up his sword and fought.” Turning my gaze to the floor, I tried to calm my racing heart. “Y-You were there.”

  “Yes,” Uncle Drosselmeyer replied with a curt nod.

  “Where is he?” I darted my gaze, searching his face for any sort of answer. “Please. You must tell me. Y-You must tell me if he’s here. Anton. Where is Anton?”

  I nearly jumped as the door creaked open. Holding my breath, I waited to see who would emerge from the other side. If it would be my papa, searching for me to meet with Lord Yakov for our Christmas breakfast. I knew he’d ask about the tears on my face, still warm against my hot skin. But as it opened wider, I saw an arm and shoulder emerge. And then, finally, I saw his eyes. The curve of his lips. I knew him.

  “Nutcracker,” I gasped as I stood. The blue of his eyes met mine, and the small corner of his lips curled into a warm smile.

  “Clara.” The way he said my name was like a sigh of relief. It was all I could do to remain in place. He stepped into the room and shut the door quietly behind him. Lifting a hand, I took a step toward him.

  “Is it really you?”

  I watched as he patted his chest and sides with a slight chuckle. “Yes. I think it really is me.”

  “You’re really here? You’re alive?”

  “You can pinch me if you don’t believe me,” he said, offering his arm. I took another step, studying over every plane of his face.

  “You saved me,” he murmured softly. “You saved us all.”

  “But you. . .” I said, shaking my head. “I thought. . .”

  Anton nodded as he slid his hand to my waist. “I know. I know what you saw. I know how it must have seemed to you.” Shaking his head, he sighed.

  “But you saved us just the same. You broke the curse.”

  I slid my hand up his clothed chest, to his neck and cheek. Everything about him was real—soft, human. He was alive. Lowering my forehead to his chest, I allowed myself to cry from relief. We had broken the spell.

  “I’m so sorry, Anton,” I began. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

  “I was so scared…”

  “You were so brave, Clara. I’m so proud of you,” Anton replied.

  “I’m afraid, Clara,” Uncle Drosselmeyer said, clearing his throat. “...your mama and papa are going to be looking for you after all the commotion you caused earlier in the hallway. I suggest we continue this after breakfast.”

  Breakfast. Papa. Lord Yakov. It was Christmas morning. Time had begun again.

  I didn’t want to remove myself from my Nutcracker’s arms. I never wanted to be parted from him again.

  “Viscount Yakov Petryaev will be joining us,” I whispered against Anton’s shoulder.

  “He told Papa he’d call on me.”

  “Uncle Drosselmeyer nodded in silent understanding. “Then perhaps it would be wise for me to speak with your papa before—”

  But Anton shook his head quickly.

  “I’ll speak to him. If an offering of marriage is to be made, it should come from me.”

  “I know Valery Stahlbaum, Anton,” Uncle Drosselmeyer murmured and patted his hand upon his shoulder. “I will take care of this.”

  Glancing down at the flower scar on my palm, I shook my head as I took a step back from Anton.

  “No, I should. It’s my choice.”

  Hope. I had to believe in myself. I stepped back to the door, my hand still exposing the scar on my skin.

  “I know what I need to do,” I managed before I turned on my heel.

  “Clara?” Anton’s voice broke the silence just before I pulled open the door. I peered at him from over my shoulder. His blue eyes were bright, and a small smile grew on his lips.

  “Ya tebya lyublyu.” The same words he had used in the quietness of my room, back at the palace. I love you.

  With a small nod, I smiled and turned, leaving the room. As I emerged out into the hallway, a wave of relief filled me. It hadn’t been just a dream. It was real. All of it. And Anton was alive. The spell was broken.

  I slipped back into my room undetected and dressed myself in a beige, silken gown with embroidered flowers adorning the sleeves. The ruffled, scooped neckline and sleeves made me appear more mature; much more than the red velvet gown I had worn for Christmas Eve.

  Just as I twisted my hair into a low bun, I heard a knock on my door. My mother’s warm face peaked just beyond the edge of the door.

  “Viscount Yakov Petryaev is here, Clara,” she murmured. “Are you ready?”

  I glanced over myself one last time before I nodded. I had been dreading this moment since he had left the Christmas party. It felt like ages ago, and yet, merely hours ago for Mama, Papa, and Lord Yakov. As I rose from my vanity, I smoothed my hands over my silk skirt.

  “Mama,” I murmured as I approached her. She raised her brow curiously, a small smile playing on her lips. She was always so beautiful; always had her hair tucked so neatly in the latest styles. Her jewels sparkled in the daylight streaming in from my open window, and her gown was made of the finest fabrics in all of Russia.

  “Is Lord Yakov truly what you wish for me?” I asked slowly as I straightened.

  She watched me for a moment before reaching to tuck a small curl behind my ear.

  “My dearest,” she began. “I wish only the best for you. I wish for you to be happy. To have all that Papa and I have been able to give, and more.”

  “And what of what I want?”

  “What is it that you want?” she asked, flashing a smile. “Do you not wish to be regarded like Masha? To marry into a good family? To have fine things?”

  Would it be foolish of me to admit that none of those things interested me? Not when it came to Lord Yakov. But with Anton…

  “Let’s not make any rash decisions,” she reasoned at my silence. “It’s only breakfast with the Viscount.”

  “Breakfasts lead to dinners, and walks, and operas.”

  “And won’t you be the luckiest girl in all of St. Petersburg if it does?”

  “Will I?” I asked, clutching the silks of my skirts. None of that mattered to me. It never had. But now, after my experience with the Nutcracker in Winter Dream, I knew it never would.

  “Come,” she said softly, taking my hand carefully into hers. “We shouldn’t keep the Viscount waiting.”

  I felt as though I were about to face Lady Irina and the Mouse King again. As though I were about to face a different battle. This time, one I could not fight with a sword.

  Chapter 29

  As I came to take my place at the table, I was met by the gazes of Uncle Drosslemeyer and Anton. They took their place on the other side of the oak table before nodding their greetings to me. A sense of relief filled me upon seeing his face again. He was still very much real and not a figment of my imagination. It gave me courage to face my papa. He was sipping on a small cup of steaming coffee as he took his own seat at the head of the table.

  “It’s a shame you weren’t able to join us last night for Christmas Eve,” he murmured to Anton, who gave a nod in the direction of my papa. “But it’s a pleasure to meet you now, Anton.”

  Upon hearing the words, I realized Papa could see him now.

  “Have you met my daughter, Clara?” he asked, gesturing to me.

  “Just this morning, in fact.” Anton smiled slowly b
efore bowing slightly again. My cheeks warmed as his blue eyes met mine. “A pleasure to see you again.”

  I nodded in return.

  One of the servants led Viscount Yakov Petrayaev into the room, who was dressed in a dark blue suit that reminded me of the Mouse King. His hair was brushed back and styled perfectly. A villain in disguise.

  “It is good to see you again,” my papa said, standing and offering his hand as a greeting. Lord Yakov took it, shaking his head as he turned his dark gaze to me.

  “Merry Christmas,” Lord Yakov offered to us all. It was Uncle Drosselmeyer who returned it in kind.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “Please, Lord Yakov, take a seat.”

  An open chair lingered beside me. As Lord Yakov moved to sit, my gaze darted across the table to Anton. His blue eyes were still watching me in turn. Fritz and Mama were seated beside him. Fritz was the first to begin grabbing food from the serving platters set on the table, though Mama gave him a stern look.

  The clattering of our dishes filled the room as we all began to fill our plates with the morning meal. I reached for a warm slice of bread just as Anton did. Our hands grazed each other, causing us to pause and stare. The corner of his lip lifted and he smiled.

  “Please, after you,” he offered. I took the slice from the basket, mindful of the butterflies rioting in my stomach.

  Lord Yakov cleared his throat only after he took a bite of a sausage.

  “Lady Clara, as you know, I’m here because I wish to court you.”

  I paused, my fork and knife clattered against the plate.

  “Your papa made it quite plain to me how he would approve of this match. And I must say that I approve of it as well.”

  I slid my hands to my lap, my gaze moving from my papa to Lord Yakov. Both were staring at me intensely.

  “Do you really wish to discuss such matters over breakfast?” I asked, trying to do my best to keep my voice calm and clear.

  “It is, after all, the reason why I am here on Christmas Day, Clara,” Lord Yakov replied. Irritation was thickly laced within his words. “It is my understanding that ‘no’ is not truly an option for you at this time, so there isn’t much to discuss.”

  “Such a thing to say to a lady,” Uncle Drosselmeyer quipped. “But you will find, lad, a woman always has a choice.”

  “Her papa has already signed the necessary papers for her dowry,” Lord Yakov said, arching a brow. “After the set time of courtship, our engagement will be announced, and by this time next year, Clara will be my wife.”

  “Such things to discuss at the table,” my mama interjected, clearing her throat. I saw her dart a stern glance at Papa. As though she were insisting he intervene.

  “This isn’t a marriage proposal at all,” Anton interjected, shaking his head. He lowered his fork to his plate and pushed his napkin onto the table. “You’ve already set your trap, and wish to coerce her into agreeing.”

  “You know nothing of marriage among the upper class,” Lord Yakov replied, tilting his chin upward. “After all, it seems you’re nothing more than a mere apprentice.”

  But to me he was so much more. He had become my friend—a true friend. We had fought against the Mouse King together. We had saved each other against Lady Irina. He had carried me through the Sugarland Forest, and I had taken care of him in the middle of the night in Mother Ginger’s inn. He was much more than just an apprentice. He was a prince. He was my prince.

  “I know much more than you know,” Anton responded.

  The last word sounded more like a whisper. The corner of my lips curved into a small smile as I tried to conceal my laugh.

  “Lord Stalbaum, perhaps it would be better for the three of us to wait until after the meal,” Lord Yakov replied, turning his hardened gaze to my papa. Before my papa could respond, I stood from my seat. I darted a quick glance toward my wrist, taking in the sight of the flower scar on my hand.

  Hope. The silent meaning behind the scar filled me with a strength I knew I needed all along.

  I turned my gaze to Lord Yakov and shook my head.

  “I’m sorry, Lord Yakov Petrayaev,” I murmured. “But I cannot marry you. I will not accept your offer of courtship. There is nothing more to discuss.”

  “Clara!” Both of my parents’ voices raised with alarm. Papa rose from his chair as he slammed his cup down onto the table. I shook my head again, biting my lip.

  “I will not marry without love. I will not marry just to please you. I. . . I cannot.”

  Lord Yakov reached out to touch my hand, pulling it to his lips.

  “You’ll learn to love me, Lady Clara. You must know that love is a learned thing. It does not come as swiftly as you might imagine from your stories.”

  “But it does. It can,” I retorted, pulling my hand away.

  “Of course, Lady Masha has filled your head with love stories of her and—” Lord Yakov began, but I shook my head again.

  “No.”

  Masha had nothing to do with this.

  As my gaze met Anton’s again, I took a deep breath.

  “I wish to marry Anton Vasiliev.”

  My papa wrinkled his nose in confusion as he looked at Uncle Drosselmeyer for an unspoken answer.

  “Anton? Uncle, what is the meaning of this?”

  My uncle’s lips rose into a smile as he gazed at the members around the table.

  “Who am I to explain love, nephew? If Clara and Anton have chosen each other, I must say, I wholeheartedly agree upon it.”

  “You cannot!” Papa shouted as his fists tightened by his side. “You’ve just met him. Just now. You know nothing about him. I know nothing about him.”

  It was the angriest I had ever seen my papa.

  “He’s just an apprentice,” Lord Yakov hissed, gesturing his hand toward Anton. I let out an exasperated sigh and shook my head.

  “Anton is not just an apprentice. He’s much more. He’s. . .” But the words fell silent as I watched Mama and Papa stare at me; disappointment lingered in their dark gazes.

  “Oh, this is rich.” Lord Yakov threw his napkin onto his plate in disgust.

  As he pushed his chair away, he raised a brow toward my papa. His gaze was hard and expectant.

  “I suppose our business ends here, Lord Stahlbaum,” he said. My papa turned his eyes to me and then slowly back to Lord Yakov with alarm and surprise. Lord Yakov turned on his heel at his silence and stormed from the room. My papa’s gaze found mine as he glared darkly. He lifted his hand and pointed toward the door.

  “Go to your room. At once.”

  I knew by his tone, I would have much to answer to.

  “But sir—” Anton interrupted. My Papa’s icy cold gaze slid to him, and then slowly to Uncle Drosselmeyer.

  “We may be family,” Papa began, “but I must insist that you two leave my house. At once.” Papa didn’t wait for Uncle Drosselmeyer to reply. Instead, he turned on his brown, leather heel and left the room. Everything was quiet except for the soft ticking coming from a cuckoo clock on the wall. My mama drew her lace fan from her table setting and grabbed Fritz’s hand quickly. Despite his resistance, she tugged him from his seat.

  “Come, let’s go see what toys Papa has bought you,” she said as she pulled him from the table. Uncle Drosselmeyer, Anton, and I were left in the room alone.

  My eyes filled with burning tears as I darted my gaze from my plate to Uncle Drosselmeyer. My cheeks warmed as I desperately tried to find words; anything to break the still silence. But after a long moment, my uncle slowly raised himself to his feet and slipped his clean, white napkin on top of his breakfast plate.

  “Come, Anton,” he said softly.

  “You’re leaving?” I asked as I watched him. “That’s. . . after all of this, you’re simply going to…” Walk away? Leave me behind? My uncle’s brow over his eyepatch raised, and he tapped the side of his nose thoughtfully.

  “You heard your Papa, Clara,” Uncle Drosselmeyer replied. “Off to yo
ur room.”

  “But—”

  “Clara,” he said again, his stern eye meeting mine. As if telling me to wait.

  “We both know that your uncle is quite a mysterious and majestic sort of man.”

  I could hear Anton’s voice echoing in my mind from the Christmas party. My eyes drifted to Anton, who looked to my uncle and then to me. His gaze was filled with a sort of ache I could feel deep within my chest. I turned slowly from my chair and moved to the doorway, glancing over my shoulder one last time to my uncle and my Nutcracker.

  “Go on, moya devushka.”

  With my uncle’s insistence, I left the room and made my way through the hallway. I knew it would be hard to avoid the front foyer where the main staircase began. My papa’s voice bellowed through the rooms as I saw the Viscount taking his coat.

  “She must not be feeling well, Lord Yakov,” my papa said, shaking his head. “You both looked so well together last evening.”

  “As I thought,” Lord Yakov replied curtly, lifting his hat to his head. I wrinkled my nose at the very presumption. I was perfectly fine.

  Gathering a handful of my skirt, I stomped by the two of them, not caring how unladylike it was, and disregarded my papa’s calls for me as I climbed the steps. I rushed past the servants as they carried clean linens to each room—performing their tasks—until I reached my own. Closing the door to my room behind me, I turned the lock and took a seat on my bed. It seemed I could fight against mice and Mouse Kings, but not my own papa; not even Lord Yakov.

  And Uncle Drosselmeyer and Anton were leaving. Would they truly leave me behind? Would Anton? I longed to gather a bag and follow them to my uncle’s village. I didn’t care about the fine things I had been raised with. I could be happy with my uncle. . . with Anton.

  Then, just as I had resigned myself to solitude, a piece of parchment slid underneath my door. I stood and crossed the room, lifting the paper from the floor. As I unfolded it, I found the words, “Our promised walk before I depart?”

  Anton. It was from Anton. We had made a promise during the party; he hadn’t forgotten.