by M J Marstens
I struggle internally, wondering if I should fight or not, but I realize that this might be the opening I need to find more information about my family. I nod my understanding and follow the two men outside. A Mercedes Benz PS is waiting and I am ushered inside.
The Benz hints at affluence far above these two humble men.
“Whose automobile is this?” I ask casually.
“Grand Duke Nicholas Konstantinovich’s,” the first man says nonchalantly—as if words haven’t just gutted me from the inside out.
I watch the world pass by me in a blur. I don’t know where I am going or what I am getting myself into. All I do know is that my Cousin Kolya is a traitor and highly likely the leader of this rebel faction.
Once upon a time, I dreamed of being a common woman who could marry any man she chose.
Now, I dream of wearing my imperial sash proudly and showing my cousin what happens to those who turn their backs on the true crown.
There can only be one tsardom in Russia and only one ruler—my father.
* * *
1 The tsarevich suffered from hemophilia, which he inherited from his mother and can be traced back to Queen Victoria’s side of the family.
2 The White Movement in Russia—explained further within the book.
Chapter Five
In less than twenty-four hours, I’m well acquainted with the Beliye1. The two men who brought me to Cousin Kolya’s palace outside of Tsarskoye Selo2 never did introduce themselves. I’m vital to their cause as a nurse, but not so important because I’m a girl. It’s an interesting tightrope that I’ve walked my entire life—being a grand duchess, but still being a woman.
I’m important, but I’m not.
Because of this dichotomy, women tend to band together tightly. In my case, I have my sisters, my mother, and female attendants at court—who are more like paid companions than maids-in-waiting. The dynamics in my cousin’s house are no different.
As soon as I arrived, I was ushered to a room full of women. Some in nursing attire, some not. Most don’t even peg me for medical personal since I never had a chance to change into my uniform. With my dirty face, blackened hair, worn clothing, and scarf, I doubt anyone would recognize—let alone believe—that I’m one of the imperial princesses.
For some odd reason, one woman in particular decides to befriend me. Perhaps she doesn’t have any here in this room, isolated from her brother. Her name is Shusha3. She’s part of the Beliye movement, just like her sibling, and she’s here to fight for that cause.
The woman talks incessantly—even more than me—but I simply listen and soak in all her words. My quick brain is filing away all the information to use for later. I realize, with every sentence that she utters, that my world is even more broken than I knew.
My country is splintered—fractured internally—and the Beliye make up many of these fragmented pieces.
“My brother and I are Republicans—specifically, we are looking to give the common people a say in their government and laws, but there are all kinds of political parties in our movement,” Shusha explains.
“I don’t understand. . . if you all have different or conflicting ideologies, why have you joined forces together?” I ask in genuine confusion.
“Easy. Because we have a common enemy—the Krasnyye4.”
“The Krasnyye?”
“The Bolsheviks,” she clarifies and comprehension dawns upon me.
My sisters and I only could glean snippets here and there of what was happening in our country through subtle—and, occasionally, not-so-subtle—eavesdropping between my parents, our guards, servants with looser tongues, etc.
Unfortunately, a lot of names got tossed around and we were often left more befuddled than enlightened. Our English tutor took pity on us once and explained who the Bolsheviks were—ever since then, the name has burned a hole in my head and my heart.
“What other groups contribute to your cause?” I wonder.
“Oh, lots, but the biggest are the Republicans, the Orthodox Nationalists, and the Imperialists.”
“Imperialists?” I query with interest.
“Yes—these are the men who wish to restore the Russian autocracy. Some fight for the Romanovs and others fight for the Grand Duke, whose home this is.”
I groan internally at the news. My father already has enough enemies; he doesn’t need some obscure cousin coveting his throne, too. But, at least now I know who to speak with. Surely, the Imperialists who fight for the Romanov crown will come to my aid.
“Where can I find these men?”
Shusha gives me a funny look.
“The Imperialists? You don’t want to join them,” she chides with a shake of her curly-haired head.
“I don’t?”
“Of course not! I don’t want the Krasnyye to run our country, but the stardom had to fall.”
I frown fiercely at her words. Our friendship is already turning sour, but I’m also curious about her words. Shusha says them with such conviction. Why does she hate our monarchy so much?
“What’s so wrong about the tsardom?” I finally have the courage to ask.
Her answer makes me wish that I never had.
For as much as my parents shielded my siblings and me from the cruelty of the world, they also isolated us from the reality of our country—and the plight of the Russian people—something Shusha paints very vividly.
“How could you ask that? I can tell from your speech and bearings that you come from more wealth than most folk, but you’re not nobility. Surely, your family has struggled in these times, too. And that struggle doesn’t compare to half of what everyone else is suffering,” Shusha explains.
Her words are akin to someone stabbing me in the stomach.
Of course, I don’t understand. Everyone at the palace spoke from the biased viewpoint on behalf of their tsar, as did my parents. It only makes sense that I heard only one half of the story—one half of the truth. There are two sides to every coin and, although conflicting, they are necessary to make the whole.
Until this moment—until Shusha’s words—I didn’t fully internalize how truly little I understood my world. I fight for my family but, for the first time in my life, I question whether my father’s way of government is right. But, I also know that he has tried to make it ‘fair’.
My father has made many concessions over the last five years to appease the revolutionary unrest in Russia. At first glance, it would seem like he was attempting to cooperate with the people, but I’ve heard him talk about keeping everyone calm and pacified.
Did he really want democracy for his people or was he just saying that to buy him time to reinforce his army to instill the old ways once more?
I know my father has very little tolerance for anything that is not Russian. He barely even acknowledges his Danish heritage. He has always been indulgent of my mother and her German/English roots, but he made it very clear that his children were first and foremost Russian.
My mother’s blood is secondary and less important, even though England and Germany are also powerful European monarchies.
I detest the sliver of uncertainty that has anchored itself inside of me at Shusha’s words.
“Besides,” she continues, oblivious to my internal distress, “the Republicans are the best. Our group is the largest and strongest. We contribute the most men and women to the Belaya Armiya5, too. And. . .”
Here, Shusha pauses for effect.
“. . .We fight for women’s rights!”
“Women’s rights?” I blurt out agog.
“That’s right. Our group wants equality between the sexes. I’m only in here so as not to cause waves with the other factions who do not agree that women should join the cause. But, when we hold our individual meetings, men and women both attend,” Shusha says with a proud beam.
I won’t lie—she has me there. Equality for women? How long have I secretly dreamed of that? Almost as long as I’ve wished to be a man instead of a woman.
/>
“So, you fight the Krasnyye and defeat them. . . what happens then?”
Shusha’s smile instantly dissolves.
“Then, the comradery we fake now to go against our common enemy will disappear and we will turn on one another like a pack of rabid wolves.”
Her words send a chill down my spine.
Is this what my country has devolved into?
I swear that I can hear the wolves howling already.
* * *
1 The Whites
2 A former Imperial town about 15 miles (24 kilometers) south of St. Petersburg where Alexander Palace was situated and visiting nobility could reside.
3 Pronounced SHOO-shaw, it’s short for the Cossack name Oksana(awk-SAHN-nah).
4 The Reds, another name for the communist/Soviet Bolsheviks.
5 The White Army
Chapter Six
Zavid
I watch my little sister from the shadows talking animatedly to a girl that I don’t recognize—and I would remember if I had met her. For lack of better words, the newcomer is breathtakingly stunning. Even with her face smeared with dirt, I can see the glowing alabaster perfection of her skin underneath.
Her cheeks and lips are tinted the same sweet pink and, when she raises her eyes, my heart skips a beat. They are the purest blue—almost purple in hue—so bright and deep that I know I would get lost in them for days if I let myself.
Her hair is braided back and appears dark—a rather stark contrast from the lightness of her eyebrows. It’s hard to tell from here, but they seem reddish in the dim light of the lamps. I plan to inspect them when I get closer.
And I will get closer.
I want to know if her lips are as soft and full as they look but, right now, I have an assignation that I’m late for. I cast one last glance at my sister and her new friend before loping off into the cavernous halls of the Grand Duke’s palace.
The man might be way down on the totem pole of royalty, but his house is still eighty times larger and more equipped than ninety percent of the starving commoners out there. I don’t say ‘Russians’ because Russia isn’t just Russian. My mother country is home to many different kinds of cultures and ethnicities.
Who—for the most part—have been silenced and all but tamped out of the purist Russian monarchal society over the years.
I’m here to give these men and women a voice.
I’m a nationalist, but all the many different peoples of Russia need to be seen, heard, and respected. The Republicans want this equality for all and we have the strongest foothold in the Beliye—for now.
The Grand Duke’s money funds our campaign, but only so long as we are united against Lenin and his plan for a communist Russia. If and when we defeat the Krasnyye, I know that our own movement will implode upon itself. That’s why it’s imperative that my fellow Republicans and I are in place to take control.
The biggest step to accomplishing this is growing our group. Since we are really the only ones who allow and support women in the movement, our numbers are nearly triple that of the Imperialists and Orthodox Nationalists. Also, most of their members are older Russian men, set in their ways.
Every day, the youth of Russia become hungrier and hungrier—and not just for food. They salivate at the idea of freedom, independence from being under the autocracy’s thumb, equality for all, and actually earning money to support themselves. As long as the Republicans keep fighting for these things, the youth of Russia will join our ranks.
It’s my job to recruit these men and women.
But right now, I’m off to convince an Imperialist.
I meander through the Grand Duke’s halls like I was raised in his palace, nodding at others as they pass me. Nearly ten minutes later, it feels like I am halfway around the world. The house is large and cavernous—perfect for secret trysts. The West Wing is where the duke’s sleeping quarters are, as well as where his fellow supporters and family members reside.
The few Imperialists that are foolish enough to advocate the return of the Tsar are kept in even shabbier rooms than ours.
Everyone knows of the duke’s ambition to rule. Thankfully, most of his family doesn’t have the same desire, even though they back the duke’s ultimate goal. I already know that the Grand Duke will be a problem, but that’s a worry for another day.
Right now, I have someone to corrupt.
I round two more corners and sneak into one of the duke’s numerous trophy rooms. This one houses all his taxidermized animals. Most find their glassy sightless gazes disturbing, but the only eyes that I feel on me are his.
He’s standing off to the side, partially hidden in the shadows. But the gloom does nothing to dull his bright halo of pale blond hair. His eyes are the lightest blue and he’s tall and lean, like me. Our similarities end there. Where he’s fair, I’m dark. Where I’ve struggled, he’s been privileged. We are complete opposites and everything about our relationship is wrong in the eyes of Russian society.
But neither of us cares.
The attraction was instantaneous and irrefutable. We couldn’t fight it if we tried—and we don’t want to. We might be absolute contraries, but our differences complement us perfectly. Sometimes, it feels like we’re two halves to a broken whole.
“Maks1,” I whisper ravenously.
I see him hesitate briefly before pushing out of the shadows. Maks struggles with himself and our relationship more than me. As a republican, our sexuality is simply another point that I plan to gain equality in, but Maks is a staunch Imperialist. He firmly believes in the monarchy—not that I can blame him. It’s all that he’s ever known and his stepfather is the Grand Duke himself.
Officially, the Grand Duke adopted Maks after he remarried Natalya Khanykova, making my lover Prince Maks Romanovsky-Iskander. This happened when Maks when very young—only three—so, he’s been raised as royalty, as well. And nothing is more confining than the rules and norms of Russian nobility. In truth, I can only imagine how much he’s struggled with himself and his sexuality.
I, on the other hand, am a Cossack2. Our beliefs and traditions are different and my heritage more readily accepts me for who and how I am—as do my political viewpoints, but I understand Maks’ want for secrecy. I have faith that our intimate friendship will not need to be hidden forever.
Maks finally makes his way in front of me and I grab the front of his silken shirt roughly, closing the distance between us to slam my mouth over his.
“Careful!” he gasps, reminding me that his clothing is much more delicate than mine, but the way his hips buck into me makes it obvious that he enjoys it regardless.
I grind my own hardening erection against him. He moans deliciously into my mouth and melts further into my body, reaching around to grasp my ass. I growl when he squeezes painfully and I bite his bottom lip in retaliation.
Slipping a hand between us, I make quick work of opening his pants and slide my hand inside to glide up and down his length. I quicken my pace when he curses, his body going taut as he fights his base urge to explode.
“Fuck,” Maks swears harshly. “Don’t make me come in my pants again,” he semi-pleads.
This is the game we play with one another constantly—who will be the dominant one. Neither one of us is particularly submissive; and our clandestine rendezvous usually end in a frenzied battle of who can make who come first.
“Then, get working on my dick. You can finish in my mouth if I can finish in yours.”
Maks glares at me as he forcefully yanks my pants open to do as I’ve requested. The room is silent except for our uneven panting as we race to get the other off first. But, I’m more disciplined than Maks. I’m used to denying myself a lot—pleasure, food, shelter—the list goes on.
Maks, on the other hand, might not have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he’s still used to getting his way. His life has been one of immediate gratification; so, I know it will not take long to tip him over the edge long before I spill.
/> Sure enough, seconds later, Maks profanes savagely and shoves me to my knees. I greedily take his cock into my mouth and suck hard while cupping his balls with a proprietary grasp.
“Yessss”, Maks hisses as he erupts deeply inside of me mouth and down the back of my throat.
I savor his salty flavor—and his capitulation.
Smirking, I rise back up and kiss him lightly.
“Your turn,” I taunt, pushing him down as he did to me.
Maks gives me a black look but gracefully falls to his knees. Gently, he takes out my throbbing member and strokes it with the barest of touches—driving me wild, as he intended. This is his punishment for me.
When I can’t take it anymore, I grab a fistful of his hair and anchor his head in place as I ram my dick into the hollow recess of his mouth. Maks doesn’t even blink. We are used to the almost violent way we fuck one another.
Thankfully, he stops teasing me and settles into a pace that will be my undoing. I breathe heavily through my nose, but I can feel my orgasm hovering in the peripheral—I won’t be able to hold out much longer. No sooner than I think this, I fucking unleash in Maks’ mouth.
His eyes close and he hums a little as he swallows me, making my cock tingle.
“Fuck,” I murmur. “We shouldn’t wait so long between meetings.”
“Too dangerous,” Maks counters as he rights himself, smoothing his hair and clothing.
I copy him, but I could really care less how rumpled I look. I’m a lowly commoner—everyone expects me to be a dirty scamp. I bite my tongue to refrain from starting another unwinnable battle with him. Instead, I try a different tactic.
“I found my girlfriend,” I announce after fixing my shirt.
Maks’ face flashes with hot jealousy before going carefully blank. I almost smile wryly, feeling slightly vindictive. Maks has been urging me to get a girlfriend so as to take any suspicion off of me. As a prince, he has a string of women at his beck and call that he uses—willingly.
Now, he knows how I feel.
“Who?” he demands tersely.
