Queen of Someday

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  ***

  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.
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  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 gently.

  “Have you had a tour of the palace yet?” Alexander asks, taking a bite of bread.

  I shake my head, “No, and I really should. I nearly got lost just making my way to the stables this morning. Perhaps you should draw me a map.”

  “I can do better than that,” Peter interrupts. “I will give you the tour today. I will show you the new theater my aunt just installed. It will be part of tonight’s festivities. And I could show you the trophy room if you’re interested.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Have you added any trophies of your own yet?”

  He frowns. “Most of them belong to my great uncle, but I plan to add a few of my own soon.”

  I smooth my skirt. “That sounds like great fun. I do love a good hunt. Perhaps I can join you sometime.”

  We wile away a few more hours in pleasant company until the sun is high in the sky and the food and wine are gone.

  “I’m afraid I have an audience I must attend shortly,” Peter says, standing up and offering me a hand. “More boring treaty discussions my aunt forces me to endure.”

  I stand beside him. “Of course. I’m sorry to have kept you so long,” I say with a curtsy.

  He takes my hand, still in his, and brings it to his lips quickly.

  “Time moves far too swiftly in your company, Princess. Perhaps I can come by later, and we can have that tour? In say, two hours or so?”

  “I look forward to it,” I say honestly.

  He jerks his head for Mikhail to join him, and the two walk off. Beside me, Alexander stands and offers me his arm, which I accept, and we begin walking back to the palace.

  “Wouldn’t want you to get lost on the way back to your rooms,” he teases.

  I sigh. “I actually have a very good sense of direction, you know.”

  “Oh yes, I can see that.”

  I lower my voice so the ladies following behind won’t hear. “Thank you for your advice, about Peter.”

  He nods. “Anytime. I have to say, putting him off like that was brilliant. How did you know he’d come after you?”

  “Just something I remember from when we were children. He always loved playing chase. And as for the ride, that was a happy accident. I really did need to clear my thoughts. That he chose to ride after me was a bit of a surprise.”

  “Not much of one though?”

  I shake my head. “Peter loves to play and hates to lose. I don’t think that’s changed much over the years. As you said, it’s just a game.”

  “I must ask then, is your affection for him genuine?” he asks boldly.

  “What a thing to ask,” I fire back. “Peter is an old friend, and possibly, might someday be my husband. Of course I have affection for him.”

  “And do you love him?”

  I open my mouth to say something, but come up at a loss. Do I love Peter? Perhaps. Yet when he kissed my hand, I felt… nothing. None of the longing or intensity I’ve read about in books, not even the tiny stirrings I get around Sergei and Alexander. Perhaps those things are just fiction. Perhaps love is simply trust. Alexander is staring at me intently.

  “You shouldn’t ask me such things. It’s rude.”

  “My apologies then.”

  I lick my lips. “Besides, there are many kinds of love.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  His words are hollow, complacent. I have a nagging urge to explore the topic further, but I can’t bring myself to and I’m not sure why. Surely, he’s been in love before. Wouldn’t he know? As if sensing my questions, he continues.

  “I think that love can indeed be many things. But the one thing it will never be is practical. Love is irrational by its very nature. It demands passion, fire, and no less than absolute surrender. It is a longing, a burning that consumes you, leaving you without reason, or defense. When love comes, nothing can stand in its way.”

  I say nothing for a minute, letting his words absorb into my skin. Is that want I want, to be consumed by love? To have someone so desperate for me that they are beyond reason? And to be that desperate for someone else?

  “That sounds… like a terrible way to die,” I decide.

  Beside me, he says nothing, but we keep walking. He stops every so often to orient me inside the palace.

  Finally, we reach my door. My ladies go in ahead but I stop, turning to face him. His green-gold eyes are locked on mine—full of unspoken intentions. In that moment, the distance between us seems less like a few steps and more like a great chasm, as if he were so far away that I would have to call out so he might hear my voice.

  “Thank you, Alexander,” I mutter weakly.

  He cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. “For what?”

  My heart races again, and I am left wondering if what I felt between us had been more than just wine and dancing. Even now, here, part of me wonders what his hand would feel like on the small of my back, what his lips would taste like. I shake myself from the thoughts.

  Not sure what to say, I turn and go inside without answering his question, closing the door between us. I realize that I’m flushed, breathing too quickly. It takes all my effort to drive the dark, handsome Alexander and his imaginary kisses out of my mind.