YAGA | ✓

TWO

•••

YELENA SORENOVA WAS NOT a welcoming person, as much as Yaga wanted to believe otherwise. As her future mother-in-law, Yaga had become accustomed to called her 'Mother', as the Sorenovs claimed it would make the tailor's girl feel more comfortable once she moved into the manor after the wedding.

Strangers, they said, weren't anything to boast about.

Perhaps that was why they were so socially isolated, though Yaga had heard her father once snap about how the Doktor needed to "get off his high horse" and "stop being a pompous ass."

Privately, Yaga agreed, though she would never say it aloud for fear of being on the receiving end of Majka Yelena's razor-tongued remarks - not because she was scared of the woman, but because of the disappointment that Yaga knew her mother would feel if her daughter stepped out of line. As much as she wanted to spite her woman, she still valued her own mother's wishes.

Yelena held out her hand, resting it on Yaga's coil of hair. "Pity you didn't manage to change, Yaga, dear."

Her voice dripped with venom.

"Oh, I did. But I had a surprise call, and of course, I had to return it. My job is very important to me. I wish I could say the same for others."

Yelena seemed to bristle ever-so-slightly, but said nothing, instead clutching Yaga's hand with gloved hands.

"What a generous young woman you are. An exemplary daughter, I am sure. Commiserations for the tailor's life you are destined to live. We can make great things of you."

"I'm sure you can."

"I beg your pardon?"

Yaga smiled ever-so-slightly, combing through her hair with her fingers as she let it loose, tousled by the wind. "Then beg."

The older woman tried to hide her scowl, holding out a gloved hand once more. "Come on now, Yaga."

A while later, wriggling with discomfort in her seat despite the plush upholstery, Yaga was sat, the heat from the fireplace blazing on her back, sweat spiking at her skin. She'd had enough of boar, each chew an influx of memories of the Sorenov's mahogany dining table - Midwinter dinners, summer feasts with Dimitri, Kazimir and Lilyana.

As she sat in that chair, Yaga refrained from rocking backwards and forwards, knuckles turning white as she gripped the table. The Doktor, Sergei Sorenov, looked at her sharply, a firm crease between his eyebrows. The glare that he gave her was one that she'd become accustomed to, filled with poison.

Like a dagger's edge, dangerous. A hunter waiting to pounce, the moment before disaster descended. But distant nonetheless. It couldn't harm her, not if they were to uphold their end of the bargain that had been struck up between the Izevs and the Sorenovs. In exchange for their beautiful daughter's marriage to their perfect son, they would provide all of their services with added benefits.

The Izev tailoring house was the only one in the neighbouring villages, and given the vast amount of fabrics that the Sorenovs needed for surgical procedures and their own decadent tastes, it was a good deal. Especially if it meant that the physically flawless child that Yaga was bound to bear, perhaps a girl with flowing amber hair and umber eyes and clear golden skin, or a dark-haired boy with hazel eyes and porcelain skin, would have a large chance of serving the Czar all the way in Nova Kaznya.

The thought of it made her feel nauseous - but why should she argue? Regardless of whatever she did, she still had no say in the matter. This was for money and power, and the barriers that were emotions were struck down immediately. It wasn't as if Dimitri wanted to live in a golden cage, either. Their parents would do anything for their grandchild to be a Captain of the Imperial Guard, a lady-in-waiting, even a Princess if they were lucky.