Queen of Someday

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  ***

  Sunday comes and my ladies walk me to confession. I haven’t caught a glimpse of Alexander in nearly two days, and my heart aches for him. I know we agreed not to meet for a while, until he could come up with a solution to our problem, but takes all my willpower not to rush to him when the chapel doors open and I catch sight of him seated inside. My heart leaps to my throat as we pass him. I can feel the weight of his gaze on my back, though I dare not turn around. Bishop Todorskey approaches me, resplendent in his red-and-white robes. He reaches out and I offer him my hand, which he kisses chastely.

  “Princess, I am so glad to see you are well. I admit that I was overjoyed when you requested me at your side during your illness.”

  I incline my head to him. “I have come to see that the differences in your faith and that of my father’s is less one of doctrine and more one of… logistics.”

  He smiles humbly, leading me to prayer.

  When I enter the confessional, my heart is heavy. I know I should commit all my misdeeds to God, that I may be clean, but I also know that the Bishop is the empress’ advisor, and I think, as with many here in court, that his loyalty must surely lie with her. So I speak vaguely, of missing the man I love, of looking forward to our future together. I never utter Peter’s name once. A lie of omission, perhaps. The least of my sins.

  I leave the confessional and take a seat across the chapel from Alexander. A quick glance tells me his eyes are closed, his head bowed. I follow suit, though my prayers today are far different from others in my life. Today I pray for strength, for the wisdom to know my own mind and heart, and for the courage to follow it.

  We leave the chapel and I stop in the library, checking the book for any messages. It’s empty, so I leave one of my own. Not seeing him has grown unbearable. How will I survive when I’m married, when I have to leave him behind for good? Or was he serious when he offered to be my mistress?

  Without thy light, what light remains in me? Thou art my light; my way, my light is in thee. I live, I move, and but by thy beams I see.

  I tuck my note away quickly and head for the parlor where I’m to meet my new instructor.

  Madame Groot is not at all what I expected. Her gown is slender, none of the large hip bustles the women wear these days, and low cut in the bust, while somehow still seeming modest. Her dark hair is curled in a tall stack upon her head, her face powdered and lips rouged.

  I enter and she stands, curtsying.

  “Princess Sophia, how lovely to finally meet you.” She motions to the wine and bread set out on the table. “Would you care to join me for a bite?”

  I almost laugh. What had I expected? A brazen French whore in net stockings and garish underdressing, I suppose. The woman in front of me is probably in her early thirties, and holds an easily sophisticated wit about her. With a gracious nod, I take a seat across from her.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” I offer.

  She smiles coyly, handing me a glass of red wine.

  “I imagine you expected something more… exotic?”

  I nearly choke on my beverage. She is, at least, direct.

  “Yes, I suppose I did. This is all very new to me.”

  She nods and waves her hand. “Oh, yes, dear. Anyone looking at you could see that.”

  I frown.

  “Oh, no, you mustn’t take that as a criticism, it isn’t meant as such. I only mean to say that you have a virtuous look about you. It’s a good thing, truly.”

  I take a bite of bread, not sure how to begin. Thankfully, she does.

  “Don’t be nervous, dear. There’s no reason to be. This is a safe place. Anything we discuss in this room remains in this room. I want you to feel comfortable here. All right?”

  “I shall try,” I say honestly.

  “Good. Before we begin, I wonder, do you have any questions? Anything you are dying to know but never had the courage to ask?”

  Her face is serene, absently amused by my obvious discomfort. I try to remember what little my mother had told me.

  “Does it hurt?” I blurt out. Then, embarrassment floods over me, and I drop my voice to a whisper. “I’ve… I’ve heard it hurts.”

  She takes a drink. “Not terribly. There is a moment of discomfort the first time, but that is all. To be honest, if you are able to relax and allow yourself to get swept up in the moment, there should be no pain at all.”

  “Truly?” I’d heard the pain was nearly unbearable. My mother likened it to being run through with a blade.

  “Truly. The act of love can be a very beautiful thing. It’s not something to fear.” She pauses. “Of course, often couples are so young and so nervous, they bungle the whole thing. That can be a different story. But that’s why I’m here. I’m here to set you at ease, so you have no cause to panic.”

  I sit back. I can’t help thinking of my ill-advised night with Alexander. Of course we had never gotten close to… but, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if we had.

  “What did you think of just now?” she asks suddenly, drawing me from my thoughts.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  She takes another drink.

  “Oh dear, I know that expression. It’s love. So, you are in love with the good prince?”

  I shift in my seat, preparing some lie. But she cuts me off before I can say anything.

  “No, not Peter, then,” she says. My head jerks up. “It’s fine, dear. Many young ladies fall in love with a man before the man they marry. There’s no shame in it, so long as you didn’t act on those feelings?”

  I shake my head. “No, of course not.”

  “Good, because you should know they have a custom here at court. Before you can be married, the physician will check to confirm your virtue. That won’t be an issue, I assume?”

  I shake my head.

  “I thought not. So, tell me, when you think of this young man, what happens to you, physically?”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do your hands shake? Does your heart race?”

  I nod sheepishly.

  “All good things, dear. Believe it or not, men feel those same things.”

  I nod again. I know she’s right because I’ve seen the pained look on Alexander’s face, felt the quake in his touch. But I say nothing.

  “The trick, my dear, is being able to excite those responses from your husband. Men are created differently than us, and thus they must be treated differently. While each is unique, there are some general things you can learn that will help.”

  I’m too stunned to speak as she stands, beckoning to the valet from the hall. He’s older than the boy at my door, probably near to Sergei’s age, though he seems younger by virtue of being clean-shaven. She seats him in the chair she vacated, whispering something in his ear. He relaxes instantly.

  “This is Phillip. He has helped me with demonstrations before,” she whispers lightly.

  She holds up one gloved hand, sliding it off slowly.

  “Men are tactile by nature. They respond best by touch. So when you are alone, use a technique I call the subtle touch.”

  As she sets her glove on the table, her hand just barely grazes his arm, and I watch as his eyes dart to the area of contact.

  “They are also visual creatures. But one must be careful to be subtle, exposing too much, too boldly, does no good.”

  She knocks the glove to the floor, and then lowers herself slowly to retrieve it. As she dips, I see the valet’s eyes dart to her chest.

  “You see?” she asks.

  I nod, feeling as if I should be taking notes.

  She dismisses the valet and returns to her seat. We spend the rest of the hour talking plainly about things I should expect and the subtly of flirtation.

  “Every man is unique in terms of what sets him at ease. Can you think of something Peter enjoys?”

  “He likes hunting,” I offer, unsure if that’s what she meant.

  She nods. �
��Then he may very well be comfortable outdoors. But that, I think, is an advanced lesson.” She smiles wryly, as if she’s just told a joke only she understands. “What else?”

  I wrack my brain.

  “He likes military things,” I remember.

  She looks off in the distance.

  “Yes, that’s something you can work with.”

  “How?” I ask.

  She sets down her cup of tea. “My first suggestion, have a gown made that greatly resembles a military uniform.”

  “Then what?” I ask nervously.

  She begins a detailed plan of seduction. We discuss everything from flirting to how to take a man’s clothes off without tangling him up in them. Half the time I’m blushing, the other half of the time, I’m laughing until my sides hurt as she relays some of her favorite stories.

  “I hope this was helpful,” she says kindly.

  I have to admit, it really was. I feel different, confident somehow, in a way I never have before.

  “How many lessons shall we have?” I ask, finishing the last of my wine and feeling a bit light-headed.

  “However many you feel you need. Though at least two more. We still need to discuss ways to help you get yourself with child,” she says with a smile.

  With Peter’s child, she means. My heart sinks. Will Alexander love me still when I’m fat with another man’s child? The thought is too awful and I push it aside, suddenly eager to leave the room.

  No sooner am I in the hall than Sergei sweeps by, taking me by the arm abruptly. We stop in a small alcove, and he presses me against the wall gently.

  “I know the truth,” he says in hushed, but angry tone, a slip of paper clutched in his hand. For one awful moment, I think he’s talking about Alexander.

  “I know who poisoned you,” he says, seeing my confusion.

  “Oh,” I mutter, relief flooding through me. “Who was it?”

  He frowns, checking over his shoulders to make sure no one else is around.

  “It was that bastard Bestuzhev. He and The Duke of Dresden plotted together. They knew that by eliminating you, the empress would have no choice but to choose Charlotte as Peter’s bride.”

  I swallow the information, not nearly as surprised or as angry about it as I should be.

  “Bestuzhev is her closest advisor. He can get to me at any time, and next time, he will be sure to get it right,” I say slowly, trying not to sound as afraid as I suddenly feel.

  Sergei pulls me into his arms and crushes me in an embrace, which I return. He is firm and solid, the one and only thing I can truly rely on in this place. Pulling back, he takes me by the shoulders. “I swear that I will not let anything happen to you. The empress is on her way back now. As soon as she arrives, I will see her and present her with my evidence. He will be gone before he can even try to strike at you again.”

  I nod, and he releases me.

  “For now, just go back to your rooms and try to stay calm. One more night and we can put all this behind us,” he promises before bowing and briskly heading down the hall.

  I turn toward my room, then change my mind and head to the secret room.

  It’s hours before Alexander arrives and when he does, I’m standing in front of the altar, collecting my thoughts. As soon as I hear the door open, I turn, standing straight and still as he enters.

  “What’s happened?” he asks, his voice wavering.

  “Sergei found evidence of who tried to kill me; it was Bestuzhev,” I say flatly.

  Alexander’s face flushes. “I’ll kill him.”

  I hold up a hand. “No, you won’t. You will let the empress and Sergei deal with it. I won’t risk losing you over this. What’s done is done, and besides,” I walk toward him slowly, reaching out to touch his face, “if he hadn’t done it, how would we ever have found each other?”

  He grabs my hand. “You almost died.”

  I lift my head, my voice steady.

  “And I would do it again. I would die a thousand times, if each time I could wake up to your face.”

  He turns away, shaking his head.

  “Don’t say that. Please.”

  “It’s the truth,” I say softly.

  “That doesn’t make it easier to hear.”

  I wrap my arms around my waist, holding myself. His tone is defeated. I sense that he, too, has realized the hopelessness of our situation.

  “Peter and the empress will be back at court tomorrow. As soon as they arrive, Bestuzhev will be locked away and my official conversion ceremony will take place the following day. I expect the empress will make mine and Peter’s betrothal official shortly after,” I recite, as if it were a shopping list rather than life-changing events.

  “And you will marry him?” Alexander asks, turning to look at me.

  My heart sinks.

  “Offer me another option,” I challenge.

  He nods, stepping forward, and takes my hands.

  “I’ve written to my father. My family—we lack title but have wealth enough. He would support our marriage.”

  I’m shocked to hear it.

  “Really? But my engagement to Peter…?”

  “Isn’t official. The possibility of it hasn’t even reached his ears. All he knows is that you are a visiting princess, and that I have fallen quite madly in love with you.”

  “And my family?”

  He frowns. “I do not know what King Fredrick’s reaction will be, only that my father assures me that he will send whatever he can to help them along.”

  It’s a gamble at best. Frederick may be so angered that he strips them of everything, or he may wash his hands of the matter entirely and not retaliate at all.

  “What would I tell the empress?”

  My mind whirls with the possibilities. The empress is fond enough of me; perhaps if I bring her the truth, that my heart lies with another, perhaps she will release me. And Sergei, sweet, kind Sergei, who has risked so much to be my defender here, what about him?

  “I think the best thing would be if we left without telling anyone.”

  I rear back, shocked by the idea.

  “You mean run away? You are suggesting that we run away together?”

  He smirks. “Consider it eagerly vacating.”

  I sigh deeply, falling to my knees.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” I admit weakly.

  He sits beside me, and I rest my head against his shoulder.

  “If you can’t, or if you decide you don’t want to, I just want you to know I won’t be angry. I won’t blame you and I won’t ever, ever leave you.” He takes my hand, our fingers entwining. “I love you. No matter what.”

  “There you go, offering to be my mistress again,” I say, trying to feign humor in the dreadful situation.

  “You say it as if it’s a joke. But I am yours, in any way you will have me. I will be your mistress if I must, but I would rather be your husband.”

  I sit up, forcing myself to look at him. There’s no trace of doubt that I love him. But did I love him enough to risk everything, my family, my own life if we’re caught?

  Yes. There’s no doubt. It’s reckless and selfish and for the life of me, I can’t force myself to care. I need to be with him like I need air in my lungs. And I would risk all that and more for even the slightest chance that we might have a life together.

  “This is insanity,” I say with a laugh, my decision made.

  His expression changes, and I watch as his eyes fill with joy as he realizes what I’m saying. Moving to his knees in front of me, he clutches my hand to his chest.

  “Sophie, queen of my heart, will you marry me?”

  Click above for access to bonus video footage.

  https://bit.ly/1xq2s5h