The Grand Ducal Coup has succeeded. In order to avoid revolution, Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich, the Tsar's brother, takes the reigns of the Government in Petrograd and declares himself regent with the support of all senior Grand Dukes. With a he...
The moment Vladimir stepped out of the Alexander Palace, an irreversible shift coursed through his being. As he embarked on a month-long voyage down the Volga, his tutor's attempts to engage him in the historical landmarks and revered monasteries along the way were futile. His thoughts remained captive, drawn to the haunting clarity of those melancholic eyes that had pierced him with an unspoken connection.
When they boarded the ship at the end of long days of excursions, he tried to select a few of his old poems for the book, but the new feeling that was rising within him compelled him to write new ones. He wrote deep into the night, the rhythmic clanking of his typewriter serving as a soothing influence to his restless heart.
How strange it was, he thought, after all the bloodshed he had witnessed, all the times he had wondered if he would ever be able to see the world in the same way, to be completely taken over by such an innocent feeling that made him want to smile all the time, that brought back the type of joy he had thought he would never be able to feel again.
It wasn't a completely cloudless sky, however, and he was well aware of that. She was so far out of his reach that there wasn't even a point in dwelling on the matter for too long, but he had to pour his heart out somewhere, so the paper on his desk and the keys of his typewriter became his preferred method of escape.
When he finally returned to Petrograd, where he would only stay for a week before returning to the horrors of the war, he had almost eighty poems to present to the Empress.
He had managed to secure a meeting at the Alexander Palace. He was looking forward to it like an overly excited schoolboy, but, this time when the doors to the drawing room opened, only Anna Vyrubova walked in.
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He could tell by her dismissive attitude that she didn't support the project with the same enthusiasm as the Empress. He knew that this woman, a fervent supporter of Rasputin, did not see eye-to-eye with his mother, who had never trusted the man, and her air of superiority and dismissive demeanour made him feel uneasy and eager to end the meeting as quickly as possible.
"I know Her Majesty asked me to select thirty poems," he explained, opening the leader binder and handing it to her, "but I've poured my heart and soul into all of them. I couldn't bear to choose just a few."
"Her Majesty is far too busy to deal with this. You should have simply followed her instructions. This delay will cost us valuable time and resources," she hissed, her words echoing the growing tension in the room
"I can try to make a better selection and then come back before I return to the front, I didn't think bringing more work would have been an issue... "
In other circumstances he would have been offended by the arrogance with which he was being received, but, in this case, a part of him wished he could have the excuse to return and maybe catch those melancholy blue eyes again.
"No need," Anna Vyrubova replied with her back already turned to him. "We'll figure something out. Good day."
