2. Katerina
In Russia, you can’t throw a rock without hitting a half dozen princes or princesses. Or at least, people claiming that title. It took the monarchy far too long to apply principles of primogeniture. But in my father’s case, his title was at least backed up with both land and power. My father felt guilty, I think, that my mother died giving birth to me, and he denied me nothing. What I really wanted, however, I never quite got.
In almost seventeen years, my father never once spoke kindly to me. No matter what I mastered, or how I behaved, he never seemed to care. But today, I ripped my brand new gown while visiting my favorite horse, and he’s never had any problem yelling over that kind of waste.
“Someone’s going to notice,” my father’s saying when I reach the end of the hall.
I slide to a stop on the thick rug before he could possibly see me. My room’s at the end of the main hall, but there’s no way I’m marching past him like this. I need my lady’s maid to try and repair the rip before he sees me—before tonight’s ball.
“If we don’t take the portraits down, someone will eventually notice that her eyes are the only blue ones, amid a sea of deep russet.”
I’m not his child.
That’s my first thought, and it would fit. If my mother had been unfaithful. . . But that can’t be. I’ve been mastering my powers, and last week, I shifted into my equine form for the first time. That’s a magic unique to the Yurovsky line—my father’s magic.
But he’s still talking.
He’s arguing with someone who doesn’t speak nearly as loudly as he does, perhaps Mrs. Cerny, our housekeeper. “Of course not,” he mutters angrily. “But no one must know that her mother wasn’t legitimate. Even her grandfather doesn’t know, or he’d never have given her mother that dowry, and then I’d be in even bigger trouble than I am.”
Legitimate?
My mother—whose dowry famously saved my father’s estate—was not actually my grandfather’s child? And my grandfather’s struggling now, after a dispute with the czar. I’m sure if Grandfather had an excuse, he’d demand all that money back from my father in a heartbeat.
“But of course,” my father bellows, clearly growing more agitated. “Not a single war to wage since the cursed Turkish mess that stupid San Stefano destroyed, which means our powers are essentially useless. The only way to clear the current debts is with another well-planned marriage. And when this fell right into my lap, it must be fate.” He guffaws. “Seventeen’s more than old enough.”
I can’t help the squeak I make. No one has spoken to me about marriage at all—this is to be my first ball.
But when Father’s head pokes around the corner, his eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “Katerina.”
I swallow.
“You should not be listening in on adult conversations around corners.”
“Why not?” I can’t help myself. “If I’m old enough to get married, aren’t I old enough to find out about it?”
Father steps into plain view, his eyes flinty, and he straightens his coat. “I think you’ll find that not much changes for women, when they become old enough to marry. Instead of listening to me, you’ll simply be expected to listen to your husband.”
“I don’t have a husband.” I frown. “And sometimes it barely feels like I have a father.”
My dad’s hand moves so quickly that I barely see it before his palm striking my cheek sends my entire body flying toward the wall. The sound of my body slapping into the wall is so loud that I can’t tell whether it was the force or the sound that sets my ears ringing.
“My Lord, beating her just before a ball is not a good plan,” Mrs. Cerny says softly. “It begins in less than two hours.”
Once the spots clear from my eyes, I see our housekeeper standing a suitable distance behind my father, her head bowed. She may not dare to defy him, but she did defend me in her way. I appreciate the effort, however feeble.
“You will go to your room and rest until the ball,” Father says sharply. “And when you come down, you’ll be reconciled to the idea of marriage.” He drops his voice. “It should hardly be a new one. You’ve known that proper ladies marry since the day you were born.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t even notice the rip in the dress, so that feels like a small win. The bad news is that my lady’s maid insists she can’t repair it quickly enough for the ball without leaving visible lines, so I’m stuck choosing. I can wear a gown from last year, with skirts that are noticeably too short, or I can pin a strange sash over the clumsy repair.
I opt for the sash.
Who knows? Maybe it’ll start a new trend, even if the gown is pale cream with green flourishes while the sash is bright blue.
I’ve certainly seen stranger things.
As I walk down the stairs, I notice that Dad and Boris are both waiting at the bottom for me. “You, too?” I lift my chin. “And you’re fine with it?”
Boris—ten years older than me—has never been much of a brother, but I always thought that if it came down to it, he’d do whatever it took to keep me safe. “Lord Engelhardt’s respectable. You shouldn’t fight Father about this.”
As I step onto the main floor, my jaw drops. “You—not only do you approve of marrying me off, but you’ve already picked out the man?”
Father and Boris wear nearly identical expressions of immutable resolve. I pelt them with questions the entire carriage ride to the Winter Palace, but they either deflect or outright refuse to answer all of them.
“At least tell me about this Lord Engelhardt,” I say. “Is he my age? Is he tall? Short? Where does he live?”
Father compresses his lips, glancing out the window of our carriage and watching resolutely as we pull up in front of the massive, three-story-tall green and white palace. The windows appear to be practically endless as we roll past, but eventually our carriage comes to a stop in the front.
“He’s very wealthy,” Father finally says. “And he’s delighted to meet you and finalize your engagement tonight.” As if that’s all the information I could possibly want, he climbs out of the carriage and strides toward the massive front doors, leaving Boris and me to scramble along behind him.
“I checked,” Boris says. “He’s not a terrible person.”
Not a terrible person.
Four words to describe the man they’re marrying me off to—hardly reassuring. I gather up my skirts and race after him. “But have you spoken to him? Do you know him at all?”
“I can’t say that I have,” Boris says.
“Why not?” I know I sound like a whining child, but I can’t help it. Boris will never have a moment in his life where critical things are being decided about him without his input—he’s a man. They get to make decisions for themselves. As my brother, I thought he might show a bit more of an interest in what happens to me.
“Listen.” Boris stops, grabbing my right arm and spinning me to face him. “You didn’t have a mother to teach you anything, and people have made accommodations for that, but you will not embarrass Father and me today. Am I clear?”
I open my mouth, and then I realize I’m not sure what to say.
He shakes me.
“You’ve made no promises to me,” I finally say. “So why should I promise anything to you?”
Boris sighs, releasing my arm. “You’re a disaster. Let’s hope Lord Engelhardt is too dumb to care.”
“I don’t see how you could not know him,” I say. “You’ve been coming to these balls forever.”
“He’s not often in attendance,” Boris says. “He happened to see you at a picnic last week, and he reached out to Father with a proposal.”
I caught his eye somehow? But how? And when? I don’t recall ever dancing with a Lord Engelhardt.
As we pass through the open doors, Father’s already talking to someone. Someone older than he is. Someone with slate-grey hair. Someone who’s smiling—beaming, really—and gesturing in my direction.
Boris doesn’t know him, because he’s older than our father. They don’t move in the same circles—not even close. “Is that Lord Engelhardt?”I hiss.
“It is,” Boris says. “Now, be polite.”
I’ve watched, each spring, as the shepherds lead the little sheep through the gate and into the barn to slaughter them. I’ve always wondered why they didn’t struggle, or even try to flee.
Not me,I think. I won’t walk toward that man with an insipid smile on my face. Father will have to chase after me with a whip and a rope if he means to kill me for the good of his estate.
I spin on one heel and sprint to the right, colliding painfully with another person wearing a large and voluminous gown.
“Ow.” As I straighten, I realize that the blow dislodged my sash and the strain reopened the tear that was rather hastily repaired.
The woman I collided with is wearing a large headdress, and she looks angrier than I imagine my father must be. Her eyes are flashing, and her rather ample bosom is trembling with rage.
“Katerina,” a loud, clear voice calls. “I’m so sorry.”
Alexei Romanov steps closer, one hand extended. “I must have bumped you. This is all my fault.”
I drop my hand into his, which seems much larger than it was the last time I saw him, only a year ago. “Oh.”
“Come with me, and I’ll see whether Mother can find you a suitable gown to wear until yours can be repaired.”
The woman who was about to destroy me forces a pained smile. “Your Majesty, what a delight to see you. You know this girl?”
“She’s an old family friend.” His smile’s genuine.
As if I’m seeing him for the first time, I stare. His shoulders are broad. His eyes are sky blue. His brow’s wide and clear, and his jaw’s square and decisive. His hand tightens around mine.
“Let’s go,” he whispers. “Before more guests arrive and Mother starts shoving me in front of all of them.” He tucks my arm inside of his elbow and begins expertly shifting us through the crowd, acknowledging everyone, but stopping to talk with none of them.
I glance over my shoulder, and notice that my dad’s standing beside my brother, both of them scowling at me angrily. They can’t do much about the czar’s son whisking me away, though.
Alexei’s like a trump card.
He’s young, handsome, polite, and chivalrous, judging by the way he hauls me all the way upstairs and finds a maid to locate one of his sisters’ gowns.
“I can’t possibly borrow one of their gowns,” I say. “My father would?—”
“No sister of mine would ever even notice,” he says. “Trust me. They have enough gowns between them to clothe all of Saint Petersburg. It’s practically a crime.” His eyes are dancing.
A crime. I can’t help thinking of the true crime—marrying your daughter off to pay your own debts. I wonder whether this is what happened to my mother.
“You were always so happy—bubbly, really,” Alexei says. “Is everything alright?” His eyes study mine. “You look. . .morose.”
“I’m fine.” I can’t quite make the words sound sincere, but I did manage to say them.
“You know, Tatiana sounds just like that when she’s lying.” He’s narrowed his eyes. “You may as well tell me. I won’t stop prying until I discover the truth.”
“Did you happen to notice my father earlier?” I ask.
He frowns. “You were moving toward him—with Boris, were you not?”
Alexei and my brother don’t get along. That I recall. “They brought me here—my very first ball at the royal palace—for a reason.”
Alexei’s frown deepens. “Don’t tell me.”
“The man my father was standing next to. . .”
“With the grey hair?” Alexei arches one eyebrow. “No. It’s not possible.”
“We’re supposed to finalize our ‘engagement’ tonight, only I just found out.”
Alexei groans. “I’d heard that some families—you must refuse.”
“Really,” I say. “I do appreciate your help, but there’s not much you can do.” I pull the sash around my dress, wrapping it around twice, spreading the fabric out, and tying a large bow. “Just like this rip in my dress—I’ll cover up what I can, and I’ll figure out how to deal with the rest.”
As if summoned by my statement, the lady’s maid returns, her arms laden down with heavy dresses. “I’ve located three gowns none of them will ever miss.” She eyes me. “I think at least one of them will work.”
“You go change,” Alexei says. “I have an idea for the rest.”
I try to argue, but between him and the maid, I’m bundled off to the back room before I can compose a decent explanation as to how I’ll handle things. Alexei disappears immediately, and then I’m half-undressed by the maid with lightning fingers two minutes later.
“This one, I think.” The maid holds out a stunning, sky blue gown, embroidered with silver thread. “Your coloring is so similar to Miss Tatiana, and this one was made for her. She hates birds, or she’d probably be wearing it now.”
“I can’t possibly take her gown.” I brush my fingers across the rip in mine. “If you could just sew up this section?—”
“It’ll only tear again,” the maid says. “The fabric’s too sheer to be sewn in that way. The only hope for that is a patch.”
“But this gown?—”
“Did I mention that Miss Tatiana has also gained a bit of weight.” The maid’s lip curls. “Trust me. She won’t be missing this one—it no longer fits her properly.”
I finally allow her to button and tie me into the gorgeous dress. A few moments later, I’m marching back out into the hall, ready to take on my father with renewed vigor. Surely, once I tell him that I’m not ready for marriage, Lord Engelhardt will agree to wait. Or maybe he’ll move on to someone else who is ready now.
But when I reach the stairs, Alexei’s waiting for me. He’s beaming. “You know, we could do one another a favor.”
I freeze. “What do you mean?”
“Mother has been after me to meet someone eligible.”
My heart races. “Oh?”
“I’m not keen on marrying—not for a while yet. I’m far too young.”
“I feel the same way,” I rush to say.
“Perfect.” He beams at me. “What father would force his daughter to marry an old man when the future czar of Russia is courting her?” He shrugs.
“And then what?” I ask. “I’m fine to wait as long as you’d like.” I’m younger than he is. Even waiting ten years would be fine, if that’s what he wanted.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask you to pretend for more than a season,” he says. “Or however long it takes for that old man to find someone new.” He winks. “So once he’s otherwise engaged, we’ll announce that we’re nothing more than friends, and we’ll both have been spared some family grief.”
My heart sinks. “Oh. Right.” I nod woodenly. Pretend. I force myself to do it now, too. It’s good practice, apparently. “Perfect.”
But from that moment forward, I make myself a different promise. It may be pretend to Alexei—a favor to an old family friend who shares a similar magical secret. But I plan to win him over this season, and by the end, he won’t want to call our courtship off.
Not ever.