Seven Witches

twenty-four

Vladimir;

Vladimir sat on the throne, resting his elbows on the golden frame. He had spent several hours listening to complaints from greedy lords about either some troublesome thief or their failed investments. Whenever they spoke about the latter, they always asked for his help, with a few compliments thrown here and there. And every time he would refuse to help.

Because those lords would take his money and then use it to earn more money, then come back next year and ask for some more help. It becomes a cycle that doesn't end, as if by helping them the first time, he had unwittingly agreed on helping them every other time.

The Tsar had already deemed this day a bad one when the guards came in with foul news between their lips, when they had announced the arrival of his fiancé.

To be fair, he was not that bothered by her, because as soon as he got what he needed from Britain, her job will be done.

"Empty the throne room," he ordered one of his men, straightening his tunic to make sure there were no creases. A small army of servant followed him, some holding the gifts he had bought her, and others assigned to take care of Princess Eva.

The echo of his boots on the floor along with the sound of tens of pairs of footsteps following him pressed on his nerves. He did not like being played with, yet this is exactly what's happening. The British King's intentions were not for Vladimir to wed his daughter; yes, he wanted her to have proper wealth and security, but he also wanted to prove a point that he had won. It was somewhat like begging, but less subtle, to show how he could make the Tsar obey if he wanted.

However he still agreed because when it comes down to his welfare or his country's, it would not take him more than a second to pick Russia.

So when he spotted Princess Eva with her very own army of guards and servants, he nodded his head in acknowledgement. It was the most he would bow, for even when under attack, he was still a Tsar, and a monarch never kneels or bow beyond the bob of his head.

She curtsied, her red skirt flowing along with her. He had not seem her before but he figured that if they got married, it would be like marrying himself. She had hair just as short as his, long enough to reach beyond her jaw. Where his hair was oil black, hers was deep brown, a shade that reminded him of coffee and smoke.

Eva's eyes were just as interesting as her mundane hair, hazel like the honey he puts in his tea, small and fitting her sharp arched brows. "Moy Tsar," she purred, a hand extended for him.

He brought her hand to his lips, showing as much compassion as he'd show to one of his spoons. When he lifted his eyes to her, he found her smirking faintly. A chill ran down his spine. "Welcome Princess,"

She ignored the formal title, and asked him to walk her to the room he assigned for her. Vladimir agreed, keeping his back straight and his posture distant. Despite that, Eva linked her arm with his, the click of her heels a ringing that did not stop.

The Tsar did not react, did not relax his spine or look in her direction, only kept walking forward. She sighed, "Russia is a beautiful place."

"Indeed it is," he replied. Russia, his beauty, his home.

Princess Eva's dress swayed with her every step, and it kept swaying until they were right before the door to her room. Only a day ago, the head of servants asked him if they wanted to prepare Cythera's room for it to be given to Eva. That day he had refused, despite the warning from his advisors that it was strategically unwise, that the message sent will not be a pleasant one.