Queen of Someday

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around him and closing the distance between us.

  “Yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

  He kisses me, urgently, passionately. Heat boils up inside me until I think I might burst into flames from it. He slips my gown down, just off my shoulder, and kisses the skin there, tracing the lines with his lips. I moan, unable to help myself. This is what Madame Groot was talking about before, about turning yourself over to the pleasure. I knew there would never be any pain with Alexander. He would wrap me in his arms and drive away the fear until this was all that remained—the raw, driving need.

  He slides one hand up my leg, under my gown, and I’m barely able to regain my wits long enough to stop him.

  “Wait,” I whisper.

  He nods, burying his face in my hair, panting heavily. Drawing back, he cups my face in his hand.

  “Soon, we will be married and there will be no more waiting.”

  I turn my chin, kissing his palm.

  “I long for that day,” I say honestly, curling up in his arms.

  I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until the faint rings of the church bells rouse me. I count the chimes.

  Eight. No, nine!

  I jerk myself upright. Beside me, Alexander stirs.

  “What is it?”

  I leap to my feet. “It’s nine. The empress will be here any time.” I frantically tug at my gown, which is rumpled beyond salvage. “Oh no, my ladies will see I’ve not been to my bed this evening. Oh, the maids will talk—”

  He stands, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my neck.

  “Calm down. I’ll leave first. You wait a few minutes, and then follow me out. Go straight to your room, and if anyone sees you, tell them you walked the halls all night, that you were too excited to sleep.” In one smooth motion, he grabs my hips and spins me to face him. “Sophie, this only works if we get out of here before the official betrothal. We need to be careful, especially now that Peter is returning. If he thinks for a moment that you are slipping from his grasp…”

  He lets that hang between us. The fact is Peter is so volatile, anything could happen.

  “I’ll leave you a letter in the book, so you know where and when to meet me. Be ready. By this time next week, we will be safely in Stockholm, and happily married.” He kisses me quickly and leaves. I take a few minutes to smooth my gown and adjust my hair before following.

  I manage to make it back to my room without being seen by anyone but the servants, a small miracle. But when I open the door to my rooms, what I see nearly makes me tumble. There, in a heavy, red gown, is my mother. She holds her arms out for me.

  “Ah, my daughter. So good to see you well,” she says, her voice high and thin. I glance over to Rina, who is standing by my door.

  “My lady, back from your walk so soon?” she says gently. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  I nod, silently thanking her with my eyes. As soon as I walk over, she bends down, whispering, “I tossed your blankets about before the maids came.”

  “Thank you,” I mutter again.

  “Mother,” I say, turning to face her. “What brings you back to court? The empress told me you’d been sent away. Are you back to spy for King Fredrick some more?”

  She flicks her hand as if it was nothing rather than treason—an offence the empress could have her put to death for.

  “The empress has been kind enough to request my presence at your official betrothal.”

  I force a smile but say nothing.

  “She’s sent for your little brother as well, but your father has refused to allow him to come. He says the boy is unwell; I think he just doesn’t want to be separated from his precious heir.”

  Her tone is curt and condescending, and it immediately makes me angry. Any concern I may have had over her well-being once I fled court was replaced by coldness. I point to her trunk on the floor. No doubt, it’s full of new gowns and jewels purchased with her treasonous money from the Prussian King.

  “You needn’t bother unpacking,” I tell her flatly. “As soon as the engagement is formalized, your presence here will no longer be required.”

  She looks at me, her mouth falling into a stunned oh.

  “Well, your time in Russia certainly hasn’t improved your manners, now has it?” She straightens her back, looking affronted. “Still, I am your mother and I will remain—”

  “You will go as I tell you to. Your being here upsets the empress, and it upsets me. Go back to Prussia and do not return.”

  I motion for Rina.

  “Rina, this gown is far too bland to welcome Peter home in. Please, come and help me change.” I keep my voice calm, though anger is filling me. Mother’s presence isn’t simple a nuisance, but it will be an unwelcome complication to my plans. I want her safely away before I flee with Alexander, far from the rage I’m sure the empress will be feeling.

  Rina helps me change in the privacy of my own room.

  “Thank you so much,” I say softly once we’re alone.

  She smirks. “Do I dare ask what kept you from your bed last night?”

  I shrug, determined not to let her see my flush.

  “I was too anxious to sleep, so I went for a walk. I ended up in the library and fell asleep reading there. It was silly,” I lie smoothly. Much as I was growing to love Rina, I had no desire to put her in the middle of this business. Plus, that way when I’m found missing and they question her about it, her ignorance will be genuine.

  No, the only person I will truly miss is dear, sweet Sergei. My friend and ally. I hate knowing the trouble my departure will cause. But he will understand, as surely as anyone, why I could not stay. Once I’m safely in Sweden, I will send him a letter with my apologies.

  Once I’m dressed, my ladies, my mother, and I retire to the grand rotunda, to wait for word of the empress’ return. When we arrive, I see Sergei and Alexander chatting near the door. Both of my handsome men are looking relaxed and jovial, though I know each of them well enough to read their subtle tensions. Alexander clutches the lapel of his dark brown jacket and Sergei’s jaw is tight even as he speaks, betraying their true emotions.

  I sit with my ladies and strike up a game of cards. Soon, the trumpets blare and the valet announces the empress has arrived. We dutifully file out into the courtyard. The snow has melted away since I’ve been ill, replaced by lush green grass and fresh blossoms in the flowerbeds. Red-and-gold flags are driven into the ground, creating a pathway to the door. We take our places in line and I can’t help but sneak a glance at Alexander, who stands across from me. Trumpets ring out again as the empress, never one to ride in a carriage, strides up on the back of her tall, black stallion and dismounts. Her riding habit is the same as a military officer’s, only in deep blue and gold rather than the military-issue red. She pulls the gloves from her fingers and walks up the procession line, each of us bow or curtsy deeply as she passes.

  I see Sergei break the line and follow her inside, no doubt wanting to speak with her immediately. The carriage pulls up next, and Count Lestocq and Chancellor Bestuzhev step out in all their finery. Lestocq is wearing a long, sky blue Caftan with lace and silver embroidery, and Bestuzhev is trailing behind him in flowing robes of gold. Neither of them looks happy as they approach the palace. Three horses arrive next, one carrying a breathless, disheveled-looking Peter, one carrying Mikhail, and one carrying a young man I don’t recognize. Peter catches sight of me in the crowd and practically leaps from his horse. Rushing over to me, he lifts me by the waist and spins me high into the air.

  “My lovely Sophie, I am so glad to see you well.”

  “And I am glad to see you safely returned,” I reply, unable to muster any enthusiasm at all.

  “Have you heard the news? My aunt has finally sent that dreadful Saxon and her lot back to Austria.”

  I nod, letting him lead me to the door. “I believe I had heard something about that,” I say.

  Peter pauses to c
lasp hands with Alexander.

  “My friend, my brother. I’m so glad to be back in your company,” Peter greets him warmly.

  Alexander smiles. “The palace wasn’t the same without you. How went the hunt?”

  Peter ushers us all inside.

  “Unsuccessful, if you must know. Dreadfully dull, Moscow. Not a stag to be found. Though, the drinking was vastly improved.”

  Peter turns to me, “And you, My Princess. Last I heard, you were at the very cusp of death. A miracle, I think? Just further proof that even God himself wants to see you become my wife.”

  “It must be so,” I say without inflection.

  A thundering crash draws my eyes up from the floor. Peter and Alexander exchange a look and rush toward the sound, with me not far behind. We turn the corner to find two guards grappling with the chancellor.

  “Your Majesty, please. Forgive me. I was thinking only of you and the good of your kingdom!”

  “Take him to the dungeon,” the empress yells, her face flushed with rage.

  Peter steps into the room, Alexander at his back.

  “Aunt? What has happened?”

  She spares a glance at Sergei, who answers for her.

  “Evidence was found that implicates the chancellor in a plot to kill Sophie.”

  The empress smoothes her hand down her stomach.

  “It seems it was not a common illness that almost took our darling princess, but the wicked scheming of men. Bestuzhev had her poisoned in hopes of seeing the alliance with Prussia fail.”

  Peter’s eyes widen and without another word, he storms from the room. Alexander follows him. I wish I could count on Alexander to cool Peter’s rage, but I know that he is harboring his own desire to see the chancellor burn for what he’s done.

  The empress looks at me.

  “I’m sorry, dear, for what harm has befallen you while in my care.”

  I bow my head. “These things were not your doing, Empress. I know that. I know you have affection for me and would never wish me any harm.”

  Crossing the room, she takes my hands.

  “Sweet, strong, brave girl. You remind me so much of myself at your age. Clever beyond expectation and levelheaded. You are exactly what I would have wished for in a child of my own, had I been so blessed.”

  She kisses my forehead gently and steps back.

  “I hear you are ready to go ahead with the conversion?”

  I nod again. “Yes. I only waited for your return, that you might stand as a witness for me.”

  She looks genuinely touched at my request. “Of course I will.”

  I move to leave, but one other thought strikes me.

  “One last thing, Your Majesty.”

  She looks at me expectantly.

  “My mother—I appreciate your forgiveness for her misdeeds and for allowing her back to court. But I think it best if she leaves. Immediately.”

  The expression of surprise on the empress’ face is sincere.

  “You do not wish to have your mother here for your wedding?”

  I square my shoulders, and answer in my best, official tone.

  “She has disgraced herself, and by extension, me. I do not trust her not to repeat her mistakes and, to be frank, she has never been a true mother to me. I often wonder if she feels any affection for me at all.”

  I watch as the empress’ countenance changes, softening at my words.

  “I will see her sent away tomorrow, immediately after the ceremony. And then, the day after, we will make the official announcement of your engagement to Peter. We will have the grandest celebration this palace has seen in years.”

  A lump forms in my throat.

  “So soon? Surely, you will need time to prepare such an event.”

  “Nonsense. I have been preparing this for months, only your illness prevented it happening weeks ago.”

  I smile weakly and curtsy, turning to leave.

  “Wait,” she calls after me. “I have some matters of state to discuss, and I would like you to stay and witness. Someday, you may have to handle such things—lord knows Peter has no stomach for it—so stay. Listen and learn.”

  At her insistence, I take a seat, but I only half pay attention. Everything seems to be shrinking around me, the very walls closing in. It’s all I can do to keep breathing steadily, to keep my hands folded gently instead of curled into nervous fists.

  Sometime later, the empress finally releases me and I’m all too grateful. I practically run down the hall to the stairs leading to the dungeon. I want to make sure Peter hasn’t done something he will regret. I’m halfway down when I hear the screaming, and I freeze. Footsteps rush toward me and I know I should move, but I cannot.

  Alexander’s face rounds the corner, speckled with blood.

  I rush to him, taking his face in my hands.

  “Are you all right?”

  He grabs my hands and holds them to his chest.

  “I’m fine,” he whispers. “It’s not my blood.”

  Looking back over his shoulder quickly, he urges me back up the stairs. As soon as we are out of the hall, he stops into a small alcove and presses his back against the wall, wiping his face in his hands.

  “What has Peter done?” I ask, my heart racing. “Is the chancellor dead?”

  Alexander closes his eyes, shaking his head.

  “No, it’s so much worse than that. I thought at first he was just going to beat the man—God knows I’ve been longing to do that myself—but he…” His eyes fly open, and he looks at me. “He started muttering about Bestuzhev trying to steal you away from him, how you belonged to him, and how he had to be punished.”

  I swallow, trying to process what he’s saying.

  “He was a man possessed,” Alexander whispers finally. “He took a knife and began slicing him. Not deep enough to kill, but there was so much blood.”

  “I did not know Peter’s feeling for me ran so deep,” I admit softly, still stunned but unable to doubt his words.

  He licks his lips. “I don’t think it was that. I think that Peter sees you as his possession. You belong to him, that’s what he kept saying. It was the kind of rage he used to express when he thought someone had stolen one of his toys. Not love, but obsession.”

  And if he ever found out about Alexander and me, that rage would escalate a hundred fold. He would kill us both, I realize. Suddenly, the idea of running away with Alexander seems impossible, far too great a risk. The empress might someday forgive me for such a betrayal, but Peter would not. He would chase me to the ends of the earth to see me punished. I turn my back to Alexander.

  “This changes nothing,” he whispers.

  I don’t look back at him.

  “This changes everything,” I say softly.

  I hear him take a step and stop as another set of heavy boots stomps out of the hall.

  “Sophie,” Peter coos softly, approaching me.

  I blink back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes and turn to face him. He holds his bloodied hands out to me, and I force myself to take them.

  “The chancellor has been severely punished for his crimes. I assure you that he, and anyone else who thinks to prevent our union, will think twice before ever threatening you again.”

  I can’t speak so I just nod vigorously and try not to look as shaken as I feel. Leaning forward, he presses his lips against mine and my stomach heaves. I can taste the bitter, salty blood on his lips and fight down a retch. Releasing me, he quickly jerks his head to Alexander, who follows him off down the hall, only briefly looking back at me. As soon as they are gone from sight, I turn and head down the stairs. I need to make sure Bestuzhev is still alive, that a man hasn’t died for Peter’s rage.

  As soon as I’m at the bottom, I see the cell at the end of the hall is open and I slip inside. The smell around me is thick enough to choke on, the stench of sweat and urine and worse things. Bestuzhev hangs from shackles dangling from the stone ceiling. His clothes have been mo
stly stripped off. He manages to lift his head weakly. Ribbons of blood and flesh hang from his face, chest, and arms.

  “Come to finish me off?” he asks, his voice hoarse and low. I take a step back, calling to the guards.

  “Fetch the physician. Quickly. And you, unshackle him and help me lay him down.”

  The guards exchange a confused look before shrugging and obeying.

  Once he’s on the ground, I roll him onto this back, examining the wounds. Alexander was right, they aren’t deep enough to kill, more the shallow wound a hunter might use to skin an animal, removing the flesh but preserving the meat. When I look down at him now, that’s what I see, meat. I take what’s left of his clothes and rip them into pieces.

  “Fetch me some water and some brandy. Quickly,” I demand, sending the guard scurrying. He’s back in a hurry, a bowl of water in one hand and a bottle of brandy on the other.

  Carefully, I soak scraps of fabric in the water.

  “I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt,” I say to the chancellor, who is watching me through his one unswollen eye. I quickly pour the brandy over the cuts, making him cry out and arch his back. Then I begin laying the wet cloths across the wounds until the doctor arrives. He takes over, carefully stitching each cut with thick thread. The chancellor finally loses consciousness, a small blessing. When I finally climb the stairs again, the physician has gone and I’ve left orders for the guards to see that he received food and water as soon as he woke. It was the best I could do for the man who tried to kill me. And I genuinely hoped it was enough. I had his blood on my hands now, quite literally.

  I walked to my room, unaware of the eyes staring at me as I passed. I was in a daze, shocked and confused. When I get to my room, I have the maids bring water and I begin washing myself. I’m still scrubbing the blood from my hands when Sergei arrives.

  “I was worried about you,” he offers gently, as if sensing my fragile state. I can feel the tears running down my face as I turn to look at him. He has a book in hand, which he sets on the table. Coming up behind me, he wraps his arms around me and takes the soap from my hands. I lean forward, grasping the cabinet, and let the tears flow while he washes my hands and arms. I’m aware of him at my back, of the strong, musky, pine scent of him. I feel his warm breath on my neck as he lathers his hands and rubs them along my own. Something about it makes me want to fall into him, to let him hold me and protect me until the awful memories are driven from my mind. But I’m too numb for that, so I just let him wash away the blood and then dry me with a soft towel.

  “I’ll call your maids to help you with your gown,” he whispers against my ear.

  “No,” I manage. “Not yet.”

  He steps back, releasing me, and takes a seat.

  “You know what Peter did?” I ask.

  He nods. “The whole palace knows what Peter did. He seemed to take great pride in it, telling anyone who would listen. The empress was furious, of course, but what could she say?”

  “I went down to see for myself. It was just awful,” I say, trying to keep my voice from quaking.

  “The whole palace knows what you did as well, Princess. The guards said you were like an angel, to try to save the man who tried to kill you. Peter has won their fear this day, but you have won their hearts.”

  I frown. “It wasn’t some political strategy. That man almost died because of me.”

  “You almost died as well,” he reminds me.

  I shake my head. “And he should be punished for that. But what Peter did…”

  I don’t finish the thought.

  “Peter wanted to prove a point, not just to you, but to everyone. He wanted people to know what he was capable of. He thinks that to rule, people must fear him. He doesn’t have their respect. Most people think he’s too feebleminded and drunk to be trusted with any matters of real importance, and he doesn’t want their love. Fear is all that’s left for him.”

  He lowers his chin, looking at me strangely, “But today, you have won both of the things he does not possess.”

  I throw my hands up.

  “Why does everything have to be some ploy? Some desperate grab for power?”

  He sits back, his tone amused. “Because this is Russian Court.”

  I sigh heavily.

  “I need to rest, thank you for your concern, but I’m fine, as you can see.”

  He snickers. “As you say.”

  He stands, picking up the book he’d brought.

  “Here, Peter’s man asked me to bring this to you. He said you mentioned wanting to read it, but he’d taken it from the library.”

  I take the book.

  “Thank you. Please send my excuses to the empress. I’m afraid I don’t feel well enough to come down to dinner tonight. Please have something sent up.”

  He bows and leaves. When he’s gone, I open the book and find the hidden note.

  Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly.

  Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I?

  Thou art my life; if thou withdraw, I die.

  I crumple the paper to my chest, it’s meaning clear. Nothing has changed, he said. But something has changed. I see now that I will not survive here. I will not survive Peter, politics, or a life without love. Running away with Alexander means more than just being with the man I choose, it means my very survival. We must run, as far and as fast as our legs will carry us, and pray it is far enough.

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