When Spring Died

Chapter Eleven

Sasha Morozov left the Vernal Fête wildly, inexplicably, irrevocably in love, and he did not care who knew it.

Since coming to Frantsiya, he'd been overwhelmed with color, the verdant green of fields, pastures, and trees, the deep blue of the sky pocked with cotton ball clouds, the blazing rainbow of wildflowers: pearly pinks, dancing yellows, vivid purples. He hadn't known rivers could be so clear, or that the wind was not always sharp and biting, but could be soft and cool.

And the sun...oh, the sun. How glorious it was to revel in its warmth and brightness. When he slept at night, he was afraid it would be the last time he ever saw it. But whenever he woke up, it would have risen again, shining easily as if to say, "See? Just like I always do."

Yet none of that seemed important. It all paled in comparison. Nothing mattered.  Nothing but her.

Sasha was alive. Awake. Astonished.

As he left the gates outside Marseille, the palace far behind him, he came to a hazel thicket where two horses grazed, one a dappled grey, the other a sorrel mare. Since there was little food for Ryssland's beasts of burden, what with the ground being frozen year-round, they were leaner than most, ribs showing through rough, hairy coats.

Off to the side was Yuri, right where Sasha had left him earlier. He paced around, half frantic, occasionally running a hand through his dark hair and shaking his head as if he'd said something to himself that, though he agreed with it, annoyed him.

A sudden excitement thrummed in Sasha's chest. He tucked the sprig of white wisteria he'd been given into his waistcoat, careful not to crush the petals. He pulled the black mask from his face as he said, "Yuri, do you believe in love at first sight?"

Yuri flinched out of surprise when he heard Sasha's voice. He whirled around and opened his mouth to say something, but then Sasha's question sunk in. His expression morphed into pure irritation.

"I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly, Your Highness?"

"I would hope so. You're not going deaf, are y--"

He was cut off by Yuri yanking a riding cloak from the ground and flinging it at Sasha's head. The heavy material stung bits of his face as it hit him, though Sasha supposed it was deserved.

"I don't believe you! I've been waiting here all evening for you to show, and that is the first question you ask me?! I've been out of my head with worry, thinking you'd been found out, arrested even!" Yuri ranted.

Sasha huffed, tossing the cloak over his shoulders and fastening it. "Well lucky for you, I wasn't caught. I can be covert when I want." Sneaking into Marseille was easier than he'd expected. All he'd had to was meld into a larger group of attendees, pretend to know a few, and nobody spared him a passing glance. "Besides he who does not take risks does not drink champagne."

"That doesn't make any sense. You don't even like champagne!"

"Frantsiyan champagne is better than I expected."

Yuri shot him a scathing look before mounting the sorrel. The horse wasn't too keen on leaving the lush grazing patch, but Yuri was not to be stopped.

"Come on. We're a long way from Cavaillon. If we want to be back by morning we need to leave now."

Sasha made a face as Yuri told him what to do. Here he was, trying to have a genuine conversation, and all Yuri wanted to do was go back to that rundown inn in Cavaillon they'd stayed at.

"Are you upset I showed up later than we agreed? Don't be mad, I wasn't even gone that long."

"You said you'd be there for one hour, and last I knew, one hour was not three and a half!"