The next hours are a frantic blur. I vaguely feel myself being taken to bed, the old, bearded physician tending to me with damp cloths and vials of grotesquely scented balms. I catch glimpses of Mother, of my ladies, and once, of Peter’s concerned face. I doze in and out of consciousness often. Being awake is torture; my body is wracked with pain, as if on fire from the inside. Every piece of me hurts. I bite my lip against the suffering, for fear I will call out, and for fear of who I will call out for.
A cool, damp cloth lies across my forehead, and I hear the empress’ voice like thunder.
“You stupid, naive woman. If the physician says he needs to bleed the girl, then he will bleed her. I will not allow your silly superstitions to cost Sophie her life.”
I don’t have to open my eyes to know she is speaking to my mother. Mother distrusts doctors in general, and especially disliked the practice of bleeding a patient. Her own mother was a healer, and she knows the risks of such a thing. Still, my blood is boiling; I can feel it. Letting him take some of that away is a mostly pleasant thought.
Someone sits next to me; the bed sinks down at my side. At first, I think it’s my mother re-soaking my cloth. But when I manage to open my eyes, I see Empress Elizabeth’s radiant face looking down at me worriedly.
“You are very ill, child. The physician is going to bleed you.”
I nod just a bit, and it sends the room spinning. It’s all I can do not to retch.
“He thinks, my dear, that you are close to death.” She pauses. “But he does not know you.”
She soaks the cloth and wipes my face gently.
“He doesn’t know of your strength, of your courage. You remind me of myself in that way.”
“Thank you,” I manage weakly, earning me a smile.
“Your mother wants you confessed. She is off fetching a Lutheran priest.”
With all the effort I can muster, I take her hand.
“No, fetch me Bishop Todorskey,” I beg. The empress’ smile widens at the mention of his name. He is a great man in her esteem, and some very distant part of my mind still clings to the need to please her. Though I have not yet begun the process of my conversion to the Orthodox Church, I know I will—if given the time—do whatever it takes to win her affection completely.
She sits back, propping herself among my pillows, and draws my head into her lap, stroking my hair and singing softly as the physician takes my arm and begins applying the leeches. The sound of her voice is like an angel in my head, and I allow myself to drift off to sleep.
The next time I am fully awake, my mother stands in the door, arguing with Count Lestocq. I can’t quite make out their words but he leaves abruptly, and she turns her sour gaze upon me.
“You were moaning in your sleep last night; it made it quite unbearable for me. Please, in the future, suffer in silence like a true German.” And with those cold words, she lifts her skirts and leaves the room.
Sometime later, the empress arrives, her large, green-and-gold gown swishing through the room as she sits beside me, once again taking my head in her lap.
As the physician comes to take more blood, she recounts the happenings of court.
“You should be proud. It’s been five days since your first bleeding, and you are still with us. Growing stronger too, I think. Though your fever is still high. I’ve had to tell Peter he cannot come visit, of course, for his safety. His health has always been questionable. No reason to risk him contracting anything.”
I groan, and she takes it for grief rather than pain at the procedure.
“Be still, little darling. Peter is occupying himself well enough. Tomorrow, he is leaving for Moscow with Count Lestocq to see to some matters of state, and he is going hunting while he is gone. Of course, he wishes you were well enough to join him, but hopefully by the time he returns, you will be well again.”
She goes on, promising to throw the most opulent and grand masked ball to celebrate my return to court. Then the physician, done with his duties, leaves us alone. She strokes the side of my face in a motherly gesture.
“And I will promise you this, if you survive, I will see to your marriage to my nephew immediately. Think of this sickness as a trial from God, to test you and perfect you for the coming days.”
She kisses my forehead gently and slips out of the bed, tucking the blankets around me before she goes.
I want to ask her why she dares to visit me in this condition. Isn’t she afraid she will become ill as well? But my mouth is too dry to form words and like a summer breeze, she’s gone and my room is dark again.
That night, Sergei slips into my room, throwing my window open wide. I have to admit, the fresh, cold air feels wonderful against my hot skin.
He takes a seat in a high-backed chair beside my bed and reaches out to take my hand.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I lick my lips. Over his shoulder, he calls for someone to bring me water, for which I’m extremely grateful.
They bring in a large goblet, and he holds it to my mouth while I drink. I reach up to take it from him, but I’m shocked to see my own hand, pale white and skeletal.
“How long?” I manage weakly.
“Ten days,” he says with a worried frown. “We were sure you were lost to us. What do you remember?”
Though everything else is hazy, I remember the moments before I’d been stricken, those minutes spent with Alexander in the library. If I had any blood left in my veins, I might have flushed.
“Not much. My maid delivered some milk because I was having trouble sleeping. I went for a walk, started feeling ill, and came back to my room. Then it’s all very spotty.”
He nods. “I don’t believe you are ill at all. The physician and I have been discussing it at some length. We think you were poisoned.”
I frown. Poisoned?
The milk.
“By whom?”
Sergei rubs the whiskers on the side of his face. He looks much older today than I remember. Perhaps it’s stress.
“How old are you?” I ask boldly. He grins.
“I’m a ripe old twenty, Princess.”
“You seem older.”
He grins again. “You must be feeling better, to insult me so.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me.
“I’m teasing. Please, keep still. I fear the physician has been over excited about your bleeding.”
I settle back onto the pillows, allowing myself to relax.
“And Peter?” I ask finally. The smile falls from Sergei’s face.
“Peter has been spending some time with Princess Charlotte. Though I hear she is growing quite frustrated with him constantly asking after you. He was quite upset that the empress wouldn’t allow him to see you.”
“Haven’t you shared your suspicions with her? About the poisoning?”
He nods.
“Yes, and she agrees. Though she seems quite unwilling to accept that one of her own may be responsible.”
“What do you mean?”
He arches one dark eyebrow and I realize that in a vague way, he reminds me of Alexander. They could, in fact, be brothers. They have the same strong, chiseled jaw, the same dark hair, and the same olive skin. The only difference is their eyes. Sergei’s are darker green and brown, and full of intensity as he looks at me now.
“I mean to say the empress knows you aren’t ill, but she thought that perhaps, in your absence, Peter’s affection for you might grow. And she seems to be right.”
Of course it is, I think miserably. Peter only wants what Peter can’t have. Thankfully, I no longer need to worry over Peter’s flighty attentions. I have the empress’ promise of marriage. I just need to get well enough to make it happen.
“She has tasked me with finding the person behind the attack,” he adds flatly.
I sip some more water.
“And you have your suspicions?”
“I do, but suspicions are worthless without evidence.”
I f
rown.
Patting me on the legs, he forces a smile. “But none of that is your concern. Leave the matter to me, and I will do what needs to be done. Here, I have just the thing to occupy your mind.”
With a large book in his hand, Sergei and I begin more Russian lessons. I’m grateful for something to keep my thoughts engaged, and I’m genuinely sorry when he finally puts the book down to leave.
“You rest, Princess. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Thank you. And Sergei,” I say. He pauses, looking at me expectantly. “It means a great deal to me to have you. This is a… difficult place, and I think sometimes you are the only person I can truly count on.”
Putting his hand to his heart, he bows. “You, my dear Sophie, can always rely on me. I am your true and devoted servant.”
He smirks gently and bows again before leaving the room.
The wind blows through my window, making the sheer curtains dance in the streaming moonlight. I have only just begun to drift off when I hear my door creak open slowly.
Alexander peeks his head in. “Princess, are you well enough that I might speak to you for a moment?”
I know that it’s late, far too late for visitors, and beyond that, having a young man alone with me in my room is beyond inappropriate. Still, he’s looking at me with those green-gold eyes, and my resistance fails.
“Come in,” I say, adjusting myself to sit up.
He takes the seat Sergei vacated, placing a vase of fresh flowers on my bedside table. The smell is fresh and reminds me of springtime. Lilacs and honeysuckle, two of my favorite blossoms.
“They are lovely, thank you,” I offer weakly.
He smiles, dimples appearing in his chin and one cheek. “I’ve been so worried. I haven’t dared visit you until now. I’m sorry for that.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be. I’ve been too unwell to see anyone.”
“Peter says you are ill, but there are rumors floating around the palace…”
I take a shallow breath. “Yes, I believe I was poisoned.”
His jaw twitches at my words.
“And who do you think to blame?”
I shrug. “There are many people who wish me gone from court. But the empress is aware, and she is keeping a much sharper eye on things now. I doubt someone would dare try again.”
He lets out a deep breath, leaning forward.
“If I ever find out who did this, I swear to you, I will kill them with my own hands.”
I take his hand. Its rash and unthinking, but I’ve missed him terribly—I didn’t realize how much until this very moment. His skin is cool in my fingers, and I can feel his pulse speed up. I don’t look up into his eyes—I don’t dare—I just keep looking at our entwined fingers.
“Please don’t do anything rash. My time at court would be too dark to bear without your presence.”
I don’t know why I let the words slip out. Perhaps it was simply because I’d been so close to death for so long that the idea of living another moment in anything but the truth made my heart ache. Or perhaps, it was the fever speaking, separating my heart from my rational mind.
Bending down, he kisses each of my fingers, and then the back of my hand. His lips are soft and warm with his breath. A chill shivers through me. Releasing me, he sits back, as if the gesture pains him, and he grimaces.
“I see someone has brought you reading material. These lessons will be the death of you yet,” he teases. Cracking a book, he begins reading to me, his voice deep and thick.
“Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste brought death into the world, and all our woe, with loss of Eden…” he reads softly, his voice barely a whisper. Paradise Lost by Milton. Not nearly as poetic or romantic as Shakespeare, but soon, I feel my eyelids begin to droop. I only wake when he closes the book and the morning light is just beginning to glow through my window. He stands, and I grab his hand.
“Please, come read to me again tomorrow. This time something from Marlowe?”
He smiles and bends down, placing a quick, chaste kiss on my hand.
“As you wish, Princess.”
Then he turns and creeps from my room.
I sleep a fair bit of the day away, waking only for my afternoon lesson with Sergei, who comments how rested and well I’m looking. While he reads the dry text, I sip warm broth. The physician has decided not to bleed me today—thank heavens. And I am feeling weak, but excited. I repeat the passage back to Sergei. I don’t tell him about my visitor, or about the unexplainable push of heat through my veins at the very notion of seeing him again tonight. When we are done, before he leaves, I have to ask.
“Sergei, where is my mother? I haven’t seen her in days.”
He frowns. “I didn’t want to burden you with this while you are recovering, but your mother has been sent to Moscow. The empress thinks having her here is… unproductive for you.”
He hesitates, and I can feel the lie in his words as he looks away.
“Please, be honest with me, Sergei. If I can’t find truth in you, what hope do I have here?”
He faces me, his expression filled with guilt.
“The empress believes she may be spying for King Frederick. She has sent her away as punishment.”
I suck in a sharp gasp. Part of me wants to rail in her defense, but there is a larger part that is relieved that she’s gone.
“Don’t worry yourself,” he says, reaching out with his thumb and rubbing me between the eyes where my brow is furled so hard. “When you are well, you need only request her returned to court and she will be. The empress is a very forgiving woman.”
I catch his hand in mine.
“Thank you, as always, Sergei.”
He smiles. “For you, dear Sophie, I would rope the moon itself and drag it to your window.”
I feel myself flush as I return his smile.
If Rina thinks it odd that I have her help me bathe and brush my hair only to go back to bed, she says nothing of it. She and Elizavetta seem absolutely ecstatic that I’m feeling well enough to move at all. Though it takes both of them to lower me into the hot water and back out again, they chat merrily.
“They eat like pigs,” Elizavetta tells me.
Rina adds, “The seamstress has had to repair several of the princess’ corsets because she keeps them so tight that she bursts the strings when she dances.”
They laugh and make absurd faces in imitation of the Saxon guests. But mostly they speak of Peter, of how he paced outside my door for days, sick with worry for me. I feel a roll of guilt wash through me, though I have no doubt they are exaggerating for my benefit, I also know that his concern was real.
As they help me back to bed, Rina places a small, pink cake next to my bed.
“It’s your birthday,” she reminds me. “I thought you might have lost track of time being so ill, but I wanted you to know we remembered.”
“So did the empress,” Elizavetta chimes in, bringing me a wooden box engraved with the image of a crown. I open it to find a breathtaking sapphire necklace inside. “She only wishes she could have given it herself.”
“It’s so lovely,” I say, caressing it with my fingertips.
Elizavetta shrugs. “You don’t turn sixteen every day, after all.”
“And, there’s one more. It’s from General Salkov.” Rina hands me a parchment-wrapped gift tied with red ribbon. I tear into it and find a lovely new bible inside. Opening the first page, I see it’s in Russian. The inscription reads,
For when you need counsel beyond my own. May you always be the light in dark places and the heart of the empire. Yours always, Sergei.
I clutch it to my chest, unable to hold back the raw emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
“Thank you both so much,” I manage weakly. Rina hugs me tightly, and then pulls the blankets up over me.
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