Morning Glory-Francis (Reign)

Chapter Twelve

Moscow was exactly how I remembered it when I rode into the city, I had grown up in. I hadn't bothered to stop and find a carriage on my way home, only riding straight through, stopping at night in small inns or farmhouses.

When I arrived at the castle, the guards looked me up and down, confused by my plain dress, but clearly recognizing my face. When they let me in, I walked straight to the throne room, to find Dmitri, pacing, dressed in mourning garb. Once Dmitri saw me, he walked straight over to me and hugged me. He gave me an odd glance at the cloak wrapped around my shoulders, but decided not to question it. I'm glad he didn't because I didn't think I had the energy to lie.

I didn't shed a tear after I left France on my journey back. But when Dmitri embraced me, I started to sob. The two of us remained like that until I had no more tears to give. Once both of us had recovered, we began to walk slowly around the palace.

"What's to happen now?" I asked Dmitri.

"Now that you have returned, your coronation will be next week. Then it will be me who's asking you what's next." Dmitri answered.

"How is Aleksander?" I asked, as we neared my personal chambers. The chambers I hadn't occupied for months.

"He's alright. He will be alright." Dmitri stopped outside my door. "I will see you at dinner, Tsaritsa." He bowed before he turned and walked the other way.

In my room, it felt almost unnatural for me to sit in front of my vanity, and let others brush my hair and pin it up. I guess it was nice to be able to wear my hair red as it should be, but at the same time it felt odd. My one comfort was as I watched, I remembered what Francis would call me. Morning Glory. Fiery like the sunrise. He had said.

The days became blurs, while at night I remembered all the adventures Francis and I had had. I had grown use to not getting much sleep, and now I was stuck with that pattern. I longed to go back to French Court, and I knew in a few days I would be able to.

No one would blame me for spending some time away from Russian court after the Russian people murdered half of my family. Plus, they would be expecting me soon to find a husband. An acceptable match would only be found abroad.

If the people of Russia were willing to kill to get me on the throne, they could handle me ruling, from a far for just a little while.

During the days, I sat at my desk, reading letters from nobles and courtiers, asking for favors, welcoming me back, inviting themselves to my coronation. I also listened to endless upper staff members giving suggestions for the decor, the guest list, the menus, and the music for the celebrations due at a coronation.

Then there were the fittings. It had been months since I had worn a corset, but luckily the servants' portions in French court had kept me lean enough to still wear one properly. My coronation gown needed to be grand, flamboyant, and appealing to the eyes. Every stop had to be pulled out.

By the time the day actually came, none of it seemed like a surprise, because I had seen every aspect of the day before hand, from the seating arrangements, to the songs that would be played, to the courses that would be served at the banquet. I longed for the hours I would spend doing absolutely nothing with Francis back in French Court.

As I sat through boring hours of preparations, I often wondered about Francis. What was he doing? Was he just as bored as I was? Would he come to my coronation?
I always scoffed to myself at that last question. Of course he wouldn't come. France and Russia were not enemies, by any means, but I had reviewed the guest list a hundred times. The delegation from France would not include the Dauphin, only the King and Queen. I was surprised many people would be attending at all, considering how last minute the coronation would be.

Dmitri had warned me though, to be on my guard. Despite how impromptu the entire celebration seemed, everyone attending would be after something. With the House of Vavora decimated, all of Europe would be watching to see if Russia would remain strong, or it I would fail to deliver as Tsaritsa.

There was another question that plagued my mind. Why did Francis kiss me? I confess, the question haunted me at night, along with my other memories of my time with Francis at French Court. I know I had promised him I would come back to him, but could I really keep that promise, with my duties here in Russia?

After my return to Moscow, Dmitri also told me that Aleksander seemed to improve. With both our parents dead, it was important for the three of us to stay together.

Few of the nobles had dared to cross me, or either of my brothers. I could tell, when they would meet with me, that they were afraid I would lash out at them for my parents' deaths, as well as Mikhail's. I have to admit, I was very angry, furious with whoever had killed my family, but I did not act.

Enough blood had been spilled to bring me to throne. I was not going to begin my reign by spilling even more.