Where The Spirit Meets The Bone

Two: Aleksander Morozova

Two

Aleksander Morozova

He sat in his office, going over paperwork involving numbers from the front. Their enemies grew closer every day and he needed something to defeat them. But what? Aleksander stroked his chin, trying to come up with a solution. He hoped that there would be some sort of idea in the paperwork given to him, but he'd been staring at it for hours. There was nothing. There was a knock on the door.

"Lord Morozova?" he heard his assistant, Zoya Nazyalensky, call from behind the door.

Aleksander looked up from his paperwork. "Come in, Nazyalensky."

The door opened. Zoya was a gorgeous girl, with jet black hair, and blue eyes. She was the daughter of a Lord and had attended school with the Prince. Rumor had it there was some connection that between the two, and Aleksander kept her around specifically for that in case it could be used to that advantage.

"Your presence is requested at the welcome back ball for Prince Nikolai," Zoya said.

Aleksander sighed. "Can't I give them my regrets? Tell them that I am sick?"

"I would," said Zoya, "but we've done that the past three times. They're getting suspicious, and annoyed. You know this is part of the job. Besides, you're one of the King's advisors."

"Fine," he grunted, "I'll go."

"Good," said Zoya, "I've already ordered the car brought round so that we can go to the palace."

"Wonderful." He shoved his paperwork into the desk drawer. He got up.

"I have a suit for you," Zoya said, "if you want to change."

"I'm in a suit," he said.

"It's a work suit," Zoya said, "this is a bit more of a formal affair. There is a difference."

"I don't care," he grunted again.

Zoya gave him an irritated sigh. "You are going to give me frown lines, Morozova. If you give me frown lines, you are paying for the botox yourself."

He chuckled. "If you get frown lines from the stress of the job, Zoya, I will happily pay for your botox."

"Good," said Zoya with a nod.

They walked from the office together. Then they slipped into the black sedan that was waiting for them.

"Are they really having a ball simply for the little ingrate coming home from University?" he asked.

Zoya pursed her lips together. "Unless you believe the rumors."

"What are the rumors?"

"The rumors are that the King is announcing Nikolai's engagement to the Duke of Keramasov's daughter this evening. That Nikolai asked for it himself."

"How do you know that?" Aleksander said.

Zoya smirked. "A little birdie told me."

"A little birdie told you?" He chuckled. "Would that little birdie be blond haired, blue eyed, and play for the polo team exceptionally well at his University?"

"Maybe," Zoya said, biting her lip, mischief dancing in her blue eyes.

"I thought you were seeing the soldier boy."

"I am," said Zoya, "but he knows where we stand. Besides, he's guarding the little wench. Her father hired her."

"What's the name of the girl again?"

"Alina Starkov." Zoya sniffed. "I went to school with her. She's a scrawny, dark haired girl. Not much to look at. She was quiet. Always sketching in that sketch book of hers."

"An artist, hmmm?"

Zoya nodded. "And a bastard, whose mother died in a car wreck."

"A bastard?"

"Yes," Zoya said, "it could present a problem, you know. Especially if the truth about Nikolai's parentage were to come out. You know that there have always been rumors about him, but with Alina it is known. If we have two bastards on the throne, someone might use that to cause trouble."

Aleksander frowned, and scratched her chin. "You're right. Someone might use that to cause trouble."

"So," said Zoya, "what are you going to do about it?"

Aleksander laughed. "What makes you think that I'm going to do something about it, Nazyalensky?"

"Because you don't have a single, moral bone in your body, Aleksander. It's how you got your title in the first place. You weren't even supposed to inherit, but you had six brothers, who all dropped dead of mysterious causes, and somehow the youngest wound up with the title."

"All deaths were ruled horrible accidents, you'll find," he reminded her.

"Come on," Zoya said, "the last thing I want to see is little Alina Starkov as my Queen. So, tell me, Morozova, how are you going to destroy her?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his jet-black hair. "I don't know," he admitted finally, "but I'll think of something. I always do."

She smiled. "There's the devious asshole I know and tolerate."

"Happy to be of service," he replied.

The black sedan pulled to a stop, and they had arrived at the little palace. He had never looked forward to a ball so much. Let the games begin.