Morning Glory-Francis (Reign)

Chapter One

I was forced to leave me home at seventeen years old. My father promised me that one day I would be able to return to Russia, and claim my rightful position as the Tsar's heir, but those days seemed far off now.

Never in my father's entire rule, had there been any unrest from the peasantry or the nobility. He was a wise and fair Tsar, adored by all. I hoped to have a similar rule. All my life, I've worked to straighten and strengthen my moral compass, in order to rule with a strong but just hand.
But that wasn't enough for some of the nobles.

Despite my seniority over my brothers, that Dmitri, my parents' second child renounced his claim to the throne in my favor, and the rest of the country had already voiced their support for my rule, many at Russian court believed I should step down in favor of a man to succeed the Tsar. However, my father, having already named me Tsesarevna, next in line for the throne, was unwilling to change the line of succession. It was not the move of a strong and sure ruler.

The attempt on my life had scared him, and he was unwilling to take any chances at losing his heir.

So it was that now I was riding towards France, to hopefully take a position as a seamstress at court, and wait hidden until my father abdicated and I could return home, marry and become the Tsaritsa. My mother had managed to convince my father that wherever I went into hiding, I must be at court so any dire news in Russia could still reach me. My father had wanted me as far away from any court as possible, but eventually my mother won the argument.

A few miles away from the front gate to the palace, my escort came to a halt.

"Goodbye, Tsesarevna." The leader said solemnly, bowing his head. The rest of his men followed suit. "Your home will anxiously await your return." And with that, the small company of men, turned and began the long ride back home to Russia.

Taking a deep breath, I steered my horse, a inconspicuous spotted brown mare, towards the castle. I circled the large estate until I found a small wooden door that appeared to lead to the kitchen. Swinging down off my horse, I secured my bag over my shoulder and checked through the contents one last time.

"Okay, my name is Anna, and I'm a seamstress in need of work." I whispered, taking one last practice at my French accent.

The kitchen was winding down for the night. Only a few cooks remained, wiping down counters, and putting away bowls and pans.

"What are you doing in here, girl?" A woman called to me, catching my attention. I swallowed before launching into my prepared speech.

"Please, madame, I need a job," I reached into my bag to pull out the embroidery samples I had, and held them out to her. "Please, I can sew, I can embroider, I'll do anything, please. I just need a job." She took the fabric pieces and looked at them for a moment before looking back up at me.

"I'd be kidding myself if I said I knew anything about fine sewing." My heart sank as I thought she would turn me out. If she did, I wouldn't know what to do. My father's entire crazy plan was dependent on me getting a position here at French court. If I was turned away, I wouldn't have the slightest clue as to how to get to another court, or find somewhere else to stay. "Follow me, girl, I'll take you up to the workroom. Liesel should still be up there. She's in charge of all the sewing and such for the court."

"Thank you, madame, thank you so much." I walked quickly after the woman, praying my skills would be enough.

The halls we walked through seemed similar enough to the ones back home, but here they seemed colder and harder. Despite my discomfort, I tried to stand tall, remembering I who I was.

"You stand like the Queen, girl." The cook commented. I immediately dropped my shoulders and my chin, trying to match her own posture.

"What?"

"The Medici Queen, you stand with the same confidence that she does." After a moment, she added, "It's not a bad thing, girl, it just might draw you some extra attention."

"I don't want attention." I answered, remembering my parents' instructions to keep quiet until I could return to Russian court.

"So, what do they call you?"

"Anna." The name sounded odd on my tongue, knowing deep down that "Anna" was not who I was.

"And where do you come from, Anna?"

"Far away from here."