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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"Sit down." Razvan narrowed his gaze at the servant...allowing the sight of the object Bernard had been presented with to really sink in; waiting until the sheen of sweat had become visible across his brow, before finally asking, "Does this thing look familiar to you?"
The cleric's assistant stood uncomfortably close to Bernard, cradling it within a piece of cloth for him to view—like a broken bird that had not yet expired.
"...Yes." Bernard's reply was a soft, trembling whisper, but in the stark silence, it sounded far too loud.
"Then tell us what it's for," Razvan said harshly.
"I-I don't know."
Cleric Stanislav tutted while Razvan's lip curled. "Continue to lie to her majesty and the imperial advisor, and death will be the most merciful end you could wish for."
"I'm not lying! I don't know! Yes, I've seen it, but I don't know what it is or what it's for—where it even came from is a mystery to me!"
"Then why did you order the maid who discovered it not to tell anyone about it?" There wasn't a trace of empathy in Razvan's tone, nor in the eyes of any of the people staring at him.
Bernard could only think of Ruslan, and his intense discomfort in being watched... Bernard understood it now, and he hesitated, trying to choose his words very carefully. "...I was worried that it might start gossip among the staff..."
"You were aware of this being among Lady Raya's laundry just before she died," Cleric Stanislav rasped. "An effigy! An instrument for devilry, and something similar was found under the late dowager's bed, and you were worried about gossip?"
"Two women of the royal family murdered by very suspicious means," Razvan cut in, "You attempted to hide evidence of witchcraft, then physically attacked Lord Franz-Heinz just yesterday evening... Was the duke truly your next target or did you just get impatient and sloppy?"
"What? No! I would never—It wasn't me!" Bernard pleaded.
As the royal advisor and the cleric looked at the tsarina, Bernard's stomach dropped. He had always prided himself on being honest, however, her repugnance towards him had nothing to do with his moral integrity, but rather, with whom he served. He'd never imagined in his worst nightmares that he would be in such a position. Accused of murder? Him? He'd always minded his own, kept to his tasks, worked hard and spoken very little. He'd never been one to gossip or wish ill on others—he'd always told the truth. So, how? How had he come to this? What sin had he committed to now be on the edge of losing everything over a single night?
"...I only did what I did to protect Ruslan."
The tsarina looked taken aback. "What did you say? ...To protect her?" she snatched her nearly empty plate from breakfast and raised it as though she were going to throw it at him.
