Chapter 17 #3
since his arrival here. In truth, his complexion was more ruddy
than pale, and he was only a shade thinner than usual.
“Thank you for your concern, daughter,” he
said, turning to Anastasia. “You, your mother and sister have all
been adamant I take it.”
Anastasia smiled prettily.
“My poor health was the argument used by my
loving wives, daughters, and physicians against my traveling here,”
he continued, “but I would not be dissuaded.” He turned to Aleksi.
“I wanted to be here to do whatever I could for my son.”
Aleksi worked to swallow around the lump in
his throat.
“So, I left my home amid much pleading and
wailing from my wives with the physician they demanded I take to
watch over me, and a sack full of the medicinal herbs used to make
my healing tisane that I promised to consume three times daily as I
had been since the inception of my symptoms.”
He turned from their table and strolled
around the chambers as he spoke. “But then, only a day or two into
our journey, a strange thing happened. I spilled my cup of tisane
one night before I drank any and didn’t tell anybody or go to the
bother of refilling it. The next morning I was breathing easier, my
stomach was cramping less and my arms and legs were not so heavy.
The next day and night, I poured out my tisanes without anyone
knowing, and felt even better the next morn. I did this every day
and night for half a fortnight. When my physician realized I was
growing stronger rather than weaker by the day, he put it to the
tisane he didn’t know I was pouring out and recommended that I
double my doses, so as to increase its healing power.”
He stopped and glanced about the chambers,
all ears and eyes on him. Aleksi looked over at King Asad and Queen
Oona, who didn’t look surprised by Maksimillian’s tale.
“Now, I am not a naturally suspicious man,
though perhaps I should be,” his father continued, “but I’m not a
stupid man. Two days before our arrival here, I confronted my
physician.” He turned and stared at Anastasia for a long moment
before standing at her table and setting both hands down flat,
facing her. “What do you think he admitted to, the physician
handpicked by your mother, my daughter?”
Anastasia shook her head, her eyes grown wide
and her complexion pale. “I—I don’t know.”
“Yes you do,” their father said softly.
“No, no, I don’t—”
“Yes,” he shouted and slammed his hands down
on the table. “You do.”
“No,” Anastasia cried, shaking her head
harder. “No, I know nothing.”
“You know nothing,” he growled, his face only
a hair’s breadth from hers. “You know nothing about my queen, your
mother, slowly poisoning me with help from the physician with whom
she is having an affair. You know nothing about the bargain she
made with my second wife, that when I died from this poisoning, my
second-born son, Vladimir, would inherit the throne, with Theodesia
acting as chief counsel to the boy?”
“No, Father.”
Aleksi sat at attention as his father
straightened and stepped back, standing at the table’s edge.
“Then why are you still here?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean that you are still here to send word
to your mother if Aleksandr headed home before I died, before
Vladimir became king. So she could make certain my firstborn son
didn’t return home alive to challenge for the throne.”
Anastasia shook her head, sobbing wordlessly.
Aleksi sat as still and rigid as stone, trying to take in all that
his father had said.
“You may as well admit it,” their father said
to Anastasia. “The physician told me everything, including that
your sister, Gertruda, is your mother’s right hand in all of
this.”
Anastasia dropped her head into her hands,
moaning and wailing. Their father turned around and looked at
Aleksi, his expression asking his son’s forgiveness. Aleksi gave
his father a nod of his head, acknowledging the request, which his
father returned in kind.
Maksimillian rolled his shoulders and turned
back to Anastasia. “So, my daughter, for your part in this, I will
give you a dowry of two hundred gold pieces, which your prince has
already agreed to, with the understanding that you leave the palace
of my friend and host, King Asad, by tomorrow dawn, and never set
foot in this or my kingdom again.”
“But, but, Father—”
“Do not call me father. I’m done with you.
You were raised with plentitude and privilege. You had your every
need and whim answered, yet it was not enough, it would never be
enough, because you have your mother’s selfish, greedy heart.”
Anastasia started to stand, but their father
held up his hand, stopping her.
“Before you leave us,” he said, “I want you
to know that I will be announcing my successor tomorrow eve at a
feast generously hosted by King Asad, so if anything were to happen
to me before I return home, there will be no confusion over who
inherits my throne.”
“Why would there be confusion, Fa—my king?”
Anastasia asked. “The throne goes to your legitimate son,
Vladimir.”
“No,” Maksimillian said. He turned to Aleksi.
“The throne will go to my firstborn son, Aleksandr.”