Whitefire

by Fern Michaels

  Anger rose in Halya at his words, but she said nothing. In her heart she knew her true test was about to begin. Could she play at passion and desire and arouse his sagging member? Her mind raced: she would pretend, she would entice, she would seduce a young soldier; and then, as suddenly as she had thought it, she negated the idea. No, her imaginary lover must be a king, an emperor, or someone else of great stature. She would perform for a Khan and be a captured woman who was brought before him to delight and heighten his desire. Failing, she would die. Ivan’s voice broke through her thoughts, making her aware of what she had to do.

  “It’s time to begin, Halya. I’ll set the stage for you, and you will do exactly as I say. When you are performing well, and my blood begins to pound, you will not hear my voice. When that happens you will know I am pleased and your lustful acts are engulfing me. I am now ready,” he said, lying back against a mound of pillows.

  Halya fought a welling retch as she watched him lick at the saliva that drooled from the corners of his mouth.

  “You will of course undress; however, as you dance around the room I want you to drop your clothing, piece by piece, on top of me, as I lie here in bed. For every garment you drop you will remove an article of clothing from me. Before you start to perform I think we should have an audience. I will summon two passionate men from my private guard and watch them squirm in ecstasy as they watch you. A magnificent idea, why didn’t I think of it sooner?” Ivan cried happily as he rang for his boyar.

  “Fetch me two virile men from the Oprichnina. Bring me the two who boast and fornicate the most. You will have no trouble finding them, word travels fast among men of their conquests,” he ordered the boyar, who stood at attention, a stunned look on his face.

  The boyar scurried from the room to do Ivan’s bidding. He could barely contain himself at the thought that soon he would have another lunatic escapade of the Czar’s to recount to the other boyars.

  “Halya, my love, have you given any thought to your dance of seduction?” Not waiting for a reply, he continued, “My blood boils at the thought of how the young bucks will react to my mistress swaying naked before them. You will be naked, won’t you, Halya?” he asked hesitantly.

  Halya nodded. Oh God, oh God, Ivan was insane and she was crazy to do as he asked. Everything would have been different with Kostya.

  “Your men, as you requested,” the boyar said quietly as he thrust open the door, admitting two handsome soldiers from the Oprichnina.

  The Czar lolled on the bed, spittle dribbling from his mouth as he addressed the two men. “Princess Halya is going to dance, and I wished a small audience to join me so her talents can be fully appreciated. You are to stand near the door in a stance so: your feet slightly apart, body erect, and hands clasped behind your backs. You are not to utter a sound.”

  The soldiers nodded, puzzled looks on their faces.

  “Begin, Halya,” Ivan said, reclining again against the overstuffed cushions.

  Her body trembling, Halya moved to the center of the floor, trying to sort out her thoughts. She felt humiliated and embarrassed at the way the men stared at her. Still, she supposed it was better than being put to death by Ivan for refusing to do his bidding. She risked a second glance in their direction and found herself wondering how they would look without their handsome uniforms. Their imagined nudity made her remember Ivan as he was when she first saw him. Now, beside the flabbiness, his aquiline nose seemed more obnoxious. His black hair, which had once blended into a comely mustache and beard, had turned into wisps of straggly, unkempt hair. The clear bright eyes were glazed, and his sensual mouth was slack and unappealing. But she was also reminded of another person, whom she had loved with all her heart and soul . . . Quickly she forced the memory from her mind to concentrate on her job—surely he was dead.

  Halya turned to Ivan and pouted coyly. “My Czar, would it be possible to summon a balalaika player to sit outside the door and play for me?”

  “Very well, but no more delays, Halya,” he grumbled, the spittle from his mouth dribbling down his chin and onto his neck.

  With the first sounds of the melodious notes Halya began to dance, her movements slow and sensual as she responded to the music. Her slim body lent itself to wantonness as she brought into play the proud high-tipped breasts and rounded haunches. As she swirled and swayed to the rhythm, her tiny feet barely touching the floor, her hands caressed her body, lingering in a display of blatant sexuality.

  Perspiration beaded the faces of the soldiers as their eyes filled with unabashed desire. Sensing their craving, Halya threw herself into a frenzy of immoral gestures and moves that she knew would delight Ivan.

  Her fingers tore at the buttons of her gown as abandon rose like a tidal wave throughout her body. Dropping her dress at her feet, she cupped her breasts, still hidden beneath her camisole. Slowly, inch by inch, she removed Ivan’s gold caftan, delighting in his moans of mounting passion as her hands touched his naked flesh. His eyes were wild; his tongue dangled from his gaping mouth.

  She whirled away from the Czar, working with slow deliberation at the ribbons of her camisole. She knew both Ivan and the soldiers were waiting for her to divest herself of the garment, waiting in pain for the first glimpse of her bare skin. She glided out of reach, her tight haunches moving to the rhythm of the balalaika as her body began to undulate provocatively. Sensuously she moved her fingers to the tiny ribbons, undoing each one with a wicked smile on her face.

  The Czar rolled over on the bed, his eyes glazed as he stared first at Halya and then at the two soldiers. He cackled gleefully at the sight of the well-fitted black trousers bulging with the swollen manhood trapped within. As he watched, the swelling pushed forward, fighting to escape to freedom. He jumped up and down on the bed, pointing a sticklike finger at the two men, his laughter insane and shrill.

  Halya continued dancing, her fingers untying the last bow. As she leaned toward Ivan, her breasts spilled from the dainty embroidered camisole. A knowing smile played about her mouth as she heard low groans coming from the direction of the doorway. She, too, now noticed the growing, aroused manhood bursting at the confines of their trousers.

  She ripped away the undergarment with a flourish, freeing her taut, full breasts for all to see. Cupping them, their rosy crests pointed and erect, she swayed ever closer until she was directly in front of the soldiers. Her movements taunting, she flaunted her body without restraint. Moan after moan followed her as she danced back to Ivan. Slowly she extended a long, shapely leg from between the open front of her lace petticoat. Languidly she thrust it out and withdrew the stocking from thigh to toe. Twirling it in the air, Halya swept past the soldiers, her naked breasts heaving as she allowed the stocking to brush across their agonized faces. At Ivan’s bedside, she dropped the silk and reached down to remove his slippers.

  The soldiers continued to watch, their faces full of incredulous shock. Before them lay the Czar, completely stripped of clothes. The princess was still dressed in her petticoat and one sheer stocking. How much more were they to endure?

  Moving over to a chair closer to where the soldiers stood, Halya lifted her leg, reached to the top of the limb, and, again slowly, removed the remaining stocking. She caressed her body, her fingers sliding over her breasts and arms, down to her flat stomach, and finally once again cupping her breasts.

  Her eyes were fixed on the soldiers as she worked at her petticoat, dropping it from her satiny waist. Halya turned at the sound of a deep groan, knowing she had driven the men beyond human control.

  Ivan, in a state of tightly checked arousal and anticipation of what was to come, made no comment when the soldiers ran from the room, their trousers wet and stained.

  Halya danced as if passion had become the driver and ruler of her undulating body. Gliding gracefully to the bedside once more, her pear-shaped orbs hard and firm, she motioned for Ivan to touch her. Salivating, he clutched at her breasts, her thighs and legs, as low animal-like noises escaped hi
s mouth.

  Perspiration dripping from his face, Ivan felt blood soar through his veins as the pain in his loins became unbearable. He reached for Halya, clutching at her golden hair, moaning wildly as he brought his mouth crashing down upon hers.

  “Ivan, take me! Please! Take me!”

  Ivan mounted her, hoping against hope that all his soaring blood would erect his manhood. When it failed to do so, he rolled from her body, tears streaming down his sunken cheeks.

  Exhausted, Halya lay next to Ivan, who, unfulfilled, nibbled at her still-erect nipples. Halya lay quietly, indifferent to his touch, wishing she were with the one man who could have fulfilled her.

  Determined to overcome his impotence, Ivan continued to nibble at Halya’s swollen breasts. His hands traveled down her body, searching out the coveted moist, warm place between her slim thighs.

  Halya’s body became alive, responding once again to his tender caresses.

  “Try, Ivan,” Halya pleaded as she parted her legs, welcoming him to her. Silently she reprimanded herself for the charade she was acting. Halya tried desperately to convince herself she might one day love Ivan and forget Kostya.

  In desperation, Ivan strained every part of his being to produce the taut muscles necessary to satisfy her. At Halya’s scream of despair, Ivan fell back in resignation, ignoring the princess, totally absorbed in his own despair.

  Halya lay back on the bed, her eyes closed to prevent the threatened tears from spilling down her cheeks. Was this going to be her life from now on? God, help me, she prayed silently.

  Though it was early when Halya woke, her eyes searched every corner of the room for Ivan. When she was satisfied that he was not there, she slid from the bed and quickly dressed to return to her own quarters. She needed a warm bath to help her forget the previous hours.

  Halya placed her hand on the doorknob, but was unexpectedly thrown off balance with the Czar’s entrance into the room.

  “I want to commend you on your . . . your performance last evening. You were exquisite! I do try to please you, Halya, I think you know that,” he said, his voice a soothing melody.

  “Yes, Ivan, I know you try, and I understand you have many tragedies in your life,” she said quietly. As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. “Ivan, I . . . I’m sorry—”

  Obscene expletives flew from the Czar’s mouth. His aging, aristocratic face turned purple with rage. “You were told never to refer to my past!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “You are here for one purpose and one purpose only—to brighten my life and make me happy. Get down on your knees and beg me to forgive you!”

  Halya did as ordered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, I beg of you, forgive me,” she pleaded.

  “Very well, I forgive you, this time,” he said, his rage forgotten. “Come near me, let me hold you for a moment.” Halya nestled nervously in his arms. “Let me kiss the lips that drove me to the heights of desire last evening.”

  Suddenly he thrust her from his arms and looked directly into her green eyes. “I have something to tell you, something that will make you happy.”

  Moving to the edge of the bed, Ivan motioned Halya to sit beside him. The stale scent of the past hours lingered in the air as he clasped her soft hands in his tight grip. “I am so pleased with you that I have decided to make you my next wife. You soothe me and at the same time you excite me.” Gently, he cupped her chin in his hand and stared deeply into her eyes. “Does my offer make you happy, Halya?”

  Her stomach lurched at his words. Forcing a smile, the princess spoke enthusiastically for his benefit. “Yes, Ivan, it makes me most happy.” Halya knew she would do anything that would enable her to sit beside him on the throne of Russia, even if it meant acting out the sexual fantasies he demanded. Her eyes closed momentarily when she realized that, as Ivan’s Czarina, her name would become as famous as his, and perhaps her one true love from childhood would seek her out when her whereabouts became known—unless he was dead, as she feared.

  “Now I must tell you of my other plans,” he said coolly, his mood changing once again. “I have a mission to be filled and I need a man with knowledge of horses, an equerry. Soon the Don Cossacks will be bringing their herds to the steppe and readying them for sale. Each year in the spring I send an emissary to pick the best of the Cosars for my Oprichniks. This year I have decided my equerry will be your brother, Yuri. Even now he is beginning his preparations for the journey, and tomorrow he will leave for Volin.”

  “Volin! My brother! What are you telling me?” Halya asked fearfully. “Ivan, my brother is too young to be sent on a mission. He just passed his eighteenth birthday and only trained in the Kadets for a year. Just this past month, he entered the Zemsky Sobor, and you know he has another year to complete his apprenticeship for the assembly,” she said tearfully, her eyes wide and full of apprehension.

  “I am aware of his apprenticeship, and I considered it carefully before I reached my final decision.”

  “But, Ivan, he’s just a boy,” Halya continued to plead.

  “Enough! I will say the following to you and then the discussion is closed. When I was three, I was crowned Czar; when I was sixteen, I was married; and at twenty I led my armies in two battles. Don’t speak to me of an eighteen-year-old being a boy. He’s a man, and if he isn’t one now he will be when he returns. I chose him because of his knowledge of horses, the same knowledge you yourself possess. You were the one who informed me of your family’s equestrian background. You told me once that you and your brother could ride a horse before you could walk a straight line. So you see, Halya, he is the man for my mission. The matter is ended.”

  Her anger in check, Halya rose from the bed and quickly strode toward the door. As she walked on lagging feet back to her bedchamber, her mind raced. Why was the Czar sending Yuri to Volin? Certainly not for the reason he stated.

  Once inside her room with her bath prepared, Halya slid into the warm wetness and allowed the water to calm her shattered nerves. How unfair it is, she thought sadly. Yuri is still a boy, and when he’s gone I’ll have no one except Ivan. Her full lower lip trembled and tears gathered in her moss-green eyes at what she considered her unjust life. Was it only three years ago that she had been brought to the palace to become Ivan’s fourth wife? It seemed like an eternity ago that the missive reached her parents in Moldavia informing them that Czar Ivan wished the Princess Halya to be presented to him with the intention of making her his wife. “God help me,” she moaned softly as her mind reeled back in time.

  Within days after the message was received, her trunks and Yuri’s were packed and they were sent by coach to Moscow, she to become Ivan’s wife and Yuri to become a Kadet.

  The driver of the three-horse sleigh had carefully reined in the animals as he maneuvered the sleigh through the maze of streets lined with log houses that encompassed the Wooden City, so named because of its principal building material.

  “Has anyone told you of Kitai Gorod?” the driver asked, amused at the pair as they stared in awe at their surroundings.

  “We’re new to Moscow,” Halya had said hesitantly. “What is Kitai Gorod?”

  “It is the third city within Moscow and so called because the people who live here fill their kitais with earth, piling the one on top of the other against the walls to stave off attacks from invaders.”

  “I want to see the palaces where the nobles and the Czar live!” Yuri had cried out in boyish excitement.

  “First we have to travel through Red Square. Once we travel through Spassky Gate we will be in the Kremlin. To your left is Czar Ivan’s home, the Terem Palace. To your right are the chasovnyas, the private chapels of the influential citizens of Moscow. The structure you see being worked on is St. Basil’s, the Czar ordered it built to commemorate his victory over the Tatars. Your tour is over. Wait on the stairwell and servants will take you to the Czar.”

  Was it only three years ago when she and Yuri stood on the stairwell wait
ing for Ivan’s servants?

  Yuri had succeeded in becoming a soldier. But instead of becoming the Czar’s wife, she had become his mistress.

  Aware once more of her surroundings, Halya stepped from her bath into the robe her maid held out for her.

  “Fetch my clothes and dress my hair, quickly now, for I have little patience this day. I want to spend as much time with my brother as possible,” she explained to the fearful servant.

  The girl, near tears, worked in quiet desperation, knowing the princess would show no mercy when it came to anyone save the Czar and her brother.

  The maid stood back respectfully, hoping for a quiet word of approval.

  “It took you long enough,” Halya said furiously. “If you’re finished, why do you stand there? Leave me!”

  When the door had closed behind the trembling girl, Halya examined herself in the mirror, pleased with her appearance except for the hateful expression on her face. Studying herself, she realized her callous behavior toward the maid was meant for Ivan. God, how she detested him for what he was doing to her brother. Forcing a smile to her lips, however, she flounced from the room to console Yuri and wish him a safe and speedy return.

  Halya walked through the halls and archways and down the stairways that led from the Terem Palace to the building where men of the Zemsky Sobor were quartered.

  Thrusting open the door of Yuri’s room, she threw herself into his arms. “Yuri, tell me it isn’t true, tell me you aren’t going to Volin. Did you do something? Is the Czar banishing you? If you did something wrong, perhaps I can help you,” she pleaded desperately.