Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen

by Nelson, Latrivia S.

  "Da Da. Were fine, Stepan," Dmitry lay back down. "Royal was just having another nightmare."

  "Yes, sir," Stepan closed the door.

  In the darkness of his daughter's room, Dmitry allowed his thoughts to consume him. Royal had been a real handful over the last six months, but she had been stricken with spells of depression since Anya's birth three years ago.

  His beautiful daughter had been both a blessing and a curse at ten pounds of natural birth. Understandably, Royal had passed out only minutes after seeing her baby, a black-haired, blue-eyed doll that looked like the spitting image of his brother, Ivan.

  At first sight, Dmitry had been taken back by Anya's striking beauty, but Royal had been stunned by her resemblance to the devil she had known.

  Postpartum had immediately set in with Royal refusing to breast feed and spending days at a time locked in her room. Finally, the doctors were called. Dr. Finlen suggested therapy after he was told of the rape, along with time to heal the wounds and valium for the edge.

  Overall, the remedy had helped, but the days that it didn't were nearly unbearable. She would have sweaty fits in her sleep and scream his brothers name in a horrible, heart-stopping cry that would send Dmitry running for her whenever he heard it.

  It was like Ivan would come to rape her again and again, every time that she dared close her eyes. This led to Royal spending many nights awake, staring blankly into the television or tossing and turning in the bed, which led to dark circles under her eyes and constant irritability.

  However torturous the nightmares of Ivan were, they had not been the only thing to torment their rocky marriage. The two also hadn't been intimate in many months. The last time had been horrible for both of them.

  Unknowing of the wretched words that his brother had said to her during the assault, Dmitry had whispered something that sent Royal into a frenzy. Beating his chest and crying, she had begged him to stop, to get it out of her. He did so immediately, withdrawing ashamed and alarmed.

  Like a crazed woman, Royal jumped up and literally ran out of the room, locking herself in the bathroom, where she spent the remainder of the night. He had slept on the floor beside the door that night, hoping that she might come out and talk to him. She did not.

  Since that horrible event, Dmitry had barely slept in their bedroom. While her passion for him had fizzled into something repugnant, he still desired every inch of her.

  To keep himself from being tempted and to continue to be cognizant of Royal's fragile state, he normally stayed in his sons bedroom when Anatoly wasn't visiting or in one of the guest bedrooms on the second level of the chateau.

  He tried to never be too far from his wife that he could not be there if she needed him, but never too close—because he knew that she found him unbearable.

  For the most part, he roamed the hallways at night, bored out of his mind, working out in his gym, reading volumes of classic works, and most of all waiting for a call from his son about news of the Vory.

  To add insult to his injured ego, Royal also never showed him affection out of the bedroom. She was still a very gracious woman, reminding herself to always play the kind, courteous wife, but when he looked very closely, he could see the icy, angry and potentially violent woman that she had come to be.

  In response to her depression, Dmitry had doubled her gifts, flying diamonds and furs in by the bus loads, just to see them pile up in her dressing rooms unopened and unworn. He had flown their family around the world on trips to exotic locales, but Royal had spent the entire time in her room, curled up in bed, crying and shaking or drugged and drinking.

  When he tried to make love to her, she fled. If he saw her naked, she covered herself. The sexual frustration had nearly driven him mad. He had gone to confession only weeks ago to beg God for his forgiveness for his desire at times to take from her what was rightfully his. He had not, of course, taken it. He would never hurt her. And he had not been unfaithful. How could he?

  His only desire was to be with his beautiful young wife. Even in her callous nature, she had only gotten more beautiful and refined in age. Her rich, dark caramel skin, her wide catlike eyes, her inky mane of curly black hair with untimely streaks of grey and her voluptuous body were all exotically combined to make him livid with lust. And in a way, her razor sharp tongue provided him with a sense of humility that only she could bring.

  But how he wished that the peak of her young womanhood could be spent happy and in love with him. Only, Royal was not in love. She preferred to be alone, wasting away in her bedroom with valium and scotch while her child and her husband suffered.

  "Daddy, can I get in the floor with you?" Anya asked, leaning over the side of her bed. The little soft voice sounded like bells jingling.

  "Of course, Angel," he said, pulling her down from her bed onto his chest.

  With a doll in her hand, the small girl nestled her head down on his chest to listen to his massive heartbeat and closed her eyes.

  There was an unspoken and spoken love between the two. Father and Daughter. Even with the drama of a broken home, he sheltered her and gave her materialistically and emotionally all that he could in the world.

  However, unlike most children who would have spoiled because of the attention, Anya was not. She was wise for her age with a cool disposition that made most people nervous when they met her.

  Kissing the crown of her head, Dmitry wrapped his arms around his daughter and sighed. At least he had her.

  * * *

  Morning came early for Royal. She was met by a door knock and her devoted young maid, who brought in her breakfast and set it on the nightstand beside her.

  The French woman greeted her mistress only to receive a groan in response but that was typical. Dutifully, she then went to the large windows to pull the drapes open to receive the foggy, half-sunny day and raised the mechanical blinds that unveiled the breathtaking view of acres and acres of unspoiled, mountainous green land.

  Wrapped in sweat-stained sheets, Royal rose from her slumber in a daze. Vision blurred and hair wild, she rested her feet on the side of the bed and stared blankly at the oversized fireplace in front of her.

  If she had any balls at all, she would simply jump into the large fire pit and meet her miserable end, but she didn't have balls at all so she settled for grabbing the remote and turning on the flat screen hoisted above the mantle.

  "Madame, would you like for me to run your bath?" the young maid asked in a thick French accent, picking up dirty clothes off the bedroom floor.

  "No," Royal said absently. "And put those clothes back. I'll clean up my own mess."

  "Yes, Madame," she said, dropping the clothes. "Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?"

  Royal sighed. "Where's my daughter?" She scratched her head.

  "Having breakfast downstairs with Master Medlov."

  "Of course, she is," Royal stood up. "Tell me, Brigitte, how's your mom these days?"

  "I'm afraid that she is not doing so well, Madame."

  "The treatments didn't help, huh?"

  "No, not enough to make it go away," the woman lamented.

  "You have… bags under your eyes," Royal observed lazily. "You look like shit." She yawned and stretched.

  "Forgive my presentation, Madame. I have acquired another job at night to help with the bills. Keeping it all together has been most difficult."

  "Another job?" Royal shook her head. "Does Dmitry not pay you enough?"

  "It's the best paying job I've ever had, Madame. I am very grateful for your family and your gracious… "

  "Save it. Dmitry could pay you more. He knows your situation," Royal grabbed her bottle of valium by the bed. "But I'm afraid you'd have to give him something in return." She smirked. "You're a pretty girl, so it's probably something you don't even have anymore."

  "Excuse me, Mistress Medlov?"

  "Nothing. I'm being hateful, Brigitte. Do you know this term, hateful?"

  "Yes."

  "W
ell, you'll have to excuse me for it." Dropping pills in her hand, she put them in her mouth quickly and drank the last of the scotch sitting in the glass by her nightstand. "You didn't see that," she snapped at Brigitte. "I know Dmitry will ask you questions as soon as you leave out of here. He always does. Makes you spy for him." She cut her eyes at the woman.

  "He is just concerned," Brigitte explained.

  "Concerned my overpriced ass. He's just bored."

  Royal walked into her large, adjoining dressing room with her long satin gown trailing behind her. Quickly, she turned on the lights and sat down at her hand-carved wooden vanity. Pulling out a small drawer, she flipped open the velvet Velcro box and pulled out a new necklace from Tiffanys that Dmitry had recently purchased for her.

  "Money is so hard to come by these days," she said, running her finger over the diamonds. "Had it not been for my cursed womb, I might be cleaning rooms just like you. Don't ever be ashamed of what you do. It's a respectable job."

  "Yes, Madame," the maid said, standing up straighter.

  Brigitte walked curiously to the door opening and waited with her hands clasped together in front of her.

  Mistress Medlov was a strange woman. Her eyes were cold, her stare blank, her words laced with vicious meaning. One never knew what to expect from her. She was mostly tongue and cheek with all her statements, but if one were to look very, very carefully, they could see that once she had to have been a good woman. Why else would a man as gracious as Master Medlov have married her, besides her stunning beauty and her exotic dark features?

  In Prague, her beauty stuck out everywhere that she went. She was the la belle femme de couleur. The mistress dressed in very expensive clothes and jewelry and stomped around town chauffeured in the most luxurious cars. She had a strange American accent. Southern is what Dmitry had once called it. And all of the officials, politicians and businessmen who visited the Medlov chateau, swooned over her, even though she treated them callously also.

  But there was something else. All the help talked about it. Royal had presence, not stage presence, a dark, mischievous presence like she was capable of just about anything. She was far from helpless, very quick and too observant. Some said she was even more dangerous than Master Medlov.

  She stared at the back of her lady's wild hair now as Royal fumbled around, probably looking for more valium.

  "Oui, it is very hard for everyone, but… " she finally continued the conversation, realizing that she had lost herself for a moment in thought.

  "Not everyone," Royal corrected. A smile curved her pensive lips. Standing up with the necklace, she walked over to the Brigitte and grabbed her hand. "You are lucky to have a mother to care for, whether she is dying of cancer or not. You'll always have good memories. Treasure them."

  "Oui," the maid agreed. "I am very blessed."

  "Take this home with you today. Pawn it and pay for whatever your mother needs. Quit your other job and go home to spend more time with her before she's dead, because she will die. If the treatments aren't working, there's not a damned thing that you can do about it. Meanwhile, I'll talk to your gracious boss, Dmitry, about giving you a meaningful raise."

  "But Madame… I can't. This necklace costs more than I make in a year."

  Royal gripped the woman's hand firmly. "Then be smart, Briggy. Don't tell anyone that I've given it to you."

  Brigitte fought tears. She was moved by the icy woman's kind gesture. Mistress Medlov was like that though. Completely unreadable.

  "If you have a problem at the local jewelers, call me. No one will believe that you didn't steal it," Royal looked away from Brigitte, who wiped her tears quickly.

  "Merci," the woman said softly.

  "Don't mention it," Royal said curtly.

  Like wind chimes on a gusty spring afternoon, Anya's voice carried as she called for her mother. Royal looked away from Brigitte to her beautiful daughter wide-eyed and smiling from ear to ear as she came running as fast as she could through the bedroom doors. Suddenly, Royal lit up.

  "Ahh, there she is."

  Royal caught her in her arms and picked her up to hold her close to her bosom. Rubbing through her long, black silky hair, she kissed her daughters forehead and sighed.

  "Mommy, what are you doing?"

  "Nothing, baby. What are you up to?"

  "I had breakfast with Daddy."

  "You slept in your room last night. I'm very proud of you, princess."

  "I cheated, Mommy. Daddy slept with me."

  Royal smiled and nodded to Brigitte to leave her alone to spend time with her one and only purpose, Anya.

  "Anatoly is here," Anya tattled. "He and Daddy are downstairs in the… the… study. They told me I had to leave."

  "Really," Royal said curiously. "What were they talking about? Can you remember?" She pulled the girl closer.

  "Anatoly said that he had a problem that only Daddy could fix."

  "Did he?" Royal placed her daughter on the disheveled bed. "And what did Daddy say?"

  "He said I had to run along. Then he closed the big doors and locked me out." Anya pouted. "Why did he lock me out, Mommy?"

  "Because he's up to something, baby," Royal took off her nightgown and threw it on the bed. She was going to get down to the bottom of this right now.

  "Let mommy get dressed, and I'll come downstairs with you, so we can say hello to your long lost brother."

  Chapter 2

  Immaculately dressed, Royal arrived downstairs an hour later to have her breakfast in the great room with her bodyguard Davyd, while Anya played outside on the patio with her puppy.

  The weather had taken a turn for the worse. Where the sun peaked out of the clouds only a half an hour before, now thick dark clouds rolled through the green plush countryside, promising rain and dreariness for the remainder of the day.

  Dmitry's decision to take her half way across the world to a place that she had never seen had turned out to be a bad idea in her opinion. However, considering that to the only world that she had ever known, she was dead, her options were limited.

  Royal sipped her coffee slowly and stared at the newspaper. Her thoughts multiplied by the second. What was that husband of hers up to?

  Davyd watched Royal carefully as he sipped his own coffee and monitored Anya as she played. Royal was more than not herself today. Something else was going on. He put down his coffee and sighed. His blue eyes locked on her. How long would it take for her to tell him? He was her confidant, more so even than Dmitry. Being that, it frustrated him when she didn't just say what was on her mind, when she made him figure it out.

  "Do I have to ask?" he uttered finally under his breath to make sure that no one would hear him.

  "Anatoly is here," Royal said, smacking her lips together. "You know what that means."

  "He wants to see his family," Davyd looked over at Anya. "You know how crazy he is about his little sister."

  "Uh huh," Royal scoffed. "His little princess overheard him say that he needed his fathers help."

  "You're always jumping to conclusions."

  "Well see, won't we?"

  "You should be focused on other things, Royal. Today, Anya's new teacher arrives. Dmitry said that she came highly recommended. Still, she'll be living in your home and helping rear your child. And that is much more important than what Anatoly wants with his own father."

  "Mind your tongue, old man. I know my priorities."

  "Mind your tongue and your attitude, Mistress Medlov. Sometimes, I think that you were born on wrong side of bed. And don't think that I don't know you slipped drink before coming downstairs. I can smell it underneath all that perfume."

  Royal cut her eyes at him but did not respond. Davyd had become something of a vicar to her.

  After the attack, he had been assigned to Royal day-in and day-out. And because of their time together, they had become family. She regarded his knowledge of the Vory, which he secretly shared with her, his familiarity with Prague and his experience
with Dmitry with extreme reverence. He was like the father that she had never had at thirty-two years her elder and because of this allowed him to freely share his opinions.

  Plus, she didn't want him to know that his scathing remark had humbled her… for the moment.

  "I see that you are finally awake," Dmitry said, walking into the room with his son closely following. "Did you get some sleep?"

  "As much as to be expected," she said, picking her coffee cup back up and holding it close to her lips. She felt Davyd's foot kick her. "I slept reasonably well, dear," she retracted.

  "Good." Leaning over, Dmitry kissed her head. "Where's Anya?"

  "Right outside playing with her puppy."

  "So she liked it?" Anatoly asked. He had given her a chocolate lab for her birthday only a few weeks ago. He stood in the corner by the window with his arms crossed looking out at Anya.

  "She loves it," Royal smiled. "What brings you back to Prague so quickly? Is there trouble in paradise, Anatoly?"

  Anatoly looked up at Dmitry and raised his brow. "Can't I just come and visit?" There was an incredibly mischievous smile on his face.

  "You don't just do anything," Royal said quickly. She eyed Dmitry as he sat down across from her. "So, what is going on? Her voice lowered. Something deep in her stomach tugged at her –something was wrong.

  "If you must know, Anatoly is thinking of selling Dmitry's Closet. It's not bringing in nearly the revenue it did before," Dmitry responded, picking up the discarded newspaper.

  Davyd sat quietly observing the two. He hoped that Royal would behave.

  "Are the people of Memphis no longer fascinated with the tourist attraction that it's come to be?" Royal huffed sarcastically. "Oh well. It couldn't last forever." She didn't lead on to her thinking more was involved.

  "You know, you should spend more time down at your new shop," Dmitry suggested to Royal. "It will give you something to do, maybe make you happier."

  "And what makes you think that I'm not happy?" she bit out in a growl.

  Anatoly laughed, and then turned away from the troubled couple. Even Davyd almost laughed. Royal was like a constant thorn in her husband's side, but still Dmitry did not waiver in his attention to her.