"...clear evidence of a most deviant affair." The Duke throws down a pile of scattered linens and underthings. My face heats into a blush.
The tsarina is not immune either. A furrow in her crown betrays her true emotions.
Alexandr's scent is all over that bedsheet.
I look to the smirk at the edge of the Duke's lips. Does he know? Is he testing the both of us?
"Why else would she so vehemently defend that common con-woman in the streets? That impure heathen who had already tricked a good Russian housewife with her wiles." The Duke, again, points towards the scattered linens. We are in a private room of the palace that's meant for orders to soldiers and guards. A cold, diamond tile rises beneath our feet. Not a single window in sight. "Sexual deviance, not that Rasputina is a stranger to that."
"Her name was Agapi." I counter. "Not heathen."
"See?" The Duke's infuriating smirk only deepens. "She even knows its name. Proof of a sinful liaison."
"If we speak of sinners..." I counter, arms bent near-backwards as I struggle at the guards' grips on me.
"Enough." The tsarina's voice expands within the room, bouncing off the tile like the ring of swords and cannon shot. Though her eyes are tired, they see all. "Take this away." She motions to the linens, looking over them with an impressive passivity. Alexandr's scent exits the room. As the tsarina's eyes bore into mine, the fight goes with it.
Until now, the tsarina knew of our affair in an abstract way. But for this...
The betrayal.
"Siberia." The tsarina pronounces. "Matryona Grigorievna Rasputina. You have abused your position at the utmost. Defending heathens." The way she pronounces heathens as she makes direct eye contact at me makes me suspect she's speaking more to me than Agapi. "Lying with them within your very rooms. So close to my own..." She swallows, eyes flitting away for a brief moment before regaining contact with my own. "You will remove yourself from St. Petersburg and remain in exile in Siberia for the rest of your days."
I bow, slumped over. Half from giving up the fight, half in actual penance. "Tsarina. I have never had anything but the utmost respect for you. I still do. I will until my dying breath. But know that the destiny of both this dynasty and your child rely on me. Arguably, both are your children. One in power, one in blood." I lift my head. "You took me in. You sheltered me. For that, I bless you." The guards start dragging me back, my knees cut against the tile. "Even as they take me, I bless you!"
The tsarina closes her eyes to me. "Is your blessing worth any more than your word?"
They might as well have gutted me before dragging me off to Siberia. It would have served the same purpose.
YOU ARE READING
Rasputina and the Witch's Tsar
FantasyThis is the Emperor. I think. Alexandr. Queen Victoria's grandson, the foreign British power. I feel his blood beat, thin, beneath his paper skin, in those blue veins. Something amiss. Something that's too weak in the Russian snow, the turned earth...
