Once Upon a Time in December

by M J Marstens

  I grin smugly as I stroll out of the trophy room.

  “You’ll just have to find out,” I sing, acting like a prick.

  I shut the door on his swearing.

  Maks can find out after I learn who the beautiful new girl is—and convince her to be my girlfriend.

  * * *

  1 Pronounced mahks, it’s short for Maksim (Max/Maxim).

  2 The Cossacks are a group of predominantly East Slavic-speaking Orthodox Christian people who became known as members of democratic, self-governing, semi-military communities, originating in the Pontic steppe, north of the Black Sea. I’m stretching the truth about their acceptance of homosexuality.

  Chapter Seven

  Maksim

  I wait fifteen minutes before leaving my stepfather’s display room. I want to make sure enough time has passed for Zavid to be well away from this part of the palace—and I also need a moment to compose myself.

  The smug bastard was riling me up purposefully, but his words ignite a fire of jealousy deep within me. I know that I told him to get a girlfriend or to have an open dalliance with some woman to ensure no one would suspect our relationship, but I didn’t expect him to actually do it.

  I assumed it would fall on me to take any suspicion off of us—something I was all too happy to do. Zavid isn’t the first man that I’ve lusted after, but he is the first one that I’ve found to reciprocate my interests. In the past, all my ‘royal indiscretions’ have been with women. Zavid fulfills something inside of me that I didn’t know was missing—and that irritates me.

  I don’t like relying on others.

  It makes me vulnerable.

  A target, even.

  Sometimes, my worries and fears get the better of me and I wonder if Zavid is just playing my attraction to him to use against me later. Everything seems to click too easily between us for it to be real—fantasies don’t actually come to fruition, do they? So, when Zav announced that he ‘found his girlfriend’, I faltered.

  Is this a test?

  Is Zavid watching from the shadows, tracking my every move and reporting them back to the Republicans?

  I frown severely and step into the hall, marching to the other side of the palace where I know everyone else resides. While everyone steers clear of the West Wing, I am not questioned when I wander through the palace—it is my home, after all.

  I peek into rooms here and there. Men fall silent when they see my face. No one on this side of the palace trusts me; I’m an Imperialist—a prince, to boot. I nod amicably at them and continue on. No one addresses me or even makes eye contact. Sometimes, I resent my station and circumstances.

  I’m so isolated from everyone my age.

  No one trusts me and, in return, I don’t trust anyone.

  I finally come to a room full of women.

  Here, I’m in my element as a few girls glance my way flirtatiously under their lashes, but most ignore me like the men. These are a new breed of females—those who demand equality. To be honest, I’m still unsure how I feel about that particular subject.

  My mother was a very independent woman who worked alongside my stepfather—not behind him, but he always made it seem like my mother was the exception to the rule.

  I edge away from the beckoning glances cast coyly in my direction and focus on Zavid, who is sitting next to his sister and talking enthusiastically with an exceptionally beautiful, albeit dirty, girl. My breath catches at the sight of them together.

  Is this the would-be girlfriend?

  Zavid’s sister suddenly looks up and spots me. From her distance across the room, she gives me a withering glare that makes me smile sardonically. Oksana does not particularly like me—definitely one of those revolutionary new females—and doesn’t understand why her brother even speaks to me. If anyone is suspicious of my relationship with Zavid—it’s her, but for the wrong reasons.

  Oksana fears that I will corrupt her Republican brother and inveigle him into joining the Imperialists. The thought always makes me chuckle. As if anyone could convince the headstrong Zavid to do something that he truly didn’t want to do. Oksana gives me far too much credit and not enough for her brother.

  Zavid is a staunch Republican and will always be.

  I turn my attention to the other woman. She is certainly lovely, even covered in grime. Something about her seems familiar, but I can’t place my finger on why. She might have been a maid in the palace that I somehow managed to overlook, although that’s doubtful.

  My stepfather was just formally invited back to St. Petersburg by Tsar Nicholas after being exiled to Tashkent in his youth for stealing three diamonds from the Tsar’s coffers for a lover. Even cut off from the royal family, my stepfather managed to make a name for himself—and money. It had been my stepfather’s hope to formally reconcile with the Tsar and apologize, but we were never invited to Alexander Palace.

  Even exonerated, my stepfather is a pariah in society but, for once, I am thankful. If he hadn’t been, we would have been at the ball—and most likely slaughtered. At first, the Grand Duke rallied everyone to fight for the Tsar and his family. It’s no secret that my stepfather yearns for a return to the olden days of Russia’s magnificent glory.

  This can only be done with a tsardom.

  But the main objective of our movement is to counter Lenin and his socialist party. It’s not the most cohesive group since we are many factions working as one but, for now, we have a united goal: to stop the Bolsheviks and recover the Tsar and his family. Of course, what will happen to him afterward depends on which faction of the Beliye wins.

  If it’s my stepfather. . .

  Well, I’m not quite sure what he’ll do to the Tsar considering how he aspires to put himself on the imperial throne. I know that the Republicans would most likely try to make peace with the Tsar and use him as a monarchal figurehead to bridge the gap between the poorer citizens and the nobility, but the Tsar’s life is in jeopardy either way.

  I just hope that the Tsarevich is spared.

  The boy is just barely a teenager and very sickly—he clearly doesn’t pose any threat to whatever new government is established, but history has proven that people are as cruel as they are thorough. There is no question that the imperial family is in danger but, within our movement, they would most likely be pawns.

  To Lenin, they are a direct threat that must be eradicated.

  If the Beliye has any hope of saving the Tsar and his loved ones, we must act quickly before it’s too late. Unfortunately, our attempts to infiltrate the Krasnyye have proven unsuccessful and time is running out. Whatever the cost, we cannot let those socialist pigs win this war—it will be the ruin of Russia.

  “Maks!” Zavid calls, breaking to my thoughts. “Come meet Anya!”

  His jovial tone carries an underlying taunt, but I ignore it and saunter over. Up close, Anya is even lovelier—her bone structure and bearing almost regal. I stare intently at her, the familiar nag of knowing her once more surfacing in my mind. Even underneath all the filth on her face, I can see a scorching blush spread across her cheeks like a wildfire.

  My scrutiny unsettles her—which intrigues me.

  Zavid sees my interest and quirks an amused brow at me, but I pay him no attention as I try to figure out how I know the mysterious woman before me.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Anya,” I say with a gallant bow.

  I take her hand and kiss the back of it lightly, waiting to see her adorable blush spread. To my surprise, it doesn’t—nor does she seem affected by my Old World charm. Another piece of the pretty enigmatic puzzle to solve.

  “A pleasure,” Anya tentatively, but graciously, agrees.

  Before I can ask her any more questions, Zavid interrupts my thoughts and intent with something even more exciting.

  “We’ve found our plant,” he announces with delight.

  My eyebrows raise at this news. The Beliye have been searching for the perfect person to act as a double agent against the Krasnyye.
Unfortunately, our previous attempts failed—badly. I’m curious as to who Zavid has recruited for this perilous mission.

  “And who is he?” I prod.

  Zavid’s smile grows.

  “You’re looking at her,” comes his smug reply.

  I swing my eyes in shock to Oksana, but she’s wearing the same look at her brother. No—it’s not Oksana who is going to take down Lenin.

  It’s Anya.

  Chapter Eight

  Anastasia

  I watch the shock roll across Cousin Maksim’s face. Yes—I know him, even though he never gave me his name. I’ve seen his picture many times in the annual missive that my mother received from his. That is until she recently passed.

  I think for a moment, trying to recall when that happened. I’m guessing five or six years ago. Maksim has certainly grown up since then, but I still easily distinguish his features from his old pictures.

  And, clearly, he recognizes me—although, he hasn’t made any connection, if the confusion clouding his eyes and marring his brow is any indication. I’m unsure if this is because we have never met and I don’t know how often he saw my image, or because of the disguise.

  If I’m not mistaken, Cousin Maksim and Mashka are the same age, making him twenty to my almost eighteen. Although not of actual Romanov blood, he is the very portrayal of nobility. His hair is many shades lighter than mine—a true blond, pale in color—and his eyes are an icy blue contrast to the deep purplish azure of mine.

  Maksim is tall and carries himself well—another indication of how he was raised. He might not have been born a prince, but it truly seems to have been his destiny. My cousin is the perfect courtier and would have most likely made all the ladies at court swoon—including my sisters.

  But, I am not so easily distracted by a pretty face.

  Usually.

  I would be lying if I said that Shusha’s brother isn’t one of the most attractive men that I’ve ever met—including my secret. Where Cousin Maksim is fair, Zavid’s looks are darker, more decadent—like his name—and they draw me in like a moth to a flame.

  Zavid’s eyes are a silvery gray that shine against the dark contrast of dark brown hair. He’s as tall as Maksim, but seems slightly more muscular. Perhaps it’s his clothes or general appearance, but there’s a quiet strength to Zavid that Maksim lacks.

  I can tell how much he’s struggled and it creates a pang deep within me to acknowledge. How much have Zavid and Shusha suffered? How many others like them endured the same fate or worse? Guilt blooms inside of me, taking over my initial thoughts of attraction. Along with it comes more doubt.

  How could my father not have known about the plight of his people?

  It seems highly unlikely that he couldn’t have known—which makes my next thought so much more difficult:

  How could my father not have done something about it?

  I know how much he has struggled in recent years and how much he has conceded to the people, but was it enough?

  Does it matter now?

  Not really.

  I cannot undo the past but I can change my future, and Zavid and Shusha have given me the key to this. The Beliye need someone to subvert the Krasnyye, and I need to get close to Lenin to learn his plans for my family. The Beliye are going to give me the tools I need to bring my family back to safety—and to power, once more.

  “You’re going to infiltrate the Krasnyye?” Maksim asks incredulously.

  Immediately, I take offense to his tone.

  “Yes, is that a problem?”

  He doesn’t even bother responding to me but turns to address Zavid, instead.

  “This is insane—she’s not trained, I doubt she can use a weapon and doesn’t know what to look for or even ask. It’ll be a waste of time, or worse—a suicide mission,” he hisses.

  For the first time in my life, no one is hovering over my shoulder to ensure that I act like the proper imperial princess and I let my inner imp out to play. She knows how to deal with pompous men who think I’m merely an ornament.

  Smiling coyly at my cousin—step-cousin, technically—I approach him with downcast eyes and an easy manner. I look into his icy glare and match it with my own.

  “And how do you know that I’m not trained, hmm? How do you know what type of markswoman I am or am not? Do I look like a simpleton who cannot learn to ask the right questions to the right person? If you’re so smart, Maksim, why haven’t you gone into the beast’s lair1?”

  Maksim’s eyes narrow to little slits of anger.

  “I don’t recall giving you my name, Anya,” he growls.

  “Oh, please. I’m sure she heard it whispered the second you stepped into this room,” Shusha points out dryly.

  I eye her askance.

  Did she really think that or was she lying on my behalf?

  If so—why?

  My head pounds with a terrible headache. In less than twenty-four hours, my world has been turned upside-down and I don’t know who to trust or not. I hate having to guess everyone’s underlying motives. Life is so much easier when people are upfront with their intentions.

  Although, Maksim seems fairly transparent as he stands here trembling in male outrage. Mother always warned about bruising their fragile egos. Correction—she always warned me. My sisters are too proper to offend anyone.

  “Everyone knows me. I’m a prince and Lenin would easily recognize me as such,” Maksim declares haughtily.

  I snort at his snobby answer and Shusha laughs outrightly at my response. I can tell there is some animosity between the two of them that seems to go beyond their differentiating political views. I’ll ask her later—after I know the plan to become a shpion2.

  I turn my attention back to Maksim, who is leaning against the arm of a sofa, looking entirely at home—which makes sense since it is. Still attempting to look meek, I lean into him, watching his eyes widen with surprise and something else that I can’t distinguish.

  I rest my hands lightly on his chest, a zing of something delicious and forbidden zipping down my spine at the contact. Maksim’s eyes become hooded and, while he might deny it, I know he feels it, too. Now, I smile smugly. Mother also always warned to never underestimate the wiles of a woman.

  We are far more dangerous than any man because the world continually underestimates us—just as Maksim misjudges me.

  Carefully snaking a foot around his calf, I shove against his chest while hooking his leg, making him tumble back as I upset his balance. With an astonished look, he lands in a heap amongst the pillows and throws of the sofa.

  Feeling brazen, drunk with power, and slightly stupid, I crawl between his sprawled legs to stare down into his eyes. I make sure he can read the challenge and the hidden strength there. I pity the fool that sees me as a sheep—that’s just my outward façade.

  Barely above a whisper, I purr to Maksim, “I will take down Lenin. I will take down the entire Krasnyye and, when I’m done, I’ll take on anyone else that doubts me.”

  Slowly, I raise upright. Shusha is practically bouncing with excitement and pride, and Zavid appears simultaneously astonished and captivated. I flash him a grin. I want him to know that I’m the perfect person for this job.

  I’m not the sheep.

  I’m the wolf hiding in sheep’s clothing, waiting to avenge her pack.

  * * *

  1 Russian idiom for ‘the belly of the beast’

  2 Russian for spy/mole

  Chapter Nine

  My confrontation with Maksim quickly spreads throughout Cousin Kolya’s palace. Foolishly, I didn’t think about how my actions might rouse his interest—or suspicion. His son might not recognize me, but I know without a doubt that the Grand Duke would easily.

  Thankfully, Shusha is adamant about getting me in place as soon as possible within the Krasnyye. The Republicans bicker amongst themselves and with the other Beliye factions to formulate the best plan but, ultimately, it’s me who comes up with something decisive.

  �
��What if I just went in as a nurse? I mean, that’s why the Beliye asked me to join them in the first place.”

  Shusha and Zavid share a look.

  “Yes, the Krasnyye are surely scouting for any medical personal to aid in their cause and help the injured,” Zavid concurs.

  “Then, point me in the right direction and I will infiltrate them on my own.”

  Zavid seems hesitant.

  “Would you just tell me what’s going on?” I finally ask in exasperation.

  “The city isn’t safe anymore,” Shusha answers for her brother. “The civil unrest has exploded into a full-on civil war without the Tsar’s army to intervene. We’re not sure where the Krasnyye headquarters even is. To go into St. Petersburg now might actually be akin to walking into a battlefield. This is all we can glean from our reports. At least here in the palace, outside of the city limits, we are protected.”

  I throw my hands up in dismay.

  “Well, how does anyone expect me to do anything if these are the circumstances?!”

  “That’s why they’re trying to formulate the best plan—one that doesn’t require you walking into the direct line of fire,” Maksim replies.

  He’s the only Imperialist in the room and no one seems to appreciate his presence—least of all me. I don’t trust him and it’s only a matter of time before he realizes who I am underneath my sooty disguise.

  “Except—there isn’t one, is there?” I demand. “We’ve been going round and round this for two days now and time’s running out.”

  The room grows silent and Maksim tips his head assessingly—as if he can read the hidden meaning in my words. I’m not concerned about the escalating fight between the Beliye and the Krasnyye. I’m worried to death about my family and them being in the crosshairs of this war.

  I walk across the room to peer out the window into the wintery landscape. It’s now January. Two weeks have flown by since that night and, with every passing day, I can feel my family slipping further and further away.

  How I long for my sisters.