Ruslan Bogdanovich Makarov's spoiled, twisted family is desperate to retain their power, but refuse to name him Tsesarevich, the crowned prince or heir apparent, because of his birth gender. Instead, they've welcomed Alexander Vissarionovich Sokolov...
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Ruslan had scarcely been able to focus for the rest of the time that he'd spent painting. He kept finding himself gazing into Bernard's eyes, aching to touch his lips again, or imagining what those lips would feel like on his own skin.
He knew he really shouldn't have done that. Bernard shouldn't have let him. But since he had, it would be agonizing trying to rein in his thoughts and feelings towards his servant...
"You've been outside of the palace, Bernard...If you had the choice, would you leave?" Ruslan wondered as he slowly paced about the sitting room with Darya in his arms.
Bernard had busied himself with cleaning up Ruslan's paints and rags the moment Ruslan had declared he was done for the day. He paused, though, to consider Ruslan's question...
Before he had the opportunity to answer, however, there was the loud crack of the sitting room door opening, and the moment he saw one of the tsarina's maids step in, Bernard scrambled to hide the subjects of Ruslan's latest painting with a cloth large enough to cover the entire canvas.
Another maid filed in. Then, behind her, the tsarina herself, Oksana, and Raya.
"What's going on?" Ruslan questioned, clutching Darya a bit tighter. The little goat's tail wagged—not unlike a dog's. "What happened?"
The tsarina scowled at the presence of the animal, and motioned for one of her maids to remove it. For a moment, the maid looked a mixture of concerned and confused when Ruslan resisted handing Darya over, but he released his grip when his mother barked at the girl to, "take that animal outside."
"See yourself out as well, Bernard," the tsarina added firmly. "I'll speak with my daughter alone."
Alone, of course meant with the backup of her sisters. Three against one.
Ruslan let out an exasperated sigh before Bernard had even left the room, letting his hands slap against the sides of his legs. "Daughter? Why are we back to this? I've not even done anything to deserve it today!"
"Why must you make everything a fight?" Lisa countered.
"I'm not fighting? You're the one who came barging in here."
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap... She was tapping her rings against each other... Ruslan hated it.
"Nikolai has very generously agreed to a marriage. The least you could do is not dishonor him by continuing this childish game of yours. And the sooner you can accept that, the better."
So, it was exactly what he'd feared, then... Not only would he be denied even the smallest chance of being considered by the court to inherit the throne, he'd be married off to Nikolai without any say in the matter.
"You can be furious with me all you want, now," his mother said, "but someday you'll realize that I'm doing what's best for you."
"This isn't a game to me!" Ruslan snapped. "Who I amis this! Forcing me into a dress or to grow my hair long like yours, isn't going to change that!"
