by Linda Skye
*
Meanwhile at the head of the Hall of Light, Andrey was fighting the urge to slap the Empress’s hand away. She was clinging to him once again, and he felt nothing but revulsion for the woman who so tormented her subjects. But there were niceties to be observed in order to stay alive, so he managed a few tight smiles and curt nods to satisfy her. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a woman.
Ekaterina.
She was clad in a stunning scarlet gown trimmed with gold, her midnight hair tumbling freely over her pale shoulders. He subtly followed her movement across the hall, watching as she paused before each of his individually inspired creations. Sometimes, she would reach out to run a fingertip over the design, her blue eyes awed. It gratified him to watch her admiring his work, making the evening somewhat bearable.
The musicians suddenly struck up a familiar tune. The guests hurriedly rushed to take up dancing positions on either end of the hall.
Ah, Andrey thought, here is my chance.
He stood and offered his hand to the Empress.
“Would you care to dance, Empress?” he invited with a bow.
“Oh, no,” she answered with a pout and a dismissive wave of her hand. “I prefer to watch these types of things.”
Of course you do, he thought rather uncharitably. You can hardly walk since gorging yourself silly.
“Then let me entertain you,” he said instead.
Andrey hurried to take up a dancing spot, trying not to appear overly eager to get away. He caught Ekaterina’s eye from across the hall, where she had also snuck into position. He risked a quick wink. And then the dance began.
It took a while for them to reach each other, but when they finally did, they enjoyed a few moments of sheer bliss. Their eyes met, their hands touched and they swayed around the ballroom, all of a sudden in a world of their own. Andrey discreetly bent forward to brush his lips across the shell of her ear, her fingers tightly clasped in his. She smiled as they shared a lingering look…and then the moment was over as the song ended. Ekaterina dropped gracefully into a deep curtsy, acknowledging Andrey’s formal bow with a slight tilt of her dainty chin.
Andrey could not look away, much less step back. He knew he should return to the Empress’s side; he knew he should tear his eyes away; he knew he was courting trouble just by being within a few feet of the Empress’s niece. But with an electric tingle singing in his ears, he dared to take a step forward instead of back. Ekaterina’s head shot up, a clear warning in her worried eyes. Andrey simply shook his head and held out a hand…just as the band began to play another waltz. Ekaterina hesitantly stepped back into his embrace, pressing her slender fingers into his palm. He whirled her around the room in time to the music, his heart pounding in his ears. He ached to pull her closer, but etiquette clearly dictated that they keep their distance as they danced. And so he focused on her tiny hand in his and on the feel of her arm lightly resting on his shoulder as they swayed to the sweet music. His eyes traced the gleam of her hair, the elegant sweep of her pale neck and the slight heave of her chest. He wondered if she was feeling the same rush of adrenalin and desire that he was. He risked a glance at her face; she was flushed, her eyes bright. He smirked.
“Ekaterina,” he murmured under his breath. “Do you see the mirrors between the windows?”
She glanced around and gave him a quick nod. There were large oblong mirrors edged in gold all around the hall.
“I want to you to look straight at them all. What do you see?”
Ekaterina frowned, her eyes darting from mirror to mirror. It was strange; when she looked head on into each mirror, she didn’t see herself. No, instead she saw the reflection of part of the ceiling. How odd, she thought to herself. She wondered if Andrey had tilted the mirrors to accentuate the light.
“The ceiling?” she whispered back.
“What in the ceiling?”
Ekaterina’s brows knotted as she tried to focus on the reflection in each mirror. Each was exactly the same. Her eyes widened as recognition dawned.
Every mirror reflected a golden sculpture of lovers entwined in a sweet embrace. But it wasn’t just any pair of lovers; no, she saw her own face in the golden statuette. Hers and his. Andrey had immortalised their secret kiss in the ceiling of the Hall of Light. Ekaterina could not contain her gasp of surprise and delight.
“What have you done?” she breathed, feeling both flattered and terrified.
“I have made us untouchable,” he replied quietly, meeting her eyes defiantly. “And you will always remember what we have together when you come to the Hall of Light.”
“You daring, clever fool,” she whispered. “You take too many risks!”
But even as Ekaterina reprimanded him, she felt a surge of exhilaration and desire course through her veins. She considered his square, determined jawline and his serious eyes. She wanted to show him how much she appreciated this clever gesture of devotion, this subtle rebellion against the Empress. But what could she do? Certainly not a kiss, nor a hug. Perhaps…
Her heart swelling, Ekaterina squeezed his hand. Then, with the hand that lay on his shoulder, she slid her palm up so that she could gently stroke his neck with the tips of her fingers.
*
Andrey stifled a groan and a shudder. It wasn’t much, but this brief illicit touch in the centre of the Hall of Light gave him strength—strength enough perhaps to survive the night.
At least that’s what he believed, until Empress Anna rose and clapped her hands, ending the dance abruptly. The courtiers spun to a halt, all eyes on the Empress. A feeling of dread knotted in Andrey’s stomach as he watched her rise from her chair, a cruel smirk lifting her lips. She beckoned to him with one curling finger, and he fought the urge to stay rooted to his spot. But the Empress was not one to be openly defied, so he begrudgingly headed back towards the dais. As soon as he reached her side, she looped her hand through his elbow and addressed the waiting crowd.
“Christmas is upon us,” she announced, her voice echoing in the hall. “And I have an extra special treat for all of you today. As you know, my niece has recently joined my Winter Court, and she is still unmarried.”
The Empress paused to fix her rival with a malicious smirk. Ekaterina suddenly felt light-headed, as if she were floating away. She stared up at her aunt, eyes wide in shock and dismay.
“Aunt,” she announced, forcing her voice not to tremble. “I believe I shall retire for the evening. Please excuse me.”
“Now, now,” her aunt said disapprovingly. “You’re going to play my game whether you like it or not, my dear!”
Empress Anna snapped her fingers, and a line of aristocratic bachelors marched out onto the dais in single file. Ekaterina’s throat closed in dread. She knew all of these men by name. Captain Boris Zukov, a ruthless military man. Count Vitaly, who once beat a servant to the verge of death for dropping a cup. Igor of the North, known for torturing his mistresses once he tired of them. Her ribs felt like constricting bands of steel as she took in the sight of each cruel, malicious man.
These are my suitors, she realised as panic shredded her stomach.
Anna grabbed Andrey’s sleeve and leaned her cheek against his. Her breath was hot and rancid against his skin.
“Let this be a lesson to you, foolish boy,” she muttered under her breath. “No one steals from me and gets away from it unscathed.”
Andrey felt frozen in place, as if he might be shattered by his hammering heart. His eyes found Ekaterina’s, whose face had gone blank.
“My dearest niece, you have been dallying among the wildflowers for too long. So I have assembled this group of suitable men for you,” her aunt bellowed. “And I demand that you choose a husband from these suitors by the end of tomorrow’s Christmas celebrations.”
To be shackled to one of these barbarians…
“Aunt,” Ekaterina protested, “surely—”
“If you don’t choose a husband,” she warned, interrupting, “I wi
ll choose for you and send you, married, back to your father’s house tomorrow night.” She paused, her smile sharp. “And if I have to send my favourite niece away, I don’t believe I will very much care for this bright room any longer. Nor the man who designed it.”
The thinly veiled threat hung in the air between the lovers. She was to be condemned to a life of violence and servitude no matter what—and if she did not willingly walk into that trap, the Empress would damn them both.
Chapter Six
The next day came far too quickly. After the events of the Christmas Eve ball, the palace had been buzzing with gossip. Some pitied Ekaterina’s fate, while others sniffed and basked in her misfortune. But all were excitedly guessing at which suitor she would choose.
All that was, except for Andrey.
Andrey had spent most of the night pacing, his mind awhirl. After Empress Anna’s announcement, he hadn’t been permitted a moment alone with Ekaterina. Instead he had been rudely ushered from the hall as his mentor, Rastrelli, had erupted in panicked appeals. His last stolen glance was of Ekaterina’s pale, stone-faced expression as she surveyed her potential husbands.
Now, finally released from his suite by the Empress’s personal guard, he walked briskly into the reception hall of the palace, where a Christmas day luncheon was being served. But as he strode into the room, he was nearly shoved out of the way by a burly noble barrelling past. He blinked, surprised. It was Count Vitaly—and he was as red as a ripe tomato and swearing profusely. Frowning, Andrey entered the grand hall and was greeted by the hushed whispers of the Winter Court. He glanced up at the royal dais. The Empress was beet-red and glowering down…at Ekaterina.
But when he peered at Ekaterina through the throng of milling nobles, his frown only deepened. She was not her usual serious, serene self. No, the young woman was tittering and giggling behind a gold-feathered fan as she openly flirted with her two remaining suitors, Captain Boris Zukov and Igor of the North. Andrey circled the edges of the ballroom, studying the strange, sly smile that lifted the corners of her ruby-red lips. Her lusty allure was on full display as she laid her fingers on Captain Zukov’s arm while tiptoeing to whisper something in Igor’s ear. The men were captivated by her…except when they paused to glare at each other over her head.
*
Ekaterina caught a glimpse of Andrey’s stormy face in the corner of her eye. But she had neither the time nor the opportunity to reassure him of her true intentions. No, manipulating these boors into abandoning their suit was taking all of her energy…and she was nearing exhaustion. She had already managed to turn them against each other by courting them all simultaneously and then stepping back as they traded insults and threats while vying for her attention. She hid a smile behind her fan. Count Vitaly had already stormed away, cursing and muttering that she was not worth the trouble. And now the remaining two were at each other’s throats.
Ekaterina eyed the squabbling men above her. Yes, it might take the better part of the day, but she could finagle her way out of this marriage business yet. All she had to do was make her suitors leave of their own volition. That would buy her enough time to escape her aunt’s devious plans.
But Andrey…
She could no longer find him in her peripheral vision. She knew he must think her fickle or mad for shamelessly using her feminine wiles to court disaster. She was sure he did not understand what she was trying to do. She sighed inwardly, and turned her attention back to outmanoeuvring her aunt.
*
In fact, Andrey wasn’t even in the hall anymore. After seeing Ekaterina giggling at one of Boris’s jokes and gasping in delight when Igor stroked her cheek, he found he could take no more. He’d marched out, heading straight for his workshop, which was abandoned for the day’s festivities. For the next few hours, he had lost himself in woodcarving. First, he’d started out by hacking aimlessly at a chunk of wood. By the time he had worked out most of his frustration, his shirt was soaked in sweat. He pulled the clinging material from his body and tossed it away. Then, he began to chisel away at the wood with more purpose and less anger, letting the monotony of the work distract him. So engrossed was he with his work that he almost missed the soft sound of a woman clearing her throat. He looked up, surprised.
“I thought I might find you here,” Ekaterina said softly as she stepped into his haven.
Andrey looked down, returning to his work.
“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly.
“Don’t be cross with me,” she said as she made her way over to his work bench. “I only did what I had to.”
His answering laugh was a sharp, bitter bark.
“And did you choose a suitable husband?”
He waited for her reply, his eyes locked onto his wooden carving. But she said nothing, and the only sounds in the room were those of his chisel and hammer.
“Well?”
“Oh, Andrey.”
He paused midstroke. He felt her step up behind him and place one dainty hand on his shoulder.
“Well?” he asked again, his voice strained.
“Please look at me,” she said softly, stepping so close that he could feel her warmth against his back.
“I can’t.”
“You don’t understand,” she said, pressing up against him and smoothing her hands over his ribs.
“Then explain it to me.”
“I’m not marrying any of them.”
He paused and turned to face her.
“What?”
She looked up, her blue eyes wide and sincere.
“My aunt will be furious,” she continued. “But none of those men will be my husband.”
“How is that possible?” Andrey asked with a frown.
She smiled.
“Because I chased them away. Igor managed to threaten the other two away, and then I convinced Igor that I just wasn’t worth the effort. He wasn’t interested in marrying me once I let him think that I don’t stand to inherit much of anything from my father. Of course, the fools had no idea that they’d been tricked.”
“So all that flirting…”
“A farce, Andrey.”
Andrey lowered his head, touching his forehead to hers in relief. He’d underestimated her once again, and guilt flooded him.
“Did you think me so fickle?” she chided, clucking her tongue.
“I am a fool among fools,” Andrey admitted hoarsely.
She cupped his cheeks, her eyes meeting his earnestly. A sweet smile graced her lips.
“We were both cornered by my aunt,” she said, feathering kisses over the bridge of his nose. “I had so very few choices. And there was no time to explain.”
He kissed her. It was a long, languorous kiss that was sweet with the slide of lips and tongue. Ekaterina pulled away first, and Andrey groaned.
“Andrey,” she breathed, her eyes searching his. “My Andrey, I still don’t know what will happen to us. My aunt will probably send me away, and I still am not sure if I can save you from Siberia.”
She pressed closer to him, her fingers tangling in his hair. “I will do my best, but…” She paused, her eyes welling with tears. “But I’m not sure if we will be able to be together again.”
Andrey planted kisses over her eyes, his rough fingers drawing her close.
“Then let us make the most of the time we have left.”
His next kiss was hungry and demanding, as if he wanted to capture and devour her whole. She responded with a low, throaty moan. When Ekaterina lifted her slim arms to twine around his neck, her lips hot and wet against his, Andrey reached for the laces of her corset. With a few sharp tugs, he pulled the bodice apart and let it drop to the floor in a bloom of dust. He spun her around suddenly, his hands sliding greedily over her bare skin. Ekaterina let her head drop back, and Andrey laved her neck with his tongue. Her breaths came in quick, almost anguished pants as a delectable, unquenchable heat climbed her belly. Andrey grabbed at her skirt, his hands disappearing to smooth up her
thighs.
“Andrey,” she begged, her breathing hitching in her throat.
Grunting, Andrey gently bent her over his workbench, his hands guiding hers into grabbing ahold of the sculpture he’d just been working on. Hooking one arm around her waist, he pulled impatiently at his trousers. Then, he pushed up her skirts and hiked them up over her hips. Pressing his hot, throbbing member to her bottom, he leaned over her prone form and put his lips to her ear.
“Are you ready?” Andrey asked, his breath hot and ragged on the shell of her ear.
Ekaterina responded by grinding her hips against his and arching her back under his palm. Andrey gripped her hips with his hands and slowly pushed himself into her, his body shuddering with the exquisite sensation of her clenching around him. As he withdrew and thrust anew, Ekaterina’s back arched and her fingers tightened around the carving. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the dusty workshop, punctuated by their cries of pleasure.
For Andrey, it was a fantasy brought to life to have the woman of his dreams bent over his worktable, writhing beneath his pulsing rhythm and crying out his name in rapture. He planted a line of kisses down the line of her spine, grinning as she shivered. His hands moulded to her pert breasts, and he rubbed her aching nipples with his calloused thumbs.
Then, to his surprise, Ekaterina pulled away, and his shaft bobbed free. Andrey growled in frustration, but Ekaterina simply turned around with a brazen smirk. With two deft tugs, her voluminous skirts slid down her slender hips to pool at the floor around her feet. Running the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip, she backed up and perched her bottom on the edge of Andrey’s worktable. Arching one brow with a saucy tilt to her chin, she gracefully crossed one leg over her knee. Andrey swallowed the lump in his throat as he grew impossibly harder. He leaned over her, planting his hands on either side of her hips.