Rasputina and the Witch's Tsar

Chapter Fourteen

"May I introduce my cousin, the Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich of Russia?" Tsarina Nikola nods for the Grand Duke to step forwards. He has eyes that sit like eggs in his skull, with softish hair that wisps across his forehead. He's like a little boy playing soldier, I decide immediately.

I curtsy, as well as I am able in the form-fitting gown the new maid has set out for me. Now that Kaskil's out of service, I face being the dress-up-doll of the new girl, the ever-pious Ursula. She's a well-meaning girl, but she does enjoy plunging necklines. I note that, as his eyes are far below my chin, the Grand Duke enjoys the sight of plunging necklines, as well.

"Careful," I whisper to him. "They bite."

His eyes widen in horror as he stumbles a few steps back from me.

"Whoa, steady now. Are you feeling quite well, Dmitri?" Tsarina Nikola raises a single brow at him.

"Yes, my Tsarina." Dmitri bobs his head, looking pointedly away from me.

I walk along the hall, say hello to other statesmen and their giggling wives. Sometimes, it's the other way around. The last two are of notice though, namely because a certain red-headed harlot told me about them. The society wedding of the year, a dark-eyed, French-accented beauty named Irina Alexandrovna, the introverted niece of the tsarina. And then, there was her husband, the sandy-haired dandy Felix Yusupov.

I knew Felix quite well. We frequented the same brothel, after all.

He visited Misha and the other pretty boys just as often as he visited the girls. He didn't prefer one or the other. From what Misha told me, he had a hell of a past before he settled down with Irina. I extend my hand to him, waiting patiently.

He takes it and drops my hand as soon as etiquette allows, like it's a dead thing. His lips are pursed thin. "Who is this?"

I bite my lip, taken aback by the sting. Tsarina Nikola covers for me. "Surely, the news has spread. This is Matryona Grigorievna Rasputina. A famous strannik."

Felix measures me with those eyes. "Ah, so you brought an entertainer into your home."

It wouldn't take a genius to tell that Felix dislikes me. Potentially, it's because his wife is staring at me with awe in her eyes. I turn to his more adaptable wife instead, taking her hand in mine and pressing it to my lips.

"Madame Irina," I wink at her as she giggles at me. "Would you call me entertaining?"

"My," she takes her hand back, "what a charmer." She leans in close, "can you really do magic?"

I lean back, hands twisted behind my back. I bob on my heels, focusing on the window outside. "The question of the hour. Perhaps I can demonstrate for you sometime. Maybe while the prince is otherwise occupied?"

Irina frowns thoughtfully. "Felix does enjoy his nightly visitations..."

Felix opens and closes his mouth. "Miss Rasputina, I'd assume you'd be busy as all holy woman are. Taking care of the sick, for instance. Sight-seeing is wasteful frivolity." He leans in between me and his wife.

"Oh yes, but just that St. Petersburg has many sites, as all cities do. Like churches, for instance. And beautiful architecture and paved streets. Marketplaces... brothels. Boys. Girls. Men. Women. But I can tell you are a cosmopolitan of all sorts, are you not, Prince Yusupov? Perhaps such a trait leads to a greater understanding of differences."

He scowls. "I don't visit brothels."

Sure, and Misha's a virgin.

Irina pipes up to interrupt her husband. "I'd love to see the sights with you, Ms. Rasputina. Maybe you can show me a magic trick!"

I nod amiably to her, feeling her husband's jealous, heated gaze on my cheek. As cutting as a slap. "I am completely at your service, princess."

Tsarina Nikola nods to us all. "Prince Yusupov—and my dear niece, Rina. You've had a long travel. It's best you rest now." Nikola turns to me next, "Rasputina is my most trusted advisor in these trying times. She saved my son, and thus, I'm indebted to her." She lifts her head high. "As such, you will all be joining me for lunch, won't you?"

Prince Yusupov's scowl deepens. What a shame. His face would be so handsome otherwise. You can see the knowing eyes of his Crimean Tatar mother, staring out from an otherwise strongly angled face. But those pesky furrowed lines between his brows, one would think he had aged ten years since seeing me.

Yes, it hurts you, doesn't it? That the tsarina has put us all on equal footing?

Prince Yusupov swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, and bows his head obediently to his aunt-in-law. "Yes, my tsarina. As you wish." He turns to me, a curt tip of his chin. "Good day."

His wife, Irina, takes my hand in hers and whispers. "You fascinate me, Maria." My name rolls off her tongue with a touch of a French accent. She whisks around and leaves just as quickly, to the fury of her jealous husband.

Resisting the urge to whistle a cheerful tune, I turn my attention to the tsarina, striding down the hallway as though headed to battle for a meal and then provided entertainment.

Perhaps, in some way, we are always at war.