Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The snow would reach to her knees if the servants didn’t toil around the Winter Palace, keeping the square as clear as the inner courtyard. All birds had quieted, the skies were clad in the ever-same white, and the nights came early.

And yet, this winter was different. It was the first winter in which the country wasn’t under the rule of Tsar Alexander. It was the first winter of her life without her father.

She sat on a chaise longue in one of the palace’s many private audience chambers, looking out the window to see how the courtyard was being tended to. Personnel was rushing about, a few noblemen that had arrived for the ball went from one part of the structure to the other, while military of low rank patrolled the premises to keep busy.

This winter without her father would be the first of many, it crossed her mind while she tried to drown out the bickering of her two uncles, Konstantin and Nikolai. 

Konstantin, younger brother to her father and older brother to Nikolai, was currently devastated, but as that was a rather regular occurrence, neither Nikolai nor [F/n] were affected by it. She looked at him, saw how his pale face had turned red as he spoke with quivering, wet lips, before she faced down, let her hand run over the emerald fabric of her dress, and directed her attention back to the window.

“It will be a problem,” Konstantin said, his voice trembling. “There will be discontent.”

“Oh no, discontent, ” Nikolai repeated mockingly, then laughed, looked to [F/n] for support, but turned back to his brother when he received none.

“He’s not wrong,” [F/n] told them. Her eyes stayed fixated on a lady hurrying across the snowy pathways, an officer running behind her with an umbrella in hand, before she faced the room. “You are throwing us into crisis,” she stated calmly.

“Crisis!” Nikolai scoffed. “What crisis!”

“By not disclosing that the heir my father has named,” she explained and gestured at her uncle Konstantin, “has rejected his right to the throne, the public is wholly unprepared for Tsar Nikolai Pavlovich.”

“It was a decision your father made when he was still alive,” argued Konstantin, short-tempered and ever-insecure. “I told him I would not rule, but he said if we revealed that there were questions of succession, we would give an opening to radicals and enemies of the tsardom.”

“It seems he successfully delayed this opening to a time when it no longer concerns him,” came her dry reply.

“All I want is to live in peace, I said it then as I say it now. I don’t want the throne, I don’t want to be burdened with the realm’s problems, I know who I am and I make no secret of it,” Konstantin defended himself. “Nikolai ought to face these problems, he will be Tsar, we decided so long ago, us three brothers.”

“Only that no one else knows,” [F/n] said. “Have you heard?” she posed while turning her head to her younger uncle, Nikolai, who was scheduled to be sworn in as the realm’s leader later in December. “Some of the troops have already pledged loyalty to Uncle Konstantin. By mistake, you could say, though not their own. If we tell them he will not be their Tsar, but his younger brother, what will they say?”

“They will accept it because they have to,” Nikolai answered. His eyes were much more focused than those of his anxious brother. “The troops will be loyal to me, because their fealty belongs to the Romanov bloodline, not to us as individuals.”

Konstantin made the correct call when he waived his right to the throne, for his timid character made him unfit to be Tsar. In that regard, he had acted more sensibly than his older, cunning brother ever would. Nikolai’s great fault was not a lack of intelligence and not a proneness to paralyzing indecision like his brother often suffered, but a harsh nature that made him too decisive, too sure of himself, conceitedness laced with a tendency for tyranny.

[F/n] stayed quiet and turned to look out the window once more. There was little sense in arguing with Nikolai, as he struggled to draw any distinction between his preconceived notions and the reality they faced.

“We wouldn’t have this problem if she had been born a boy,” Konstantin said, not with ill intention, but poorly timed.

Nikolai scoffed. “Wouldn’t you like that, Princess?” he hissed and drew her eyes back to him. “Had our Tsar Alexander, may he rest in peace, had a son, Konstantin wouldn’t have had the headache of rejecting the throne, and no one would’ve even thought to ask me. ”

She remembered his eyes to have been blue in her childhood, but now, in the audience chamber dimly lit by the sky’s pale, white color, they only looked gray. They drooped a little at the corners, sunken and hostile. Out of the two brothers, Nikolai had always reminded her of her father much more than Konstantin, so it was a pity that he became such a spiteful individual.

They played with her when she was small, both of them, though Nikolai abruptly stopped when she began showing the slightest signs of turning into a woman. While Konstantin continued to be friendly, she quickly found him dull once she realized she was sharper and better read than her uncle. 

Now her father was dead, and she was left alone with them and with a country that would have to be told the heir apparent was never going to rule.

“You know, Konstantin,” Nikolai said to him. “You ought to ease up a little.”

“Please, stop…”

“There is no way word hasn’t yet reached some of our troops, at least the leadership. It is what it is.”

“I haven’t said anything,” Konstantin claimed, suddenly breathless. “Have… Have you?!”

“That would be bad, ” [F/n] chimed in and focused on Nikolai.

“Why would it be bad?!” he shouted. “We have to tell them! My coronation will be in mere weeks!”

“Yes, we have to tell them, but the official way,” she emphasized, before breathing out and shaking her head. “To spread rumors about a succession crisis… Rumors make us seem weak and disorganized.”

“There is no succession crisis! We know who will ascend, and it is me!”

“That is not how it will look,” she said to Nikolai. “My father named Uncle Konstantin. That is what the people know, that is what our troops know. To take things back that were once declared, right after the Tsar’s death, to instead have the youngest brother take the throne while claiming the Tsar agreed to it…”

“He did, ” Konstantin said.

“I know, Uncle, I was there. But the millions under our rule weren’t.”

“ Our rule!” Nikolai sneered.

“Well, your —” But she stopped herself. “No, right now, no one is ruling.”

“That is normal,” Nikolai argued. “Tsar Alexander just died, the heir has not yet ascended to the throne. There is always an interim period.”

“But what if the troops won’t follow you?” Konstantin asked, finally sitting down and fanning himself some air. “They will think it’s rather convenient that I hand it to you after Alexander’s death, they will think it’s strange, they will think we’re going against his wishes, some already swore loyalty to me, oh Heaven…” He looked at his niece. “[F/n], what are we to do?”

“Don’t ask her what to do!” Nikolai barked.

“You have to make an official statement, and soon, ” [F/n] urged Nikolai. “No rumors.”

“Well, I will!”

“And then pray they won’t call you usurper.”

***

A loud Viennese waltz was playing in the hall, brightly lit by a multitude of crystal-lined chandeliers. The tall windows were dark as night had fallen, while ladies in opulent dresses were dancing with noblemen as if to spite the late hour.

The ball had got lively as the space brimmed with guests who had come from near and far, for once invited to an event by the royal family to honor the late Tsar Alexander — so they were told, but the intention was to have them stay in the city long enough to witness Nikolai’s ascension.

Even the gallery was filled, [F/n] noticed when she looked up to see gloved hands on the golden railing and hear the chatter flow down to the main hall. She stood on the sidelines, her small glass of champagne in hand.

Dresses of all colors were sweeping over the floor like a hoard of butterflies when the playful waltz took up in pace. While [F/n] watched them, the fingers of her free hand rested on the chiffon of her own dress; a creamy ivory fabric, adorned with small, embroidered flowers of the same soft white.

She was not the only one who didn’t participate in the dance. On all sides, fabled faces were deep in conversation, and though [F/n] tried to drown out the noise with the help of the bubbly drink in her hand, there was one word that reached her ears again and again: the Tsar, the Tsar, the Tsar.

While it was possible a few officers were discussing the succession in hushed tones, [F/n] was certain that most of them were speaking of her father’s demise. Typhus, she heard, along with the words sudden and unexpected, by the Sea of Azov, where her father had traveled, caught the illness and died, without her having seen him again.

Her eyes moved across the crowd, finding lace and satin and jewels, elaborate hairstyles and tall hats, but only one pair of eyes looking back at her.

He was always in sight, somehow. At any social event, he was never far, and [F/n] usually ended up noticing him by the ginger head of hair that made him hard to miss, whether he wanted to draw her attention or not.

Though it seemed, he wanted to. Blue orbs staring at her from across the room, he set himself in motion as if the sudden eye-contact was his cue.

Along with his orange curls, his dark blue uniform came into view, golden epaulettes on his shoulders, a black leather belt around his waist, and a dress saber with an engraved hilt by his hip. The golden embroidery on his cuffs and his collar marked him not just as a member of the imperial military, but communicated his nobility.

“Good evening, Princess,” he said after he halted by her side and bowed. While it wasn’t very deep, he looked down while bowing to her, raising his gaze only once he straightened back up.

“Sir,” she replied, gave him a quick nod without smiling, then looked elsewhere. She was not in the mood for conversation, and definitely not with him, who could talk at length if allowed, but once she glanced back, she felt bad to address him so coldly. “Ajax,” she added.

“This will be the third time I ask you to call me Childe, Princess,” he told her with a warm smile. “All my friends call me Childe.”

“Which is precisely why I have no business calling you that.” When he laughed at her remark, she scrutinized his expression, then let her eyes wander to his shoulders. The epaulettes… Their structure was more elaborate than she had assumed from a distance, and they were rather large, too. “Did you… make captain?”

“I did, Princess. Sharp as ever.”

“Congratulations,” she said without emotion, but felt a little surprised. While he was still only mid-ranking, she had thought him unambitious in the past; a noble by birth, using military service as a career like so many others who were in it for the prestige that was immediately afforded to those who came from a good family.

“Thank you.” He bowed again, but this time it was only a deep nod, his movement looser as he had not planned it. “A recent development. I now command a small troop.”

“I see.”

His eyes stayed on her, but when she sipped from her champagne instead of saying another word, he took a deep breath. “Princess, I wanted to come over before the waltz ends. This composition is lively, your dress would look beautiful if you danced, it’s a waste to have it static by the side.”

“I find myself otherwise occupied.”

“One dance, please?” he asked and went so far as to offer her his gloved hand. She looked at the white fabric, then up to meet his eyes. While mustering a small smile, she shook her head, and his hand sank. “You don’t enjoy it?”

“I enjoy it as much as the next person,” she sighed, a little annoyed that he would make her explain herself. “But not tonight, and this… this European waltz, the dance is much too close, too intimate.”

“Ever modest,” he said.

In truth, she had given him an excuse. It was a little close for comfort, at least for her, and at least in public, but the real reason why she couldn’t stand the thought of moving to the music was that she was filled with sadness.

It was her father’s ridiculous idea: if I die, have a ball, he had said, and though he laughed, it ended up finding its way into his last will. Celebrate life once mine comes to a close, don’t mope and dwell, he had told her, but [F/n] struggled to imagine he felt that way when he suddenly fell ill and found his life prematurely waning away from home.

Even if he descended from Heaven, grabbed her shoulders with ghostly hands and shook her, [F/n] could not celebrate anything. To twirl in some officer’s arms was out of the question.

“Your father, may he rest in peace, would have loved this event,” the new captain said as if he could read her mind.

“Yes,” she replied, letting out another deep breath. “That is why we hold it, despite the gloomy occasion.”

“I am deeply sorry for your loss. I truly am.”

“Thank you.”

“At the risk of overstepping… I was surprised he did not name you his successor.”

She glared at him, though her look softened once she couldn’t detect any malicious glee in his eyes. He was sincere. “A male ruler is a safer choice. My father put the realm first when he made his decision.”

“We’ve had female rulers before.”

“Either by extraordinary circumstance or when there was absolutely no one else to rule. In this case, we are fortunate to have a male heir.”

“Well,” he said and gave a slight shrug, “I still thought he’d name you. He was a progressive man, after all, the Tsar of reforms and tolerance.”

“Yes, he was.”

But naming his daughter Tsaritsa while there were men in the family was too much to ask, even of him. Though [F/n] had known for a long time, it still came as a somber realization when his will was opened: there was no surprise paragraph, he didn’t decide to revolt against established norms, he had no change of heart. In his death it was as it had been in life. He chose his brother, not his daughter.

“Please excuse me,” Ajax said when his attention was caught by something. He stared at a point somewhere in the crowd, his brows furrowed, yet when [F/n] attempted to follow his gaze, he pulled her eyes back to him. “Another time, another dance? One that is more appropriate,” he proposed with a smile.

She watched him closely. His smile was well-practiced, warm and charming, but there was urgency in his eyes, making his body tense. [F/n] gave him a short nod, he muttered another apology, then made his way through the crowd to where he had been drawn a moment ago.

Maybe he spotted a woman he knew would not deny his request for a dance. [F/n] sipped from her champagne, followed him with her eyes until he vanished into the crowd, then looked elsewhere.

The chandelier’s lights felt glaring by now. [F/n] had grown tired by merely having to be present, she realized, emptied her drink and let out a quiet sigh. While not particularly vigorous, she had never been prone to exhaustion or weakness, but everything felt draining since her father died. It would pass, she hoped. It was grief, she told herself, unavoidable grief, and yet neither of her two uncles seemed particularly distraught. Konstantin was only worried about himself, and Nikolai… How blissful it must be to have such unfounded confidence in oneself.

[F/n] was ripped out of her thoughts when the sea of attendants parted momentarily and ginger hair in blue attire came into view once more. He was not with a woman, but with another officer. [F/n] kept them in focus, stepped aside when someone threatened to obstruct her line of sight, and tried to see who it was he spoke to.

Usually, she would not have cared who he was conversing with. What piqued her interest was that he seemed worked up, irritated as he hissed and argued, visibly trying not to draw attention while in animated discussion. He was stressed about something.

A couple decided to make their way off the floor and up to the gallery, allowing her to get a better look at the other man. She knew this one. He was hard to forget once introduced, for his long hair, the eyepatch, and his sky-blue topaz earring stayed in memory. Though they wore the same dark uniform, where the captain’s had golden accents, his were silver, and the epaulettes on his shoulders were less elaborate.

[F/n] had spoken to him just once or twice in group conversations. What was his name… Kaeya?

She remembered him to wear a ponytail then, but tonight he put his hair into a loose bun, long strands still framing his face. His elegant features tensed into a frown, he hissed something back, then made a dismissive gesture and pulled his comrade by his arm.

[F/n] felt alarmed to see them make their way to the hall’s exit with fast steps. The first thing that came to mind was an emergency, a military matter that required their attention. But maybe it was personal, and maybe… it was political.

Before she knew it, she walked across the hall, gave apologetic smiles to the few people who attempted to strike a conversation as soon as they saw her, then exited through the same doors the two officers had used. She watched them vanish around the corner, counted five seconds, then followed them.

The corridors provided a pleasant silence after having been exposed to the loud music at the ball. The ensemble was still audible, but the instruments sounded distant as [F/n] walked down the hallways, regularly halting to make sure the two men were out of sight before she continued to tread their path.

“…make himself our enemy,” she heard Ajax say to Kaeya, but the rest of his sentence was lost, drowned out by their loud steps and the distance [F/n] maintained.

Kaeya scoffed, and [F/n] could not hear his response.

They walked far, navigating the Winter Palace as if they had a mental map of the entire structure. Though the palace was her home, [F/n] never visited the parts beneath the splendor, the floors that served the purpose of keeping the building functional, forgotten by the nobility it housed.

Her heart began to hammer in her chest when she reached the servants’ corridors. Compared to the upper floors, the walls were narrow, the gilded moldings and tapestries she knew were nowhere to be found, her path only dimly lit as the smell of old wood and candle wax reached her nose.

She held her breath when the faint talking of the officers she followed was underscored by an attendant’s occasional murmurs from one of the adjacent rooms. She was not supposed to be here, it hit her with stark clarity, and she covered her mouth, crouched down, and took off her shoes to not tempt the worn floor to creak.

The two men descended further. They passed through storage chambers, filled with dust and forgotten relics, furniture covered in sheets, crates marked with the imperial seal, and a multitude of candelabras leaned against the walls. Here, the air grew cooler.

[F/n] stopped in her tracks when the officers entered a space she had only heard stories of. They opened a thick, iron-reinforced door, and descended down a long flight of stone stairs. They entered the Winter Palace’s subterranean level — the catacombs.

Now she hesitated. Her shoes in hand and her feet quiet but dirty, she had made it this far, single-mindedly following the two suspicious men despite her beating heart, and she had stayed undetected. Standing still in the short path from the storage chambers to the heavy door that led into the depths, she looked over her shoulder and contemplated turning back.

The smell of damp stone, the layers of cobwebs that looked like tulle, the ghosts of a thousand men and women who had walked these levels in service of her ancestors… It seeped into her bones as her hands began to feel cold and clammy, and she knew she had to make a decision: turn back or advance.

[F/n] had to press her body against the heavy door to open it, dirtying the sleeves of her dress. The steep stairs her naked feet stepped on were frigid and poorly lit, forcing her to use her hands for support. She was slow, but she could still hear their steps, spurring her on.

The catacombs had rough, uneven walls. She thought she was in a cave, having traveled back to a point in time when the Winter Palace was not yet erected above these ancient tunnels. The flickering torchlight on the walls cast strange shadows on the brittle bricks, and the more [F/n] pressed on, the more the regal world above seemed like a distant dream.

A door fell shut, then voices grew louder. [F/n] stopped to listen, closed her eyes to locate the noise, and finally rushed towards the source with quick, silent steps on dirty stone.

There was light beneath a wooden door. Only three small stairs led from the tunnel to the room, so [F/n] crouched down at the top to listen to the words spoken inside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” It was Kaeya’s voice.

“Gathering our men without—” Ajax was cut off.

“They are not your men, Childe,” came the reply. [F/n] knew this voice. She knew it, she was sure, but who… “In fact, I did not call this meeting of my own volition. A few came to me to express doubt about your leadership, asking for guidance.”

“Who here feels anything is unclear?” he posed in return, but the room stayed quiet. [F/n] furrowed her brows. How many people were there?

“It is not so much about clarity, Childe. You know how to be clear, there is no question about that,” the man chuckled with exasperation. “No, what you lack is the ability to reason. You shut down any argument by reiterating the same fantastical dreams that hold Kaeya hostage.”

“I am not held hostage. Our vision is one of freedom, Diluc,” Kaeya retorted.

Of course — General Diluc! He was always there, during the planning of events, at the front of parades, by her father’s side for protection, as a consultant for strategy, a trusted military leader, his name and chest adorned with decorum. As it sank in, [F/n] looked at the door. Why was he here?

Now she heard murmured agreement as well as soft protests, and at once her mental image of the room went from a handful of people to dozens.

“We have many differences, gentlemen,” Diluc said. “But one thing is clear: there is a succession crisis.”

“Which is why it’s now or never,” Ajax declared, his voice loud as he addressed the crowd.

“The ascension of Nikolai Pavlovich is not rightful,” Diluc continued in equal volume, and [F/n] froze. “The one Tsar Alexander has named is his brother, Konstantin Pavlovich, a man of more reasonable character.”

Hear, hear, many men called out, speaking over one another. [F/n] had heard enough. She had to get away from here, had to get to safety as the officers she followed turned out to be dangerous, they turned out to be radicals that challenged the order maintained by the Romanov family.

When she stood up and reached to pick up her shoes, her shaking hands grabbed one but pushed over the other.

Clack, clack, clack.

It fell down the three stairs to the door, hitting each stone surface once. Her heart stood still as the room turned quiet from one moment to the next. One second passed, then two, then three, and when the door opened, [F/n] turned to run.

She took no more than three steps before she shrieked, caught by whoever had hastened after her, one strong arm around her waist, the other across her chest, dragging her back to where she was and then down the stairs. [F/n] fought and protested, cried out when her ankle got scraped on the edge of the final step, dug her nails into the arms around her body, before she was finally thrown onto a wooden chair.

She caught her breath while her eyes took in the faces of the men that stood in a circle around her, her heart pounding while her senses were keened by the adrenaline. Ten, twenty… Around twenty men were staring at her, Diluc and Ajax and Kaeya in the front, the latter apparently being the one who hunted her and dragged her here. His hair was as disheveled as her own, and he rubbed his lower arm while glaring at her in angry disbelief.

“Little beast,” he hissed, though he seemed more and more shaken the longer he looked at her.

It was the same for all of the men. While [F/n] watched them through vigilant eyes, sitting on her chair like cornered prey that knew all it had left was to lash out, the officers and soldiers observed her dirty dress, her naked feet, her messy hair, and then her face.

One by one, they realized that they knew her. One by one, their faces dropped.

Ajax looked the most devastated. His face grew pale, almost sickly as he stared at her with wide eyes, struggling to connect her presence to the place around them.

Diluc’s expression was pained, as if he perfectly understood the situation and found it to be the worst case scenario.

Kaeya’s visible eye only narrowed, wary and distrusting, though she could tell by how his features tensed: he too understood the severity.

After the entire room was caught in a quiet standoff with her, it was Kaeya who breathed in and looked to Ajax. “We can’t let her walk out of here,” he said.

Chapter Text

Worry and hate, even guilt and panic were reflected in the two dozen pairs of eyes fixated on her. She knew some of the faces, at least those of the officers, but many were low-ranking soldiers that never made it onto the upper floors.

Their attitudes seemed inconsistent, and it put her a little at ease. While her heart had been pounding relentlessly, she regained her composure through the fact that many appeared more scared of her than she was of them. They knew she wasn’t just some girl that eavesdropped. She was the realm’s princess, catching conspirators against her own.

“First, we tie her up,” Kaeya said.

“Are you out of your mind?” Ajax stepped forward, half covering Kaeya’s view of her. “That’ll leave marks.”

“She needs to be put in her place,” Kaeya emphasized. “Look at her,” he scoffed, prompting Ajax to turn over his shoulder. “How she glares at us.”

“How much did you hear?” he asked her, but was drawn back to Kaeya before she could answer.

A flash of light slithered up the silver hilt of his weapon when it was half unsheathed, quickly followed by the sound of another blade being drawn. Before Kaeya could make his intentions known, the edge of Diluc’s sword rested on his collar.

Their eyes locked. Storms of different colors raged in them, and while their origins remained concealed to [F/n], the fury was evident.

“Who attempts to touch her,” Diluc declared not just to Kaeya, but to the crowd, “is a dead man.” He remained still, his gaze alert and focused. Once the room was dead silent, he lowered his blade and pushed it back into its sheath, then turned to [F/n], watched her with evident regret, and averted his eyes. “Your Highness.”

“You are a suck-up, you’re a serf in uniform,” Kaeya hurled at him, before he was pulled back by Ajax’s hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” [F/n] said to Diluc when she found her voice. She made a conscious effort to sit up straight, keep her hands in her lap and face the general. “You said the rule of my uncle would not be rightful.”

“No fault befalls you,” Diluc quickly replied. “Your father, may he rest in peace, has appointed Konstantin Pavlovich, and yet there is word of his younger brother planning to ascend.”

[F/n] watched him with vigilance. Was that it? They won’t acknowledge Nikolai, but want to follow Konstantin instead? Was it that simple?

Her attention wandered to Ajax, then Kaeya. Both looked troubled, but where there was a hint of guilt in the redhead’s gaze, there was none in Kaeya’s.

“And…” Diluc had to gather his courage. She had never seen the general like this. “There is more.”

“Don’t tell her!” Kaeya snapped at him. “You are not just digging your own grave, but ours along with it!”

“No,” Ajax interjected and let out a deep breath. “She’s already here.” With a defeated smile, he shook his head. “Might as well try her.”

“Your Highness.” Now Diluc kneeled before her. He almost reached for her hand, but held back. “Your father was a gracious man. He enacted a lot of change for the better, most notably his abolishment of serfdom in the Baltic States. Peasants in Estonia, in Courland and in Livonia, are now free people thanks to Tsar Alexander.”

“He was picky with who to free, though,” Kaeya chimed in and received a strict glare.

“Moreover,” Diluc continued, “he granted the Kingdom of Poland a constitution.”

“I am well aware of my father’s exploits,” she said.

“The good he did for those regions, we want it for the whole realm.”

“What, a constitution?” she scoffed, almost smiling.

“Your Highness, do not sneer at the notion,” he urged her. “Look to the United Kingdom. Look to Sweden. A strong, healthy monarchy in tandem with a constitution is possible. Yes, the Tsar’s powers would be limited, but by a reasonable framework that all agree on. There must be a balance between reform and tradition, don’t you think?” Diluc took a deep breath, looked to the crowd over his shoulder, then back at her. “The nobility would be protected. Our lives would not change much; those that would change greatly are those of the broader population. Take serfdom: it is slavery, Your Highness, and it must go. We are oppressors in the eyes of the Western countries, and they are right. We must let go of our archaic ways, or we will be left behind. A proper constitution and the freedom of all subjects should be in the interest of the Tsar and his family, if he does not want our great realm to whither and die.”

[F/n] listened to him. She closed her eyes when he was done speaking to try and picture Nikolai signing a document that would limit his power and set the serfs free from the land-owning boyars.

“We are dependent on the labor of serfs,” she said to Diluc.

“Free workers make better workers, Your Highness. And even if they did not, this is a matter of principle. Serfs are ultimately owned, they have no rights, and their masters… Their masters are often cruel.” He shook his head. “Even if they were benevolent, the system itself is inhumane and outdated.”

She had thought about it many times. Her father got rid of serfdom in some parts, so why not in others? Why not everywhere? But her personal opinion mattered little when it were always the men of her family who made the decisions.

“You want a constitution,” she stated next, “so the Tsar cannot reign freely.”

“If you put it into those terms… Yes, but we believe it will embolden our monarchy as the central institution. A good ruler is a just ruler, yet as it stands he is an autocrat that can do as he pleases. The realm got lucky with your father, but what about his successor, and his successor after that? Must we hope for luck, must the people tremble in fear of a tyrant ruler? Or should we…” When Diluc let out another controlled breath, she caught on to how he trembled lightly. “Should we let them rest assured that there is a… a playbook whose rules even the Tsar must keep?”

[F/n] watched him for another moment, then put on a faint, cold smile. “Look at you,” she said. “You know just how treacherous it is, what you suggest.”

She startled when Ajax laughed. All eyes shot to him at once, standing with his arms crossed and his head thrown back, before he shook it. “If you think he is treacherous…” He looked from [F/n] to Diluc, watched him get up, then exchanged a glance with Kaeya.

“Why?” she demanded to know. “Do you not agree?”

“With him?” He tilted his head towards the general. “No, Princess. We do not agree.”

“Do you not want to get rid of serfdom?”

“We do.”

“And do you not want a constitution?”

“We do.”

“Then what…”

“General Diluc,” he mocked, “wants to keep the Tsar around, doesn’t he?”

She froze. Her eyes moved to Diluc, who was fixated on Ajax, his red irises shimmering darkly. Trying to hide her discomfort, she faced back.

“So, you…”

“We want a republic, Princess. Look to the United States on the other side of the world. We want a government led by the people, and we want the land that the serfs work to be redistributed.”

“You want to… abolish the monarchy?”

“We want equality before the law,” Kaeya joined in and earned a few approving murmurs from the men behind him. “We want universal rights. We want elections.”

“You are dreamers,” she forced out while a pit formed in her stomach. It was fear that slowly crept up, less of their ideas, and more of them. “And you will… you will…”

“We will what? ”

“You will die for it.”

Kaeya scoffed. “You think if we weren’t willing to die for the cause, we would gather here, in the palace’s underbelly? We have been willing to die since the moment we first uttered the future out loud.”

As reforms took place all over the world, [F/n] knew that the realm’s serfs would go free eventually, and if she was asked for her opinion, she would be in favor of it. Regarding a constitution, while it was bold and a clear departure from things as they were, it was no hard task to grasp why it would be sensible to turn the Tsar from a despot into a man who was bound to rule in his people’s interest.

But that was not what Ajax and Kaeya and their followers ultimately wanted. She stared at his blue eyes, now deep oceans without the glimmer they had had upstairs. They lay calm and determined.

She shuddered when it came to her. A wave of icy cold traveled down her spine and made her tense up, her brows furrowing while his gaze stayed the same. “You want to kill us,” she said.

“No one will kill you, Princess,” came his reply with an amused smile. “Your life will be the best it’s ever been, you will still be rich, you can continue to live inside the palace for all I care. Even if the tsardom is abolished, you will never have to be hungry a day in your life, you will never have to know hardship.” He sighed, turned to his left to see Kaeya’s smirk, then shrugged at her. “So forgive me if that terrified look of yours doesn’t move me to tears.”

“No,” [F/n] whispered, focusing on him. “You might not even know it yet, but…” She bit her tongue. It would be foolish to give him ideas, to grant him a glimpse of the future that was so clear to her. He would come to realize that too many people would remain loyal to the Romanov family, the realm’s rulers for centuries. The monarchy could only be abolished if the monarchs were dead.

Diluc understood. Without saying a word, she saw it in his eyes. He was not just bargaining for tradition. Unbeknownst to the radicals, he was bargaining for her life.

[F/n] closed her eyes. She had to get it together, think of what to say, and talk her way out of this situation.

It relieved her to hear about their internal inconsistencies. Diluc and his followers, while reformists, were loyalists. Ajax and Kaeya and their men wanted radical change. They wanted to make the realm tsarless, they wanted to form a government for the people by the people, like they had done in the United States and like they had tried in France, but ultimately failed.

But their fantasies were just that: fantasies. While she believed they had a much larger following than the men present in this underground hideout, she could hardly imagine they would compare to the troops still fully at her uncle’s disposal.

[F/n] crossed her legs, leaned back and sighed. “Shall I reveal the inevitable?” Kaeya laughed, Ajax smirked, but Diluc looked serious. “Your movement will fail because of your differences, gentlemen. I heard you speak of a succession crisis, but your little group… You have no unity. I was afraid we were at our weakest right now, yet it seems the enemy has no coherent plan.”

“Is that what we are to you, Princess?” Kaeya asked her. “The enemy?”

“You want to overthrow the Tsar,” Diluc told him. “She would be foolish not to recognize you as her enemy.”

“And you?” Kaeya hissed. He came closer until he stood right before Diluc, cold gaze locked with his fiery eyes. “Are you my enemy?”

“Get it together,” Ajax muttered, put a hand on each of their shoulders and forced them apart. “Since we have her, we might as well get some information out of her.” Unlike Diluc, he did not kneel when he reached her, forcing her to look up. “Is it true?” he asked. “Not your uncle Konstantin, but Nikolai will have the throne?”

“Not if you can prevent it, isn’t that right, Captain?” she gave back.

“We don’t care much either way,” he replied nonchalantly. “The only Tsar we will accept is no Tsar at all. It’s General Diluc who’s throwing a tantrum about who is the legitimate heir. It only matters to us because if it is true, it means that the day of his ascension will be characterized by dissent among the troops, and that gives us an opening to negotiate our terms.” Now he showed her the same charming smile he had put on in the ballroom. “See, I just gave you some interesting information. How about you give me something in return, and maybe we’ll let you go.”

“We can’t let her go, Childe,” Kaeya said.

“She is not our prisoner,” Diluc barked at him, but Ajax remained focused.

They would have to let her leave. To keep her would cause a thorough search for the princess, and once she would be found, she would not hesitate to tell on them. Maybe Ajax was trying to make her say something that would make her feel complicit, a sorry attempt at minimizing the damage that was already done. Their fate was in her hands either way, but he needed something to justify letting her go.

Her eyes wandered to the door. The path wasn’t obstructed, but to get up and leave on her own terms would make them feel disrespected. She was a member of the family they hated most — at least half of them did — and it was not wise to enrage pathetic men.

“It’s true,” she said and sighed. “Nikolai Pavlovich will be Tsar. So it has been decided.”

“They say he’s a choleric,” Diluc muttered, his eyes firmly on her.

“And Konstantin is a nervous wreck,” she told him. “They are both flawed.”

“They’re incompetent,” Kaeya said to Ajax. “That is what she means.”

“It matters little to us,” he replied. “But…” A deep breath left his lungs. “I’d rather negotiate with the anxious one, not the tyrant.”

“You will have to see reason sooner or later, Childe,” Diluc told him. “What is there to negotiate for you? Your terms can only be met with violence.”

“Diluc, don’t give me ideas,” Ajax chuckled, but shook his head in dismissal.

“A negotiation will take place, and it will be for a liberal constitution while the Tsar remains protected and in power. He cannot engage with anything else without losing face, that much should be clear to you.”

“If you don’t mind,” she drew their attention back to her. “I suspect I am already missed at the ball.”

Diluc stepped aside to grant her passage, but Ajax looked unsettled. She got up, stayed in place and let her gaze wander over the crowd, then met the new captain’s eyes. There was a somberness in his look that she couldn’t place, while she struggled to hide her disappointment. Just a moment ago he had asked her to dance, all chipper and charming, while he was plotting to tear down her station.

“Your Highness,” Diluc whispered when she passed him. “I don’t dare ask for your support, but if anything… Think about what it is that I want for the realm, think about it deeply, and if you find it within you, hold back for the sake of your subjects.”

Hold back — he asked her to not rush upstairs and sound the alarm.

While she did run as fast as her bare feet could carry her, she did not return to the ballroom. She passed through the subterranean tunnel, hurried across the creaking floor by the servants’ chambers, climbed stairs upon stairs, her lungs pumping air, her heart racing, until she made it past the guards to her private room.

The door slammed shut behind her, she sank to the ground and laid her shaking fingers on her forehead. Her chest burned, her mouth felt dry, and yet it was her mind from which painful thuds radiated into her body.

It was a coup. Diluc’s vision less so, and Ajax’s vision fully. His smile had been a lie. He was a fraud for wearing the royal emblem on his uniform. He had played the part of an officer loyal to the Tsar, when in reality he was only loyal to…

Was it to the people?

She ran both her hands through her hair, further tousling her elaborate updo. While her head was a mess and fear was rushing through her veins, deep inside her  heart emerged a strange sense of relief.

Chapter Text

Nothing of note happened in the following week. [F/n] went about her days, at times feeling like it must be written all over her face that she was guarding a terrible secret, and at times forgetting that it was up to her to act.

She was waiting for some occurrence, for confrontation or resolution, but of course, none of it came. If she did not alarm the court about the conspiracies she had become privy to, the revolutionaries wouldn’t do it themselves.

And yet, she kept waiting. As if sentenced to inaction, she looked out the palace’s large windows to imagine the people beyond the horizon. They were hungry at times, and at times not, each of their days was filled with labor, and still they married, still they had children, still they were grateful to be alive.

In the evenings, she opened the closet and looked at her many dresses. She wondered what their beauty really meant, why pearls were sewn to lace, why the fabrics were so soft and why some of them reflected the light in iridescent colors. The longer she admired the gowns, the larger the vacancy grew in her chest.

It was a hole that first appeared after she escaped the revolutionaries’ hideout. No matter what she did, no matter how ordinary her activities, it wouldn’t go away, and when she closed her eyes and tried to ask what it wanted, her voice only echoed endlessly, asking what she wanted.

On the seventh day, she figured she was spending too much time inside. Her mind was clouded with the stuffy air of chambers, halls, and corridors. Without further ado, she threw a thick cloak of fur-lined brocade over her dress, added a cashmere scarf to cover her neck and shoulders, put on gloves, then made her way through the palace to the courtyard.

It was the afternoon. The sun would set in an hour or two, and so the scenic garden was enveloped in an eerie, soft twilight. The sky’s rich blue blended into dusky purples while the snow reflected the remaining sunlight in gentle golden hues.

All staff was inside as only a few soldiers kept their post in the cold, straightening up when [F/n] passed them. When she breathed out, little clouds appeared before her mouth, but her cloak repelled the air’s iciness and kept her warm.

To her surprise, she found the benches cleared of snow, and though the stone was cold to the touch, her layers upon layers of petticoats and fabrics would not let her feel the surface. Letting her eyes wander across the quiet scenery, she made a conscious effort to take long, deep breaths, trying to clear her mind.

If she was going to contend with their ideas, she should focus on General Diluc. He was a reasonable man, and she believed herself to be a reasonable woman. He was on her side, so maybe… maybe she could be on his side.

Yet whenever she tried to explore this notion, it was Ajax who snuck into her mind and took up all the space there was. His smug smile, the confidence with which he declared his wild fantasies to be attainable goals, and the somberness he kept below the surface… Why was he all she could think of as soon as she tried to contemplate what happened?

“Do you mind?”

Startled, she looked up to the man who appeared next to the bench. As she watched him with wide eyes, embarrassment filled her for the small gasp that had escaped, and she faced away with a disgruntled look.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up,” Ajax said as he sat down next to her. He wore a greatcoat against the cold, buttoned all the way up, complete with a belt around his waist. The buckle sported the royal emblem. “I struggled to find you the past few days, you were holed up in your chambers a lot.”

[F/n] glanced at him once more. Though to keep his distance had never been his strong suit, he spoke with too much familiarity, even for him. The tips of his ginger strands curled from under his hat, and his eyes were clear and awake as they focused on her.

She looked over her shoulder. The few guards by the palace seemed leagues away, and it was then that she realized that out of the many conversations they had had, not once had it just been the two of them.

“You know,” he said, “we were all waiting for death.”

“Hm?” She turned back to him.

“Even though we didn’t have much choice, we cursed ourselves for letting you go.”

She let out a deep breath and watched the warm clouds dissipate. “What were you going to do?” she asked rhetorically.

“No, there was nothing we could do, but still. We were waiting for our base to get raided. We were waiting to be approached while on duty, dragged away or killed if we resisted.” He crossed his legs and looked over the garden. “But a solid week has passed, and no one ever came.” His eyes moved back to her. “No one came, which means… you didn’t tell anyone. Everything you heard and saw, you kept it to yourself, even though we must’ve scared you. They’re all confused as to why, but I think I know. It’s because your love for our country isn’t feigned, and deep in your heart, you know that things are amiss. You know the poor are too poor and the rich are too rich, and you know that serfs are slaves by a different name, and you know that it’s bad. So part of you… Part of you hopes we succeed.”

She let his words sink in, then slowly shook her head. “I can’t be on your side, Ajax.”

“You’re a stubborn girl.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just call me Childe already. Please. Only my mother says Ajax, makes me feel strange.”

She sighed. As she had heard the others call him by his nickname, it had slowly begun to fit him. “Fine,” she conceded. “I can’t be on your side, Childe.”

“And I don’t blame you,” he replied. “I don’t blame you for not setting your house on fire while you’re in it. But…” A small smirk formed on his face. “I bet you find what Diluc said sensible. A constitutional monarchy with a proper codex that the Tsar has to adhere to, leaving us no longer at the mercy of tyrants… That that is preferable to our current system is obvious to anyone with a shred of sense.”

“They’re not all tyrants. My father… He was no tyrant.”

“Well, Tsar Alexander did have his flaws.” Childe sighed. “But I agree. Tyranny wasn’t one of them.” Suddenly, he reached for her gloved hand and took it into his. “[F/n],” he said, brazenly addressing her by her first name. “Diluc is right: we can’t live like this, hoping that our next ruler won’t be oppressive. We need a system to keep him in check, a document, a constitution that lists the principles we devote ourselves to.”

“I know,” she whispered, feeling deflated when the air left her lungs. “I know.”

From one moment to the next, he had a warm smile for her. “And I want to go a step further, that is all. Because your family… You are just people.”

“How dare you,” she said and pulled her hand away.

“But you are!” he laughed. “You were lucky to be born [F/n] Alexandrovna Romanova, and not… the baker’s daughter. But there is no inherent difference between you and the baker’s daughter, your blood runs red like hers, and both of you will have to die one day. You know that.”

“Have you considered,” she suddenly said with newfound vigor, “that my belief isn’t that I am special in some way? To have a ruling family offers stability. The French, who you surely love for their disobedient tendencies, have tried a different way and they have failed, and now a king rules France once more. There is a reason why things are the way they are, and to challenge the status quo is dangerous, Childe. Not just for me, but for the common people you care so much about.”

“Don’t be so scared,” he tried, a smirk on his face. “Don’t be so unimaginative. Be daring, [F/n], dare to imagine a better world. We ought to be ruled by representatives we choose because of their competence, not their family names.”

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped at him. “Why are you even talking to me?”

His look softened. He watched her features quietly, her brows furrowed, his slightly lifted, all while he gave her a faint smile. There it was again, the somberness. Childe seemed to have a thousand things to say but found them stuck in his throat.

“Yes, why…”

“I want good things for the realm,” she said. “I do. But my uncle…” She shook her head. “He is the third son. To be Tsar was never his fate, and yet through circumstance after circumstance, he will rule the country. I don’t think he will agree to anything that limits his power. I…” She sighed. “I can’t see the future. But I worry that no matter what you propose, there will be bloodshed.”

“I know,” was his reply. “I might be an idealist, but I’m not that naive. We want revolution, and there aren’t many of those that aren’t bloody. In that sense, I think Diluc is more ignorant than we are. He thinks he can reach his goals through negotiation, he believes he can reach an understanding about the realm’s reality with aristocrats.”

“He is nobility too, and so are you.”

“Yes, but you and I…” He gave her a crooked smirk. “We are very different.”

“Are we?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “We are. That you don’t see that betrays just how different we are.” Laying his arm over the backrest, he turned his whole body to her. “I’ll tell you a secret, [F/n].”

She breathed out. “I don’t know that I want to be the keeper of any more of your secrets. ”

“I’ll tell you anyway.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled away, so he opted to push aside the fabric of her cloak and tended to the pearls sewn to her dress, feeling their smooth surface through his gloves. “When I was a boy, I watched you from afar whenever my family visited the Winter Palace. You were spending your time with children of higher birth than myself, you stuck to whatever playmates your father assigned to you, so I don’t think you even learned of my existence until around the time we came of age. But I, well… I watched you, and for some time you were in my dreams, in all of them.” He let out a small laugh when she became visibly flustered. “It’s usually the girls that dream of love and weddings, isn’t it? But I don’t know what it was, surely that you were pretty, and surely that you weren’t just any princess, but the Tsar’s only daughter. Back then, I dreamed of you. I even told my parents; full of myself as I was, I told them I would marry you one day.”

Her face feeling unbearably hot, [F/n] looked down to watch his fingers turn the pearls from right to left, as much as the string that kept them on her dress allowed it. “And your parents, what did they say?”

“Oh, my parents were pleased. They found it endearing, I suppose, and you would’ve made a match they could only dream of. We are nobility, of course, and your family has always treated us favorably, but marrying you would’ve meant I would marry far, far above my station.” He retracted his hand to fold them on his leg. “They didn’t take me seriously as they knew there was a list of a hundred bachelors more eligible than I was. You would’ve had to reject every single one of them before you would even look my way.” He gave her a calm smile. “I was only dreaming.”

“And then?”

“And then?” he echoed her.

“I mean…” She folded her own hands in her lap, protecting the pearls he had played with. “I suppose they ended, those… dreams of yours.”

“Yes, they ended,” he said. “You are pretty, but there are many pretty girls. And being the Tsar’s daughter, carrying the title of princess, those are just words that I was easily impressed by as a boy, as everyone else was. Now I would much rather be with a common girl than with you, truth be told.”

[F/n] couldn’t hold back her scoff. “With a commoner?”

“Offended, are we?” When she glared at him, he had a self-satisfied grin on his face, inviting her to lift her hand and slap across it, but she tightened her grip and kept it firmly in her lap.

“I am only glad you are under no illusion that I would look your way, as you put it.”

Childe huffed with amusement. “All to say,” he began his conclusion, “I was once in love with you, and now I am working to tear down the very institution that put you on that pedestal for me to see in the first place. Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” she replied coldly.

Childe stood up, drawing her eyes with him. “You should alarm your uncle, [F/n]. You should have all our heads before it’s too late.”

“I should. You are traitors to the realm.”

“Not to the realm, Princess.” He looked down at her. “We are truly loyal to the realm and to the people. We want the best for them, even if it means change, even if we have to start over. We are only disloyal to your uncle. Though, well… Not like we have sworn ourselves to him yet.”

“He will not see it that way.”

“No, he won’t. But you seem to see it that way, deep down, or at least you don’t care who we have or have not sworn ourselves to. So my feeling tells me I’ll get to keep my head for a little longer.”

She rolled her eyes. No one would have their heads. They would be hanged and he knew that, but it seemed he was indeed enamored with the images of the French revolution, in addition to his annoying tendency for the dramatic. He bowed to her just slightly, stole another glance at her angry face, then turned on his heel and made his way towards the palace.

What an arrogant prick, [F/n] thought. Full of himself, disrespectful and shameless. He was heading towards death, and yet he had nothing better to do than to seek her out to claim he was once in love with her. What was the point?

The point, it came to her as she watched the length of his greatcoat vanish through the door, was to tell her he would prefer a commoner over her. He must have itched to utter that sentence, must have wanted nothing more than to put her in what he thought was her place.

What a ridiculous man, and stupid at that. He deserved whatever he had coming.

Chapter Text

Her uncle didn’t have to tell her. [F/n] knew that the smaller, more intimate event was held separately to welcome Count Shemetev not just because he was a guest of honor, who owned vast estates in the Moscow countryside, but because he was the most desirable suitor for her.

The majority of aristocrats stayed out of direct trade, but Dmitry Dmitrievich Shemetev liked to use his excessive wealth to dabble in business ventures and investments. He was young, intelligent, and said to be handsome. She knew she was expected to charm him.

At least she was not forgotten after her father’s death. In the past, her uncle wasn’t fond of the idea of her getting married, since there was a chance her husband could try to lay claim to the throne. Once the Tsar died and Nikolai’s ascension was decided, however, he was suddenly keen to have her taken care of, preferably away from St. Petersburg.

Finally, he had made it official. Word of the succession was sent far and wide across the realm, the troops’ leaders were informed, and preparations for Nikolai’s coronation later in the month were underway. [F/n] would be lying to say she wasn’t curious to hear from someone, maybe Diluc, how officers and soldiers took the news. While it was the confirmation of a rumor for many, for some it had to be an unexpected revelation.

But [F/n] was supposed to focus on the count. Her dress had the color of a clear morning sky, the outermost layer of chiffon embroidered with small, intricate patterns, while the light fabric of her puffed sleeves gathered just above her elbows. The maids had fussed about her hair and the choice of jewelry much more than usual, and she heard high-pitched giggles about catching a glimpse of Count Shemetev.

The smaller scale of the event made it feel no less regal than the ball held in honor of her late father; it was only more exclusive. The hall, just large enough to hold a long table, accommodate a string quartet and still leave space to dance, was filled with a selection of diplomats, nobles, and officers.

[F/n] arrived with her uncle Konstantin after she had to pick him up from his locked chambers. He was afraid he would have to endure disparaging comments from the elite for yielding his right to the throne, but she assured him that knowing himself and knowing what was right for him was a strength, not a weakness. After she had to linger through another wave of anxious questions, he finally agreed to come with her.

Nikolai was already there, conversing with General Diluc. She spotted Kaeya taking a glass of champagne from a servant’s tray, slightly surprised that a lieutenant would be invited to this event, though she figured it was Childe who snuck him in whenever Kaeya wanted to come.

And speaking of Childe… Where was he?

“I will talk to Nikolai,” her uncle said to her and patted the back of her hand.

“He will be glad you decided to come.”

“Well,” Konstantin sighed, “I believe my brother hardly cares either way.”

She gave him an understanding smile. “You know, I doubt anyone will ask why you left the throne to him. But if they do, just speak to his strengths, don’t name your weaknesses. List only positives, and you will appear wise for your decision.”

He nodded, though by the exhaustion in his eyes she could tell he had cried in his room. “[F/n]… Aren’t you nervous?”

“Nervous?” She straightened up. “Ah, because of Count Shemetev.” After a glance around to confirm she wasn’t being watched, she shrugged lightly. “I am curious.”

“He is a good match, [F/n], he really is.”

“I haven’t even met the man.”

“If you marry him, he’ll take you away, and I don’t like that, but well…”

Her faint smile turned knowing. “Nikolai would like that.”

“Well, because you are too quick on your feet to keep around. He likes his pretty props, but somehow this one has a mouth.”

Caught off-guard to hear her timid uncle say something witty, she nodded slowly, then touched his arm. “Go to Nikolai.”

After she watched Konstantin make his way through the crowd, she stopped a passing servant and took a glass from his tray. Her uncle had cast a spell on her; all of a sudden she did feel nervous. She was prepared to meet someone, but the thought only now crossed her mind with stark clarity: what if she was going to marry this man?

She wanted to reach around, rip apart the fabric and pull on the laces of her corset to loosen it, but instead closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. She needed distraction until the count would arrive, so where in the world…

There he stood. She found Childe where he usually wasn’t, on the sidelines by himself, drinking from his glass while glaring at the people as if he was plotting their downfall.

[F/n] looked around once more, but the court official by the door was silent, General Diluc was occupied, and she did not feel like trotting over to Nikolai like a child reporting to the adults. After a large sip from her glass, she walked towards Childe.

“You look like you were served vinegar instead of wine,” she said to him and watched him startle. For once, he was the one who got surprised.

He looked at her with a pitiful expression, like a boy who just learned the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, before he faced down to assess if he could really be drinking vinegar.

“Big night for you,” he eventually replied.

“What happened? Another falling out with General Diluc?” She looked around to find Kaeya on the other side of the room, emptying a glass. “Or… your best friend?”

“Nothing of the sort, Princess. I—”

He was cut off by the court official’s loud voice. “Allow me to present,” he shouted from the door, making the room fall silent, “Count Dmitry Shemetev, distinguished nobleman of great merit, hailing from Moscow.”

“Excuse me,” she muttered without granting Childe another look, left her glass on the first tray she came across, then walked through the hall towards its entrance.

To her pleasant surprise, he was as handsome as they said. Count Shemetev had a refined look to him, his jawline distinct, the bridge of his nose straight, his eyes clear. He wore a white jacket whose golden buttons mirrored the color of the curls on his head, which lay unruly despite being combed back, giving his sharp features a rough charm.

Once his eyes locked onto her, a relieved smile emerged on his face. He greeted  acquaintances left and right while walking towards her, and as she watched closely, she found only benevolent glances directed at him.

His bow was deep. When she decided to offer him her hand, he took it gently and brought his lips close, each movement slow and intentional.

“Count Shemetev,” she said. “Welcome to the Winter Palace.”

“Your Highness, it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance,” he replied after he straightened up. His smile had something sheepish, but his eyes looked experienced, making her wonder what his life in the countryside of Moscow was like.

“Thank you for making the way up.”

“Not at all. I am here to see the new Tsar crowned, but I would also like to express my condolences. Your father was a great ruler.”

“Thank you.” She breathed out, let the customary moment of silence pass, then smiled. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“Though winter travel is never without its perils,” he said while his polite expression threatened to turn into a slight smirk, “for the honor of this evening, I would endure much worse.”

“You are too kind, Count Shemetev.”

“No, I mean it. I have been told about your grace, but now I see the rumors were far too modest.” He was about to continue when his gaze went past her. She watched his eyes flick away, his attention desperate to cling to her, but drawn somewhere else repeatedly, before a hesitant chuckle escaped him. “Does your captain always hover so?”

“My…” Once she turned around, she saw him. Childe loomed at a small distance, fixated on them like a ghost casting curses with his eyes. “I…” She turned back to the count. “No, my apologies, he is…”

“Are you well acquainted with the officers?” he tried with a confused smile.

“I wouldn’t say well acquainted …”

“Good evening, Count,” Childe said, suddenly right next to her. [F/n] froze. “One question, if you don’t mind.”

“I…” He forced out a laugh. “A question, yes?”

“Are there no princesses in Moscow?”

“Please don’t mind him,” [F/n] quickly interjected and took a step closer to the count, away from Childe. “Shall we make our way to the table?”

***

Nikolai greeted him with a little too much enthusiasm. To have the richest boyars on his side was a priority, but just as [F/n] wondered what caused her uncle to be so overbearing, it dawned on her that he wasn’t clever enough to recognize none of the Count Shemetevs of the realm cared about his legitimacy.

If Konstantin had publicly spoken about lower land transfer fees or exemptions from the military service tax for those who failed to provide sons for the Tsar’s troops, then the elite would care. But Konstantin never made any promises and never uttered his opinions. Princes and counts had no reason to oppose Nikolai’s rule.

She was seated next to Count Shemetev, right by Nikolai’s side, who occupied the end of the table. As they were arranged by importance, Childe found his place next to Diluc and Kaeya, far away from the members of the Romanov family and their guest.

While they drank and feasted, she shot strict looks at Childe whenever she found him staring in shameless indignation. What had she done to him since their talk in the garden? She should be the one clinging to offense, having had to listen to his ramblings about wanting to be with a commoner, comparing her to some baker’s daughter, all just to mock her. Why did he glower so? What was the matter with him?

“Your Highness,” Count Shemetev drew her attention to him. “Some more wine?”

“Ah, yes please.”

He lightly lifted his hand to command one of the servants with carafes to come over and pour more into her cup. When she thanked the man, the count watched her with interest. “Your Highness, I have heard much about your benevolence.”

“Have you?” she asked with genuine surprise.

“It is said you have never once directed a harsh word at those below you.”

“Oh,” it escaped her while she tried to think back. “That might be true, I am not sure.”

“I do not believe in harshness, but I do believe in firmness. The two are quite distinct.”

“Yes, I see,” she replied and took her glass to drink.

“You have to understand, the Moscow country is vast. An estate the size of what I own needs an army of hands to keep it running.”

“As does our palace.”

“The scale of my land doesn’t compare to anything you know from your Petersburg socialites.” When she only hummed, he went on. “You see, the land, it doesn’t work itself. I am the first to admit that without my serfs, the place would wilt away. They are its backbone, no doubt. Their lives are simpler than ours, but there is dignity in their work. And my people are content. I am firm with them, but I am never harsh.”

She cleared her throat, glanced to the other side of the table and found the officers listening, then forced a smile for the count. “To be harsh against one’s serfs would be a sin, I believe.”

“Yes, yes, well, I would never be harsh. I only provide guidance and see that they are taken care of.”

“Count Shemetev,” she heard Childe’s voice. He had to speak up to be audible from all the way down the table. “I’m curious, how do you tell your serfs are content?”

There it was again, the tightness in her chest. While it wasn’t tied to be suffocating, she found herself imagining her corset to tear open and allow her lungs to unfold.

The count still watched her while he listened to Childe’s question, then made a show of having to turn all the way to his other side, look down the row of chairs on the opposite end, and address him. “Captain, my people have food, shelter, and work. I know that here, in the north, ideas are frequently brewing about new ways, but those fantasies are built on misunderstandings.”

“What kind of misunderstandings, Count?” Childe asked. Diluc, seated next to him, had stopped eating.

“The idea that a peasant dreams of freedom, let’s say. That is a misunderstanding, an invention by those who do not know them.”

“Those creatures called serfs, they’re different from normal humans?” Childe put on a concerned look. Diluc slowly turned to him, the general’s gaze unknown to [F/n] as it was shielded from her view by his red hair.

“Captain, please don’t waste your breath. They are humans. But over generations, by arrangements as old as time, they have lived different lives from us. If left to their own devices, they would struggle, they would be lost. Under the rule of a master, they can prosper. And,” he laughed and reached for his glass, “since you are such a curious fellow, I will tell you something you’ll find most interesting.”

“What would that be, Count Shemetev?”

“I am not opposed to progress, if that’s what you want to call it. I have decided that my serfs may purchase their freedom, should that be what they wish to do.”

Childe laughed, making [F/n] shudder. “Freedom — it must come at a cost, yes?”

“Lest it be squandered, Captain.”

“What a generous man you are,” he said, and when his eyes flicked to [F/n] for a mere second, she shook her head, but froze with a smile when the count looked over his shoulder. “Not many landowners allow such an opportunity. Tell me, how many of your serfs have succeeded this far?”

“This far,” the count replied, lifted his finger to tell him to wait, then emptied his glass and waved to have it refilled. “Well, this far, none. Though I believe that merely speaks to how content they are on my land.”

“Yes, I’m sure they are,” [F/n] said, trying to draw the count’s attention back to her, but Childe spoke once more.

“I am morbidly curious by nature, Count Shemetev, and my family owns nowhere near as much land as you do.”

“I doubt anyone does,” he chuckled.

“So please, enlighten us. What sum must a man pay to free himself, his wife, and his children?”

“Well, it depends. For a child, around five-hundred rubles, for a grown man working the fields, closer to a thousand.”

“And you allow them to work for wages, yes?”

“Some of them,” the count said with hesitation. “The best of them, yes.”

“They make, what? Five to ten rubles a year?” Childe posed. Now Diluc whispered something to him, but he kept his eyes focused on the count.

“I apologize,” [F/n] tried, “but you are hard to hear from all the way over there, Captain. Perhaps we should—”

“I can speak up,” Childe assured her and, to her devastation, actually raised his voice. “So your most diligent serf, Count Shemetev, working tirelessly without spending a single kopek in his life, he might achieve freedom for his family in… how many years?” He leaned back, crossed his arms and looked up, pretending to do arithmetics in his head. “Well, at least two centuries, more like three.” When he looked at the count again, his smile had faded. “Hundreds of years of labor. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Captain, you have to understand—”

“You must sleep so soundly at night,” Childe said, his voice darker when he leaned on the table, “knowing your serfs can be free as long as they stop eating, stop breathing, maybe sell a child or two — and become immortal.”

A loud gasp escaped her when Childe’s face hit his half-finished plate. Diluc’s hand still hung in the air after it slapped the back of his head, and while the room was caught in suffocating silence, the general stood up, turned in the direction of the count, and bowed deeply.

“Please forgive the captain,” Diluc said, his back inclined, his eyes on the ground. “I apologize for his undignified behavior, he is inexperienced and ill-mannered, and he will be corrected.”

The air was so still, even her own shallow breaths sounded thunderous in her head. Her eyes went from Diluc to the count, then to her uncle, and finally to Childe.

He slowly lifted his head, his face smeared with sauce, his hair sticky with pieces of potato. He reached for the napkin next to his plate and wiped off the food, each movement agonizingly measured, drawn-out and controlled. Childe’s eyes wandered to Diluc, who still stood in deep deference. Disbelief turned into seething, murderous intent.

“You will do well to listen to your betters,” the count said to Childe, breaking the silence. “I am not a harsh man,” he insisted when he addressed Diluc, who finally straightened his back. “So I tend to forgive foolishness and inexperience. But the ill manners, General, you will have to fix, or he will not be a good soldier for the Tsar.”

“We thank you, the captain and I both,” he replied, gave another deep, but quick bow, then sat back down.

Childe’s gaze was still glued to Diluc, wide in equal shock and disdain. It was when his look moved to [F/n]’s face for a mere second that he got up, threw his napkin on the plate, and stormed out of the hall.

“Ah, the music!” Nikolai called out. “Continue the music!”

“Please think nothing of it,” she whispered to the count when the string quartet continued their light song. “And trust that he will receive enough punishment from his superiors.”

“I will not demand to have him punished further,” he told her, making her breathe out in relief. “I forgave him just now, didn’t I? When his general asked for forgiveness, I gave it. I am not a man to hold grudges, and the things he said, well, they clearly came from a deep insecurity in his own character.”

“Yes, naturally,” she agreed, though all she could think of was that Childe would not be shot against a wall tonight.

“You know, perhaps I should lower the cost of freedom.”

“Perhaps,” she said and put on a smile. “Something to ponder.”

While chatter and the clinking of cutlery presumed, she looked at Diluc, whose face was neutral as he ate and drank at an adequate pace. It was when she let her eyes wander down the row that they met a lilac stare. Kaeya was watching her with quiet hostility, as if she had been the one who slapped his friend’s head into his dinner.

***

An hour later, she found a moment to herself while the guests danced and the count was in animated conversation with Nikolai. The two men sat at the table while the rest had deserted it to twirl to the melodies of the quartet.

As she stood alone and watched the scene, she thought of speaking to Diluc, but couldn’t spot him anywhere. Kaeya, she quickly realized, was gone too. Just as she made her way to one of the servants with a tray to let a drink entertain her instead, she halted halfway.

Childe was back. He had washed his hair and his face, appearing deceitfully like nothing had happened at all, if it wasn’t for his fast stride into the hall. He looked around rather frantically, his eyes only lighting up once he found her all by herself.

“What are you doing!” she hissed when he stopped right before her, almost having run into one of the servants on his way. “Just stay away for tonight!”

“Why, to make him feel like he won?”

“No one is winning! Diluc probably saved your life, do you realize that?”

“I’ll have him dead, I swear it,” he forced out and looked around the room.

“Who, Diluc or the count?”

“I meant Diluc, but… both.”

“He humiliated you so you could avoid much, much worse. Diluc has done you a kindness.”

“And I’ll repay him, he can be sure of that.”

“You are an idiot, you’re lucky if you get to keep your post.”

“What I said was true.”

“You are not freeing his serfs by insulting the man at a royal banquet!” she hissed. “You are doing them no favor!”

“Where is he?”

“My uncle is talking to him.”

“Sucking up to rich Shemetev, huh?”

“For God’s sake, yes! You seem to have no sense for politics, yet you want to meddle in them so badly!”

“[F/n],” he said, his voice low as he came closer. “Don’t marry this man. He’ll take you to dreary, ancient Moscow where you can watch his slaves for him until you’re dreary and ancient yourself.”

“What do you care?!”

“If you marry, marry foreign. Some crown prince from western Europe.”

“Why?”

“So he can take you to a place where you get to be someone. Don’t forget, here I’ll make sure your name means nothing anymore.”

“Be quiet!” she said through gritted teeth and rammed her elbow into his ribs, before looking around to make sure no one saw.

“Or what?” he coughed while holding his side. “You’ll have my head?”

“Stop it with the heads already! You’ll be hanged, stupid!”

“I’ll go talk to him.”

“What, why?!”

“What’s his name again? Dmitry?”

“What is it with you and calling people by their first names!” When he actually tried to walk to the table, she grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Childe, you’ll get into trouble! Please don’t!”

“Let me get into trouble then!”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight!”

“Do you like this man?!”

“Are you set on destroying any chances I have? Is that it, just to torture me?”

She realized she was still holding on to his arm when the count appeared in the periphery of her vision. Quickly letting go and straightening up, she smiled and watched him eye Childe warily, before he opted to ignore him.

“I asked the quartet to play my favorite next. A Viennese waltz. Would you do me the honor of this dance, Your Highness?”

“It would be my pleasure,” she replied, before Childe kicked the heel of her left shoe, the deed hidden by the volume of her dress. The count looked surprised when her knee buckled, but she caught herself before it was too late. “Excuse me, I…” she stuttered. “I hurt my ankle at… the last ball. Please, will you be so kind and tell them to wait with the waltz? After one more song, I will be there.”

“Yes, of course. Please don’t force yourself, Your Highness.”

“Not at all, I would very much like to dance with you,” she emphasized while she tried to step on Childe’s foot in return, but missed. With a confused smile, the count gave her a quick bow, then made his way to the quartet on the other side of the hall. “Why?!” she demanded to know after she turned to Childe. “What if I had actually hurt my ankle?!”

“You won’t hurt your ankle, Princess, you’re not a newborn doe,” he scoffed.

“Why did you do that? You’re behaving like a lunatic!” She touched her forehead and took a deep breath, slowly feeling like she was going insane.

“To him you say yes!”

“I cannot say no!”

“It’s the waltz you hate so much!”

“I don’t hate it, I never said I hate it!”

“It’s too intimate, too close, that’s what you said to me! But with him it’s fine?!”

“Use your head, you fool! I cannot say no to Count Shemetev!”

“But to me you can say no?!”

“Yes, to you I can say no! Do you forget who you are?!”

Evidently, Childe had forgotten who he was. She looked over to see the count standing near the quartet, patiently watching from a safe distance.

Even all the way from the other side, she could see it in his look: it was over. She was bickering with the man who had insulted the count in an endless back and forth, putting even scenes from terminal marriages to shame.

Childe did it, she thought, suddenly filled with profound unhappiness. Whether it was his goal or not, he succeeded in eliminating her chances with the count. Childe had made him uncomfortable at the banquet, and [F/n] was much too involved with him. In Childe’s blue eyes, something was brewing just beneath the surface, and she suffered for it.

***

The count danced with her, but no matter how she smiled at him, he was dispassionate and excused himself after, letting her know they would meet again at her uncle’s coronation. A rather direct way of saying he had no intention of spending time with her, she found.

For the first time in her life, [F/n] felt like drowning her sorrows in drink, and Count Shemetev turned out to be the least of those sorrows. After he had left the event, the crowd began to thin bit by bit, until she sat at the long, empty table and took sip after sip of wine.

Nikolai seemed aware that Childe had embarrassed them, but he wasn’t attentive enough to grasp that [F/n] had failed in securing the count’s interest in her. He said goodnight without further comment about the matter, only making sure to remind her that he expected her to plan the details of his ascension with the respective employees, masters of ceremonies, and General Diluc in a few days.

When only a handful of people were left in the hall, she watched Childe steal a whole bottle of white from a servant who had just opened it to refill the last few glasses. He came to her and put it on the table like a peace offering, then dropped onto a chair and rested his head on the surface.

“All your fault,” she mumbled, but sat up to take the bottle and fill her glass.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry, really?”

“Did you even like this guy?”

“He was handsome.”

“Right.”

“But that’s it.”

A calm smile formed on his face. “Right.”

“You really think I would like this man? Pompous, self-righteous…”

“And stupid. Can’t do math.”

“I believe he can do math.”

“Well, that makes it much worse,” he said with a crooked grin.

“What you don’t understand is… It’s not at all about whether I like him or not. I have to think of the realm, my future…” Closing her eyes, she tried to formulate a coherent thought. “It would have been nice to have the option. Alright?”

“Alright,” he said softly and watched her drink. “Just so you know, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Oh, really?” she said with sarcasm.

“Really. I… I can’t control myself sometimes. I’ve always been like that. I get ahead of myself and don’t think it through.”

“And you want to lead a revolution.”

Childe took a look around, but she knew no one could hear them. “Just because I was impulsive tonight doesn’t mean I’m wrong about anything.”

“You said you don’t think things through.”

“That was tonight. I don’t mean—”

“You didn’t think it through. You didn’t mean for this to happen. None of those excuses will matter when you try to end the monarchy.”

“That day, there will be nothing to excuse, [F/n].”

“Just get out of my sight,” she whispered and let her head hang when she suddenly felt like crying. It was too much.

Knowing of those traitors, yet keeping their secret for reasons unclear even to herself, having no father, having no future, being insulted and threatened, then made to look ridiculous in front of half the court… And somehow…

She looked aside to find Childe’s head on the table, trying to catch a glimpse of her with his deep, curious eyes. Somehow the only thing that gave her solace was seeing his stupid face.

“I’ll leave,” he whispered when he saw the tears that threatened to drop from her lashes. “Just one thing… Have you seen Kaeya?”

***

Childe was worried. She got the feeling it wasn’t the first time he lost Kaeya when some epiphany caused him to jump up and head out, only muttering: the garden.

[F/n] had a servant hurry for coats, and once they were brought, she took them into her arms and ran after Childe, who had made his way outside without protection against the cold. He already yelled Kaeya’s name as he walked towards the well-kept patches of evergreen bushes and trees. It was a labyrinth away from the palace’s light, illuminated only by the pale moon.

She was shivering when she finally caught up to him. He seemed woken from his trance of shouting and advancing only once she stood on her tiptoes to wrap the coat over his shoulders, making him stop to take the other one out of her arms and cover her with it. Childe rubbed her arms when he saw her lips tremble from the cold.

“He’s stupid, goes out by himself while drunk, might freeze to death and not even notice it.”

“Why would he…”

“Come, let’s not get lost,” he said and took her icy fingers into his hand, then pulled her with him.

Once she realized the gravity of what Childe told her, she overcame her inhibitions and joined in yelling Kaeya’s name. Hand in hand, they went through the dark maze that was the Winter Palace’s nightly garden, squeezing each other’s palms to stay connected.

When she became afraid they might truly lose orientation, he suddenly halted. “Did you hear that?” he asked, but [F/n] could only stay quiet and listen.

“…always you,” it reached her ears faintly, and Childe pulled her with him until the conversation became louder.

“You were always the one with better morals, better everything…” It was Kaeya’s voice, each word slurred.

She thought he must be talking to himself, until a reply came with delay. “And you’re too far gone,” Diluc said.

They cut around a corner and found them. Kaeya was on his knees, one hand stuck inside a hedge, looking for support. Diluc stood before him, keeping a small distance, his expression blank when he looked up and saw them.

“Either way,” Kaeya muttered, “it’ll be over soon.”

“Kaeya,” Diluc said in a firm tone. “Get up and come inside.”

“I’ll die, I know it,” it left Kaeya’s lips, his voice hoarse and shaky. When he regained balance, he pulled his hand out of the thicket and found it bloody, either from thorns or from having fallen. “But I… I want it to matter,” he whined and covered his face. “At least a little, I want it to matter…”

[F/n] felt like she wasn’t supposed to see this. She took a step back to remain half-hidden behind Childe.

“Get it together,” Diluc urged him, his facade still unbroken. “What is it with you… Why…” He shook his head, closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

“You’re so cold,” Childe finally said and walked towards them.

“Yes, he—”

“No, you,” Childe accused Diluc. “That’s what it is with him, it’s you.” He sank to his knees, took off his coat to put it around Kaeya, then grabbed his arm and pulled it over his shoulder. “You don’t even bother to help him up.”

“No, I was…” Diluc sighed in exasperation. “You don’t understand,” he said to him while his hand gestured towards [F/n]. “You don’t even know how to behave at a royal banquet, Childe.”

“Don’t deflect, General, ” he gave back, then mumbled to Kaeya. “Help a little, God damn…”

“Just leave me,” Kaeya moaned, and it made [F/n] stiffen up. 

She had heard the sentence before, usually as a concealed call for help. Just then, at the empty table, she herself had uttered a version of it. But Kaeya meant it. She could hear in his voice that in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to be left to his delirium in the garden of the Winter Palace.

“Idiot,” Childe said to him with some affection. “And you’ll die soon enough, old age comes faster than you think.”

“No, it’s near, I…” Though he had walked a few steps with Childe’s help, he suddenly stopped. “I have to throw up.”

Diluc rushed over to [F/n] and laid his hand on the small of her back to usher her away. “Enough, you shouldn’t see this, Princess.”

“Wait,” she said and quickly came to Childe, who struggled to keep Kaeya upright. She took off her coat and attempted to drape it over his shoulders. 

“No, keep it,” he said while Kaeya fought his embrace.

“You’ll be out here for longer, I’ll go back inside.”

“It’s fine—”

“Take it,” she insisted and finally got it to sit on his shoulders. Though the cold quickly began eating through her dress, she felt warm when Childe gave her a lopsided smile, before his face dropped the moment Kaeya emptied his stomach right by his shoes.

Diluc pulled her with him, away from the scene, across the garden and towards the palace, while his hands stayed on her arms to provide a little warmth. “Hurry, so you won’t catch a cold,” he said while leading her through the maze.

“I hope Kaeya will be fine,” she only replied and looked over her shoulder.

“Oh, he’s quite practiced,” Diluc told her in a dark tone, his brows suddenly furrowed in what struck her not as anger or worry, but stern judgment.

“I saw him scowl at me earlier, I didn’t know why. He must have a lot on his mind.”

“Spare him no thought, Your Highness. Please, your evening has already been ruined.” He brought her inside. The structure’s heat enveloped them at once,  and in the dimly lit hallway, Diluc let go of her. “I apologize for the captain’s behavior. To say he was out of line is an understatement, and then I made such a show of disciplining him…” He looked pained when he closed his eyes, laid his fingers on his forehead and faced down.

“You might have saved his life doing that, General.” He looked up to meet her gaze. “And yes, the night was a disaster, through and through.” A playful smirk took hold of her features. “But I would be lying to say that seeing his face smeared with sauce and vegetables wasn’t utterly delightful after being tormented by his loud mouth to no end.”

“Princess…” His look was concerned, not amused, so she waved it off.

“Forget what I said.” Her smile turned more intentional. “General, I am sure you agreed with the provocations Childe hurled at the count.”

“It was not the time and place.”

“Of course not. That is what made it so agonizing.”

“Not just that.” Diluc let out a deep breath. “He was risking everything, our vision, the realm’s future, and for what? To embarrass a count from Moscow. Sometimes I wonder if they are children, unable to control their emotions, both of them in their own way.”

“General,” she said, feeling much calmer. “I am glad we get to speak after all.”

His expression changed. For a mere moment, he was caught off-guard, and he bowed as if to hide his face. “Your Highness.”

“Please, stand at ease.” She watched him straighten his back. “I believe I have an ally in you, General.”

He looked speechless, turned to stone for a moment, then quickly breathed in. “And may I dare to believe the same?”

“You may,” she replied and smiled when he did. “You asked me to think deeply about what it is you want for the realm. You see, I am conflicted.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“But your vision of free peasants and a proper constitution… I share it. I understand it.” His eyes practically glowed. In contrast to how iron his expression had been outside, he now looked moved, as if he was fighting an urge to show emotion. “But I worry about the other faction.”

“Yes, they want to do away with your family’s institution altogether, but I will not let that happen.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t worry that they might succeed, to be honest. I worry for them. For their lives.”

“Your kindness knows no bounds…”

She had to smirk a little at his pathos, but tried to suppress it. She didn’t want him to think she was mocking him. “I will ponder what to do.”

“So will I, Your Highness. Please, leave it to me.”

She gave him a nod and another tender smile, then took a step away. “Good night, General.”

He bowed once more, deeply and in earnest, wished her a good night, then watched her walk up the stairs. [F/n] took a deep breath. It felt like a whole week’s events had been packed into a single night, and a well-deserved wave of tiredness finally hit her.

Though she had not planned on it, she told Diluc that she was his ally. She knew she was conspiring against the order of things, but it felt good, and it brought some tranquility into the turmoil of her mind. This was only the beginning, but she made a step in one direction.

Besides, she meant what she said; she shared the general’s vision. Naturally, it was a comfortable one. Diluc’s ideas didn’t challenge her, they affirmed her position, and then called for change in areas that, in the end, would not affect her life much. Doing the right thing was easy when none of her privileges were called into question.

So it returned, the emptiness inside her chest. [F/n] didn’t know what it needed.

Chapter Text

It was a boring meeting. Nikolai was fussing and his sycophants were agreeing, making it all the more tedious to be the only one to give the Tsar-to-be any meaningful input.

If it wasn’t for Diluc, she might have given up speaking her mind, but the general knew just how to reinforce her claims without being patronizing. While it was frustrating that it took his support to communicate the pragmatism of her ideas to the men around them, she was glad for his presence. Having him around was comfortable.

The private council chamber Nikolai had chosen to assemble his advisors, event planners, various court officials, as well as the princess and General Diluc, felt stuffed to the brim with useless people. If it was up to her, she would have cut the attendees by half to ensure effectiveness, but Nikolai liked to surround himself with important-looking faces.

“December 14th it is. Should the regiments I speak to be a select few, or…” While all of them were seated at a round table, Nikolai was standing, pacing up and down the small room.

“ All of them serve you, not just a select few,” [F/n] said, having to turn her head when he walked behind her. “And to gather thousands will make an impression. Think of the paintings that will be commissioned. Think of the parades of Pyotr the First, he is still remembered for them to this day.”

“Yes, yes,” Nikolai muttered. “Or Grandmother Ekaterina, she always said a public display of power only does us good.” He halted and looked at [F/n]. “A pity you never met her…”

“Though we have to remember, the display of power must not come across as threatening,” she noted.

“Well… Would it hurt?”

“It has to solidify our dynasty’s image, not make us seem hostile to our allies. You have invited many foreign diplomats.”

“I want to show authority. Any Tsar should show authority.”

“Uncle, we should show unity and stability. Those are the values that have been called into question by the crisis around Uncle Konstantin.”

“There was no crisis,” he bit back, his eyes frantically moving across the faces of the men who looked down.

“Your Imperial Grace, if I may,” Diluc joined in. “There was… confusion among some troops. Konstantin Pavlovich was expected to ascend.”

“Are you saying the succession was handled poorly, General?” Nikolai crossed his arms.

“Not at all. I am merely speaking to the fact that the court’s internal developments were hard to grasp for some soldiers.”

“Well,” Nikolai scoffed. “That sounds like a problem on their side, a problem of… intelligence.”

[F/n] clicked her tongue. “Uncle, don’t insult others, it makes you seem weak.”

“Watch yourself—” he hissed at her, but was interrupted by Diluc.

“All I mean to say, Your Imperial Grace, is that I find myself in agreement with the princess. To show stability is a priority.”

“Still, the troops… Assembling them in their full numbers remains a show of strength. It is not without risk,” one of the advisors noted, an old man who [F/n] had seen around the palace for as long as she could remember.

“Yes,” she conceded. “And such a show of strength is only viable if controlled. I believe General Diluc is the best choice to ensure that. He must be with his men on the ground.”

“Not with me?” Nikolai asked. “For… personal protection.”

“You will be guarded at all times, Uncle.”

“ We, [F/n].”

She paused. “You want me with you?”

“The family has to be there, naturally.”

“Yes, but where?” she posed. “By your side? In the public eye?”

“What good would you do outside the public eye?”

She took a deep breath. “Why, Uncle? I am not your wife. And Uncle Konstantin… Should he really be seen?”

“It is sensible,” another advisor told her. “You will embody your father’s approval. And Konstantin Pavlovich’s presence will emphasize that he left the throne to his brother willingly, not through coercion.”

She listened to the man, then faced Nikolai once more. “So you want me next to you.”

“When I address the troops, yes.”

“I suggest we gather them in Palace Square,” Diluc said. “Though given their numbers, the assembly will reach Peter’s Square.”

“Especially if formation is to be maintained, I suppose,” [F/n] added.

“Yes, definitely.”

“Then I address them from one of the balconies,” Nikolai concluded.

“The main balcony,” the old advisor said. “Above the Jordan Staircase entrance. It will fit the family and the guards and it overlooks the square.”

“And I make them swear allegiance right then and there, yes?”

“The entirety of the military will take the oath to serve you, Your Imperial Grace,” Diluc told him.

“I was young, I hardly remember Alexander’s ascension, and it was on the very day of our father’s death, there was no time to plan grand assemblies. How exactly…”

“All regiments will be lined up in full uniform, banners raised,” Diluc explained.

“You step onto the balcony in imperial regalia, I will be there, Uncle Konstantin will be there, our guards, and I suppose we will have a herald that calls out to the troops. Some high-ranking officials should be right behind us, inside the palace,” [F/n] said.

“Your Imperial Grace will declare that all subjects are to swear fealty, and the soldiers will raise their hands,” a younger advisor said.

“Soldiers will raise their hands, officers will want to raise their sabers,” Diluc corrected.

“We need drums!” Nikolai exclaimed.

“And perhaps we should have a priest present,” the old man suggested. “To bless the troops with holy water.”

[F/n] waved it off and earned a disgruntled look from aged, hooded eyes. “I was thinking of something else. Why don’t we distribute commemorative coins? Not just to the troops, but to the population. Something that promises prosperity.” 

“It would also emphasize my divine right to the throne,” Nikolai mumbled while he rubbed his chin.

She exchanged a fleeting look with Diluc, then faced her uncle again. “It would, yes.”

“I like that, coins it is. Do we have enough time to make them?”

“Yes,” the high court steward replied tentatively. His responsibility was to manage imperial household affairs. “Until December 14th… If we start production soon, it should be possible. I will get it underway.”

When they were dismissed, Nikolai hurried to the trial fitting of his coronation attire. [F/n] stood up to leave the advisors to themselves, gave an excuse and headed out. She made it through the palace, up the stairs and to her private quarters, walked down the hallway, but stopped when she heard steps behind her.

Diluc had followed her. He halted as soon as she saw him and lowered his head. 

“General?”

“May I have a word?”

“Of course,” she said and turned to him fully, let him approach, and smiled once their eyes met.

“I would like to lay out my intentions.”

“Regarding…”

“Regarding December 14th.”

She looked over her shoulder. The hallway was quiet, but as they had already made it to her quarters, she opted to walk a few steps and opened the door of one of her many unused rooms. Diluc followed her with some hesitation, but once he looked around and realized that she had not led him to her personal sleeping chamber, but to a nearly empty space, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Better to speak in private.”

“Yes,” he agreed and breathed in. “If I may…”

“Please.”

Diluc cleared his throat and faced her. “On December 14th, I intend to withhold my oath of fealty. I will instruct my men to do the same.” 

[F/n] slowly nodded. She had expected as much. “In the catacombs, I heard you call my uncle a usurper to your followers. You know that despite his faults, this accusation is untrue, don’t you?”

“I do… now.”

“There was mutual consent on all sides.”

“I will not claim him a usurper if he has your support, Your Highness.”

She furrowed her brows. “ My support?”

“I am here to swear myself to you. In secret, but in earnest.”

“To me? ”

His gaze was intense as he dropped to kneel before her. “When you told me you share my vision, when you told me you see me as your ally, I knew it then.”

“You knew… what?”

His eyes gleamed as if he saw a Goddess before him, descended upon the realm to guide his sword, and he lowered his head while he reached for her hand. “Your Highness, I have waited for someone like you. Your heart is forthright and your sight unclouded. You too want a constitution, and you too want to free the peasants.”

“I do, but…”

“To find my royal ally in Tsar Alexander’s daughter… I admit, all this time I was waiting for a male heir to dedicate myself to, but it is you, without doubt.”

“Diluc, Nikolai will be Tsar,” she urged him.

“And if you acknowledge him, so will I. If you go against him, so will I. Whoever you choose, I will follow. Such is my oath of allegiance. I am dedicated to you and only you.” He pulled her hand in, closed his eyes and pressed his lips on its back.

Before she could decide whether to accept or decline, unsure whether his words were something to accept or decline to begin with, the moment passed and Diluc stood up. He seemed a little flustered when he let go of her hand, but locked eyes with her once more.

“Your Highness,” he continued, “on the day of your uncle’s ascension to the throne, when the military is gathered at Palace Square all the way to Peter’s Square, I intend to make our demands known. It is my understanding that Nikolai Pavlovich will send emissaries to offer counters.”

“Most likely,” she mumbled.

“When that moment comes, I humbly ask you to speak up and make it heard that you agree with, if nothing else, the abolishment of serfdom and the establishing of a binding constitution.”

“You want me to stand with you?”

“I understand if you reject my request. I will not pretend that to ally yourself with our cause is without danger. Depending on the Tsar’s temper…” He shook his head. “But you already wield influence over him. Your word might sway him, and if it doesn’t, your assessment that he wouldn’t stand a chance against our troops might sway him.”

She thought for a moment. “I could… paint him a picture of being seen as the Tsar who ushered in a new age. I could tell him there is glory in writing a constitution and setting the peasants free.”

“Yes!” His breath was shaky with excitement. “You are an ingenious strategist, Your Highness, you have always been sensible and intelligent and I have no doubt that your support of our demands will be invaluable.”

“I have to think about it, General.”

“Of course. As I said, I will understand if you cannot take the risk. It will not change my loyalty to you.”

“Listen, you…” She faced aside. “You don’t have to do this, swear yourself to me and my inclinations. I would rather you make your own decisions.”

“This is my decision, Your Highness. I meant what I said. I have spent my life waiting for a member of the royal family that sees the realm for what it is, and here you are.” A smile formed on his face when she looked back at him. “ You came to me, Your Highness. That day in the catacombs… It was divine intervention. To follow you is my destiny.”

“And now you hope that we can bring about change together,” she sighed.

“Side with us on December 14th. Once we have laid out our terms, advise Nikolai Pavlovich to accept them.” He looked so hopeful, [F/n] felt a tug inside her chest. “That is what I believe might decide the fate of the realm. But the choice remains yours, and I will not hold it against you should you deem it too dangerous.”

When she only gave him a nod, Diluc bowed, let a moment of solemn silence pass, then opened the door for her.

***

The rest of her day was filled with torturous pondering. Was she already in over her head? And was Diluc less reasonable than she had thought?

It wasn’t so much that he asked her to declare her support once the time would come. Without having formulated the thought clearly, she had been waiting for something like this since she spoke to him of their alignment.

But how he looked at her…

Until now, it had been a matter of giving their cause a chance by keeping quiet. That much, she was willing to do, and found herself doing since the day she followed the officers into the catacombs.

And yet… What if Diluc was right? What if it was her word that would decide the realm’s fate?

For the first time in her life, she had a real, tangible chance to do something for her subjects. For the first time, she could choose not to follow conventions, not uphold expectations to strengthen her station, but take a risk and do something for those whose lives were not like hers.

She could never convince Nikolai to step down. Childe and Kaeya’s vision was too far removed from reality. But to ask him to allow for change in his capacity as Tsar… If she could make him believe there was honor and prestige to be earned — and there was! —, then persuading him was not an impossibility.

Nikolai disliked disobedience, and he hated being ambushed with ideas, let alone demands. He would not take kindly to the officers’ terms, but if [F/n] could reframe the revolt as a golden opportunity…

The flame flickered on her nightstand. Its candle was almost burnt down, prompting her to sit up on her large bed, open the drawer and search for a replacement. Night had long fallen while she was staring at the canopy, weighing her options, conjuring up scenario after scenario.

She had to sleep. Maybe it was rest that could calm her racing mind. Maybe she would wake up with new resolve.

The candle in place, she pulled back the bedding to slip inside, when the faint sound of quick steps reached her ears. Her eyes shot to the door. Access to the corridor of her quarters was guarded at night.

She froze when there was a knock on her door. It sounded hesitant, before it was followed by a second, much stronger attempt.

Silence settled again. Only the candle fizzled and sputtered as it wavered. [F/n] held her breath, struggling to decide whether to answer or rush to the door and lock it. No one ever visited her in her bedroom; especially not at this hour.

When the door opened just enough for Childe to poke his head inside, she closed her eyes and sighed. One hand on her chest to calm her beating heart, she slowly breathed in, then glared at him and got up to walk to the door.

“What are you doing here?!” she hissed when he slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

“I have to talk to you.” 

She recognized the pants of his uniform, but unlike ever before, his upper body was only covered by a simple linen shirt. Suddenly aware that she was standing before him in nothing but her long, flowing nightdress, she laid her hands on her arms.

“How did you get here? What happened to the night guards?”

“Don’t worry about them.”

“What did you do?”

“They’re fine.” He leaned his back against the door and observed her features. In the candle’s dim light, his ginger curls looked dark, and when she watched closely, she found the somberness in his eyes had returned. “The date’s been decided, right? I spoke to Diluc only in passing, only briefly. He wasn’t at our meeting today.”

She gave a single nod. “December 14th,” she said.

“Was he with you?”

“Hm?” She straightened up a little. “Diluc was part of the planning committee.”

“No, after that. We know he’s on the committee, so we scheduled the get-together after, but he didn’t show up.”

“I see…” She hesitated, then faced him. “Yes, he sought me out.”

Childe sighed. “He’s been growing obsessed with the idea of you as the key figure to ushering in a new age.”

“Well, he…” She folded her hands. “He asked me to support him when the time comes.”

“What?”

“I’m considering it, I mean… If it is in my power, I want to move the realm towards equality.”

“No, don’t do that!”

“Huh?” She looked at him with skepticism. “You don’t want me to take a stance in support of your goals?”

“First of all, our goals aren’t the same.”

“You both want a constitution, you both want to get rid of serfdom, don’t focus on your differences.”

“He wants a constitutional monarchy. I want to do away with commoners and nobility, with having the people bow to arbitrary rulers. Kaeya and I, and many others, we want a republic.”

“Yes, yes…”

“[F/n], don’t voice your support on December 14th!”

“You’d rather I stand with your revolutionary ideals, hm?”

“No!” He shook his head vehemently, then sighed as worry shadowed his features. “I don’t want you to stand with either of us. When the day comes, I want you to keep your mouth shut and act all shocked about the revolt.”

“But…” She blinked slowly. “Why…”

“If things go south, if we don’t succeed, they’ll lump you in with us. Your uncle doesn’t have much love for you, does he? He tolerates you as long as the merit of your involvement outweighs its inconvenience, but… You have nothing to gain by standing with us on the day of, you only have everything to lose.”

“But Childe—”

“Your father is dead, and he was your only true ally in your family. Nikolai wants to be a dictator, and knowing you, you’re already talking back at him whenever he opens his stupid mouth. If it turns out you stand with the revolutionaries, it will not end pleasantly for you.”

She closed her eyes and breathed out, trying to put her thoughts into order. “And why do you care?”

“Why do I… What?”

“You say my uncle doesn’t have much love for me. Well, neither do you. Diluc says if I stand with you on the 14th, I might be able to bring about change. It’s a sweet thought to me, you know, to not just live and die as a useless, pampered girl with nothing to say. I am sympathetic to your cause, you know that much by now, and if I was Tsaritsa, I would change our country.” She felt anger well up. Her look turned grave, revealing a frustration that had grown for years upon years in which her competence never meant much in the face of rigid, patriarchal structures. “But Diluc is right to point out that there is an order to things. My father named his brother heir, and when he didn’t want the throne, it went to his other brother. I was never asked and never considered, such has been my fate.” She let out a shaky breath. “But now I stumbled upon you and your cell of revolutionaries, and I might just be able to use my influence for something good.”

“[F/n]…” There was pain in his eyes. He came closer and laid his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently while he faced down to lock his gaze with hers. Warmth pooled inside her as his touch felt strangely intimate, the grip of his hands strong, the fabric of her nightgown much thinner than the layers upon layers she wore in the day. “It’s just too dangerous. If we fail, you’ll have thrown your life away.”

“The same can be said for you.”

“I’ll gladly give my life for this,” he said with a calm smile. “That’s the decision I’ve made, but you… We’ve dragged you into this, I’ve made threats and now Diluc’s made promises, it’s not fair to you. And you’re the princess, [F/n].”

“I thought that’s just an empty word.”

“It is, except to the people who think it isn’t. If we fail, you are the only one who can be a good influence on your tyrant uncle.”

“Is that why you want me safe?”

Though his posture didn’t change, his eyes moved aside while his grip on her shoulders tightened. He looked beautifully troubled. His expression had an unrefined quality to it, like that of a boy who found himself fighting his true feelings.

“I…”

“Childe?”

“Hm?” His eyes shot back to hers.

“Do you really despise me?”

“When have I ever said I despise you?” he whispered and pulled her closer, threatening to make their bodies touch.

“Well, you said… You know…”

“I don’t despise you. All I have for you is affection, can’t you see that?”

“Really?” she whispered back, unable to take her eyes off his blue gaze.

“All I ever had for you was affection.” He took in her features as she peered up at him, then lifted one hand from her shoulder to push a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “I wish you were an entitled princess, concerned with nothing but your family’s power. It would make it much easier to rid myself of the effect you have on me, but here you are, willing to risk everything for a chance at bettering the lives of people you will never meet.”

“You said…”

“What?”

“They ended…”

“Hm?” She watched him dig through his memories, before his eyes widened. “My dreams of you?”

“Yes…”

“I…” When she saw his cheeks turn red, a wave of heat rose to her own face. “I could hardly just… confess, I mean…”

She gently pulled him down by his collar. Her eyes closed, she felt one arm wrap around her waist without delay, the other hand responding to her invitation by moving from her shoulder to her back. Once his warm breath caressed her lips, she held her own.

She was about to burst with butterflies. After he seized her lips first tentatively, then with more pressure, he pulled her in as soon as her hands found his back. Goosebumps rushed down her arms when he inhaled her scent, prompting her to part her lips.

Her heart was pounding inside her chest. She was lost, unsure what to do and how to kiss him, only melting away in his arms, her legs about to give in. Childe held her tight, pulling her flush against his body while she clumsily returned the slow movements of his lips.

She hadn’t so much as given a friendly embrace to anyone since her father left. Now that Childe kept her snug against him, his hands feeling the shape of her waist and his mouth tasting hers, she found herself overwhelmed with his warmth.

After what felt like an eternity and no time at all, he carefully let her restore her balance, helped her with both his hands on her hips, then smiled with a bright shimmer in his eyes. Before she could say a word, he turned around and locked the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked, firmly in place where he left her. He looked over his shoulder, a little lost, then unlocked the door once more. [F/n] breathed in and shook her head. “No… Lock it.”

With a grin, he turned the key. A moment later, his hands were right back on her waist, moving up and pulling her in while keeping his eyes on hers. “Will you let me stay?” he whispered to her. “Just for a while?”

As a new wave of embarrassment welled up, she only closed her eyes and nodded. She could feel the smile on his lips when he kissed her again, now a little more demanding, more eager, and before she knew it, she felt the pillows in her back.

Her mind was a mess. Her heart was racing, her fingers feeling the softness of his ginger roots, her tongue tasting his, and when he bit her lip and let his hands run over her clothed breasts, something inside her came undone. His legs were still hanging half off the mattress while he cowered over her, already panting, seemingly bothered by any and all distance between them.

“Let me…” Before he finished his sentence, he pulled her dress down her shoulders to expose her collarbones. After one look at her, he leaned down to kiss her skin, licked up her neck and smirked when she winced, then let his lips trail lower.

“Childe…” She closed her eyes, her fingers still dug into his strands.

“You’re so sweet, [F/n]. I dream of you always, of this side of you, like honeyed violets, like sugared wine, you ruin me…”

“Stop,” she could only whisper, struggling to keep the heat that pooled in her core at bay.

“It’s true, with each week I see you and each week I don’t, you ruin me more and I can’t take it, I have to have you…”

When she slipped her arms out of her dress so he could pull it lower, she heard him curse under his breath as soon as her breasts lay bare. Mumbling quiet obscenities, his left hand fondled one breast while his mouth latched on to the other, sucking and licking until she faced away in a mix of shame and pleasure. It was too much to see him there, his orange curls, his handsome face, caressing her skin to send jolts of arousal through her body.

Once he freed her of her dress, she undid the lacing of his linen shirt, pulled it over his head and prayed that he couldn’t tell just how nervous she was feeling. His chest was toned, his arms strong, and his crotch… The fabric of his pants seemed awfully tight over the bulge that had formed.

“I know… we can’t,” he said to her.

“Hm?”

“You have to save yourself for your husband.”

She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, then faced him. “The one who has to produce a legitimate heir is now my uncle. My children will never rule, and so I wonder how much it really matters.”

“Well, it’s…” He grinned. “Common decency.”

“Yes, your forte. Common decency.”

“[F/n], listen. If we succeed on December 14th and the monarchy ceases to exist… I want to take you as my wife.”

“I should let you destroy my station and then reward you for it?” she posed with a deadpan look.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he chuckled.

“And if you don’t succeed?”

“Well, then… I’ll hardly be in a position to marry anyone at all. My head—” She gave him a strict look. “I mean, I’ll be dangling off some post,” he said and received a nod. “And you’ll marry someone else, someone wealthy and important. But if you do cease to be the princess… Marry me .”

She was about to reply, when the memory of their conversation at the dinner party popped into her head. “Wait… You said I should marry foreign.”

“[F/n], I would’ve said anything to dissuade you from looking at that slimy count.”

“You are a petty, jealous creature,” she said with a teasing smile.

“I am,” he sighed. “Petty and jealous and terribly competitive. You make me a fool, and I can’t help it. You’re my undoing, [F/n].”

“So dramatic.”

“But I mean it,” he urged her, his eyes devastated when she looked at him. “Now let me just… feel you a little…”

She startled when his hand moved down the inside of her thigh and reached between her legs. He breathed in sharply when his fingers rubbed over the thin fabric of her underwear, feeling the heat, tracing up and down until her chest rose and sank with shallow breaths. Childe had lost control over his features as he only watched hers. His brows furrowed upwards, his lips parted, his eyes brimming with infatuation, he watched her cover her mouth to muffle a sigh.

His hand slipped inside the fabric to feel how wet she was, the sensation on his fingertips prompting him to sit up and pull it down. When he grabbed her thighs and pushed them apart to let his eyes feast on her naked body, part of her wanted to disappear with embarrassment, while another bathed in his hungry gaze.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said, suddenly unsure. “Maybe we shouldn’t…”

“I know, I know,” he whispered, smiling with nothing but affection. “Don’t worry.”

She could only watch him. Her heart was racing, her pupils dilated, the tingling sensation in her core begging for touch while she watched him open his pants and push his hand inside, before he shuffled back and leaned down.

Childe planted kisses on the inside of her thighs, his lips wandering down slowly, while she could see his hand move in his pants at the same pace. Her breath hitched when he reached between her legs, stopped to look up at her with a mischievous smirk, then dragged his tongue over her slick folds. She inched away at the intense sensation, but was forcefully reined back in by his free arm.

A high-pitched moan escaped her when he licked over her clit. She felt his warm breath on her as he let out a deep chuckle, then latched on and sucked on the bundle of nerves, but even though hot desire seeped from her core into the rest of her body, what made her feel lightheaded was the sight of him.

She pushed herself up and tousled his hair with her fingers, before holding on and pulling him flush against her. To have him between her legs, licking obediently, half-lidded blue eyes flicking up before closing again, shadowed by his same ginger strands, his hand moving slower and faster in his pants… [F/n] watched while his mouth sucked on her clit and his tongue lapped up her slick.

“Don’t… look at me like that…” he muttered.

“What?” she barely breathed.

“Can’t take it… Your pretty face, so in love,” he mumbled against her, half incoherent, but before she could pay it any more mind, he delved back in and pushed his tongue into her, penetrating carefully while softly sucking at the same time.

“I’m going to…” She sighed and dropped her head back into the pillows. Digging her fingers deeper into his hair, the sensation began to feel overwhelming, his licking and lapping melting into one wet mess between her legs. Bit by bit it loosened the coil inside her, until it came undone and made her moan in ecstasy.

Childe held her close while she came, eyes directed up to watch her wind in pleasure. He continued even when she turned her head away and let go of his hair, before he pushed himself up and came back to her. She could taste herself in his mouth, making new arousal well up when she clashed her tongue against his, shamelessly sharing the mixture of her slick and his saliva.

Despite feeling how he pushed down his pants, she didn’t stop kissing him. In his underwear, he positioned himself between her legs and rubbed himself against her, practicing lavish thrusts that quickly stained the fabric with her wet arousal.

Now she felt it: a need to have him inside her. The friction he created made her want to ask for more, to experience what it was like to abandon all caution and be taken by him.

“Come on, let me…” He panted against her skin while he continued to grind his crotch against her. “Shit… Just a little? Please? Please, [F/n]…”

“No, I… I don’t know.”

He let out an agonized groan, then let his head hang and buried his face by her neck. “Understood…” Childe sighed once more, before he pushed himself up to look at her. “Permission to think of you while I do it myself?”

“You…” He laughed when he saw her flustered look. “There’s no filter between your brain and your mouth, is there?”

“Come to think of it, I couldn’t help it anyways. Shit, I’ll imagine how I ravage you, how I take you hard until your legs quiver, how you clench around me, your body begging me to fill you up…”

“Stop it!”

“Does the thought make your head turn?” He smirked, took her face in both his hands and kissed her.

She closed her eyes. It did make her head turn. But she couldn’t do it; the future was too uncertain, there was too much at stake, too much risk, and her heart, how could her heart take it…

“[F/n],” Childe whispered, his lips still right by hers. “Don’t do it… Don’t stand with Diluc.”

She brought a bit more distance between them to look at him. “But…”

“I’ll be worried sick. I’ll hardly be able to hold my post when I see you speak to your uncle from afar, just… Just don’t do it. Leave the revolting to the revolutionaries.”

Gently, she pushed him off. Childe sank into the pillows next to her, his hands right back on her waist to pull her snug against him. She lifted the blanket up to her chest. “I told you… Maybe it’s a chance.”

“Don’t do it. You might think Kaeya and I are in over our heads with our radical beliefs, but Diluc…” He let out a scoff and shook his head. “Diluc is a fanatic in his own right.”

A calm smile formed on her face when she thought back to how he swore allegiance to her. “He did look at me as if I was a saint.”

“Did he kneel and kiss your hand?”

“How did you know?”

Childe closed his eyes and breathed out. “I want to punch the guy so badly.”

“Why?” she laughed.

“What does he call you?”

“Usually, Your Highness . It is the correct way to address me, you know.”

“But he keeps that up even when it’s just the two of you?”

“I mean… yes.”

“Your Highness,” Childe mocked, overly emphasizing each word, “our beacon of hope, sent from Heaven, your grace is endless, your royal tits so plump, your regal cunt delectable.” Her jaw dropped, before she flicked her finger against his forehead, hard enough to leave a red mark on his pale skin. As she gasped for air, he laughed out loud. “You know he wants to fuck you!”

“No, he doesn’t!”

“If you even hinted at being interested in him, he would crumble on the spot,” Childe said in a matter-of-fact tone while rubbing his forehead.

“Childe, listen to me,” she whispered and held his face with both her hands, lightly squishing his cheeks while he eyed her through attentive, blue orbs. “You will fail if you cannot stand behind a unified goal.”

“He’s a monarchist, and so are the troops he has on his side.”

“And that will be your undoing, can’t you see that?”

“Kaeya and I, and the men aligned with us, we cannot side with someone who advocates for inequality based on the antiquated concept of succession.”

“You already have. Maybe scholars in a hundred years will write about what made you different from him, but right now, as your lives are on the line, you will both stand on Palace Square as insurgents, demanding a constitution to be written.”

“What are you asking of me?”

“I’m asking you to be modest.”

“Modest?”

“Be humble. Ask for a little less, just for now. Ally with Diluc, let Nikolai have his crown and his throne, maybe then he won’t kill you. To write a constitution, one that outlaws serfdom… From the perspective of the royal family, that is already an unfathomable concession.”

“But it’s not enough.”

“To think Nikolai would step down to let you elect officials and form a government… We are not ready for a republic.”

“Under your rule, we would be, Your Highness,” he said, only half-joking.

“My rule, a republic… Those are pipe dreams, Childe.” She sighed. “Two that contradict each other, at that.“

“I am willing to forego any bloodshed. Nikolai will have his chance to go peacefully, and like I told you, you would live good lives as the wealthiest family in the realm. All he has to yield is his power. No one has to die.”

“He will kill all of you.”

“You forget that it isn’t just me, [F/n]. If your uncle wants to stand in the way of progress, he can be our guest. Thousands rally behind us to usher in a new age.”

“Thousands?”

“Yes, thousands.”

“The Tsar has tens of thousands.”

“Many of which might come over to our side once they realize it’s time for change.”

“Childe, you really are a dreamer…” One hand still on his cheek, the other pushed his hair back while she eyed him with worry and fondness. “Think about it, will you? The only glory that is to be earned by trying to topple the monarchy is to be remembered for it. And I’d rather have you tempered and alive than principled and dead.”

“Even if I become moderate and side with Diluc,” Childe whispered to her, his thumbs tracing the valleys of her waist, “the outcome might be the same.”

“It might, but your odds of success will be much higher. And I’ll hardly be able to convince you not to do anything at all, won’t I?”

“I don’t think you even want that,” he said with a knowing look. “I think you got a taste of revolution, you have allowed the images of a better world to reside in your mind, and now you can’t quite let go.”

Childe was only half right. She wanted change. As she imagined the realm redefined, a glimmer of hope ignited and glowed on. But when it came to him… If given the choice, she would much rather have him a coward, safe and sound and by her side, than a doomed hero.

Chapter Text

The following days were blissful. Though her tasks were ordinary, she wandered through the palace in constant anticipation, hoping to come across him in the corridors.

Whenever she saw him, even when he was occupied with his duties or in conversation with other officers, her heart grew heavy, yet fluttered at the same time, and she found herself quietly sighing.

Never in her life had she felt like this. Childe said he had dreamed of her for a long time, but if it was anything like what she was feeling now, then he must have suffered miserably by merely looking at her. What kept her yearning from being agonizing was only the fact that he returned her looks with tenfold affection.

Sometimes, when the hallways were empty and she passed him, he took her hand and pulled her around a corner to steal a kiss. When there was a storage room or an unused council chamber nearby, he would drag her inside and lock the door, trapping her to crash his lips on hers with much more force and fervor. She had to tell him off once he would start to undo the intricate lacing of her dress, which had required the intense labor of three maids fussing around her in the morning, because she usually had somewhere to be.

Whenever she would inevitably leave him by himself in one of their cramped, secret getaways, he looked beautifully destroyed, as if she was robbing him of the very air he breathed. At times, he would follow her around at a small distance. As not even her concerned looks could deter him, it often took a superior crossing their path to stop him and question him about his post — or [F/n] reaching her destination to attend her meeting with important figures, at which point he halted and was forced to trot off like a child caught where it shouldn’t be.

She never thought it would be so debilitating. It was hard to think of anything else, to not look out the window and dream while advisors spoke, to not spend her nights awake in her bed to imagine a peaceful future. For just a few days, it felt like all the talk of revolution had been in jest, like nothing at all would happen on December 14th, like Nikolai would become Tsar and her life would continue as planned. Maybe he would enforce his efforts to marry her off, and to make it swift, she would suggest Childe and Nikolai would agree simply to save himself the trouble. While Childe’s family wasn’t of enough wealth to provide them with a palace, they surely owned a few mansions, or maybe she could bargain to be given one of her own family’s castles as a wedding gift…

It didn’t matter, she thought as her heart clenched and she turned on her side. To be with him, she would abandon wealth and rank, and how stupid was she for it? She hardly recognized herself when she mirrored his pining gaze, rendered a wistful, enamored girl.

But the short days of chasing and finding each other didn’t last. She was soon reminded of the reality she faced.

Midwinter temperatures drew near as the snow kept piling up and the Neva River was so thickly frozen, it was solid enough to traverse. [F/n] stood behind the windowed doors of one of the palace’s many balconies, overlooking the banks of the river, when Childe appeared behind her.

“I have a proposal,” he said and smirked when she startled, turned around and closed her eyes to calm herself. “Let’s go out tomorrow.”

“Go out?” she repeated, having to crane her neck at a sharp angle when he came close enough to place both hands on her waist.

“I will take you to Yelagin Island. The ice on the Neva River is strong enough to go by sleigh, we’ll have it drawn by a single horse that Kaeya can ride, and I’ll be with you in the carriage.”

“Wait, Kaeya will come?” She furrowed her brows, by now used to his tendency to get ahead of himself.

“Well, we can’t just go the two of us, it’d look like I want to kidnap you,” he replied with a lopsided smile, and [F/n] nodded. “But if we both go with you, it’ll simply look like you took two officers as guards for the day. We’ll enjoy the snow, the white parks, race down the hills and glide on the frozen ponds. Take a pair of ice skates, will you?”

“Yelagin Island… It feels like an eternity since I’ve been there.” 

It was a park island on the Neva River. Located northwest of the Winter Palace, it only took a short sleigh ride of six versts when the surface was solid enough for horses to make their way across. The private retreat for the royal family offered wide meadows, ponds, and small forests, though [F/n] hadn’t visited in at least two years. That the work of the caretakers, who maintained the island for the mere possibility of an imperial visit, had been in vain for the past summers and winters made her feel a little strange, but she figured that was all the more reason to go.

***

Happy anticipation set in when she was put in her full-skirted winter dress. The layers of brocade and velvet weighed heavy around her body, their deep tones of sapphire and crimson mirroring the tiny jewels she chose for her necklace. The hem of her dress and the cuffs around her wrists were lined with fur, leading to silver embroidery sewn through a multitude of small, white pearls whose cold blue shimmer was reminiscent of winter moonlight.

When her cloak was put around her and secured with a silver brooch at the neck, embellished with tiny, shaven moonstone and milky quartz pieces, she began to feel much too warm to stay inside, and headed out of the hotbox that the palace had suddenly become. Childe received her by the door to escort her to the bank of the Neva River, where Kaeya was waiting by his horse, a black mare harnessed to tow the sleigh behind it.

She took Childe’s hand to heave herself into the carriage. After he followed to sit next to her while Kaeya mounted the horse, he positioned himself so snugly beside her that the fabric of his greatcoat rubbed against the brocade of her cloak.

There it was again, the heavy flutter, the light tug inside her chest that made her want to sigh and lower her head onto his shoulder. He looked handsome in his military coat, the unruly ginger strands that framed his face beneath the fur hat he wore against the cold only adding to his rough charm.

This outing he suggested was a secret rendezvous, it came to her. A tryst in the snow on Yelagin Island, away from the eyes of the court. After exchanging a quick, infatuated glance with Childe, she pushed her hand out of the cloak and reached for his gloved fingers.

“Hey,” Kaeya called out to them once he set his horse in motion, making [F/n] quickly retreat her hand. “How’d you get your uncle to agree to this?”

Insolent was the word that shot through her head. Should she even entertain being spoken to in this manner?

It was just the three of them, Kaeya knew his presence was a front, and she didn’t expect etiquette to be upheld, but… Hey?

“Did you ask him directly?” Childe now inquired, his interest piqued.

“No,” she replied. “I thought about it, but I didn’t want it to seem like a big deal, so I just put it into two lines of writing as a personal request delivered by a servant. He signed off on it within the hour.”

“Interesting…”

“He is really not as concerned with me and my activities as you think.”

“Still, to let you go with just two guards… Was a bit of a gamble to request that.”

“He is also not as concerned with my safety, it appears,” she added with an amused smile. “On the other hand, it is a private island. It will just be us.”

“Still,” Childe said and watched her smile fade. “Your father wouldn’t have allowed it.”

“My father would’ve joined us. I couldn’t have stopped him from coming, I’m sure of it. He would’ve planned all sorts of mischief, would’ve launched snowball attacks or pushed me off balance on the ice, only to catch me before I fall. At least that’s how it was when I was small.”

“What makes you think that’s not what you’re in for now?” Childe posed with a smirk and put her smile back on her face.

“You owe me,” Kaeya said from the front.

“What?” Childe replied.

“You owe me for coming to this… pretend-play, masquerading as duty.”

[F/n] had to bite her tongue to not call his sense of duty into question. She was sure he would’ve had some other snarky comment to make had he been given a real post by her side. He still would’ve called the outing a royal distraction, maybe a pointless indulgence, something like that. With how actively he seemed to dislike her, she doubted the oath he once swore meant much to him.

The horseshoes of Kaeya’s mare clacked pleasantly on the ice, pulling the sleigh’s metal skids over the frozen Neva River. It had been a while since [F/n] sat in a winter carriage, reminded of how gentle this mode of transportation was as they glided across the ice, watching the buildings of St. Petersburg grow smaller while the large trees of the island drew nearer.

After she set foot on the bank’s ice, careful not to slip, she shuffled to the shore in tiny steps and took a deep breath of the cold air of Yelagin Island. It smelled like dark cedars and frozen soil. The snow was thick and untouched, reminding her of the magical place this had been in her childhood.

The paths built through forests and gardens were hardly discernible under their white blanket. Childe took a sled and her ice skates out of the carriage and came after her while she was already climbing up a hill, suddenly excited to make it back down.

“Wait!” Childe said when she was seated on the sled he provided, and the moment she looked up, he promptly positioned himself behind her and reached around to hold the steering rope.

“Get off!” she commanded and laughed. “We’ll get too fast when we’re this heavy!”

“That’s the point,” he told her with his cold cheek against her ear, before he kicked his feet and pushed them off the hill.

She let out an exhilarated shriek as the sled picked up speed, the wind biting at their faces while the world around them blurred. Dizzy with the rush, she clung onto his arm, but held her breath when she found herself catapulted off the sled at the slope’s bottom, having caught on to some unseen obstacle beneath the snow.

While she was protected by his arms, Childe’s head was firmly shoved into the snow. He held her tight despite his predicament, and when she fought him off and sat up to see him practically headless, she covered her mouth and snickered, before her bubbling laughter soon lilted through the quiet landscape.

He lay defeated for just a moment, before he jolted up and dusted the powdery white off his coat. “Smooth landing, huh?” he chuckled and grinned despite himself.

She looked around to find Kaeya still at the shore, his back turned to them as he fed his horse bran mashes and beet pulp. Returning her eyes to Childe with a giddy smile, she fell into his arms and pressed a peck onto his lips to see his rosy cheeks take on a deeper red.

He leaned in to steal a second kiss, then took her hand and got up. “Let’s find you a pond to skate on.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked while freeing her cloak from snow.

He grabbed his hat out of the avalanche that had housed his head, slapped it against his knee, then put it back on. “Just a bruise… or two,” he told her, pulled her cloak in place, then called for Kaeya to come along.

The three of them walked up beaten paths, made their way through a small, dense forest, crossed a bridge and reached one of the island’s largest ponds. 

“Are you coming as well?” she asked Kaeya in her carefree glee while she held onto Childe’s shoulder. He kneeled before her to put the ice skates on her feet and tie their laces. Kaeya’s look rested on his back.

He only shook his head without so much as a hint of the smile she gave him. As it sank in that she should’ve known, she only gave a small nod and concentrated on Childe once he got up and offered her his hand.

As he pulled her onto the ice, having an easier time keeping balance on his flat shoes, but a harder time not slipping, she held onto his arm as if it was her lifeline. “I haven’t done this in years!” she insisted, but Childe mercilessly dragged her towards the center of the pond.

“Try it, one foot before the other. Do those… sliding movements,” he said and gestured with his free hand, smirking with amusement at her frustration.

“Easy for you to say!” she protested. “Walking in your boots!”

She eventually remembered the motions she had been taught long ago. Though she was worried she would look rather ungraceful, she tried to glide by taking small, careful shuffles, before inevitably losing balance and gripping onto Childe with a squeal.

“Well done!” he praised while holding her, first laughing, then coughing when she punched his gut.

“You try it next!”

“Your shoes don’t fit me, Princess.”

“Isn’t that convenient,” she hissed and heard him snicker. “You planned this! You didn’t even ask for skates so you wouldn’t have to make a damn spectacle of yourself!”

“Your Highness,” he said with feigned offense, “I didn’t know you to be so foul-mouthed.” From one moment to the next, he let go of her and brought some distance between them, watching her reach for him while struggling to stay on her feet.

“Ah, you’re a cruel man!” she shouted in her despair. “Get back here, please!”

The closer she managed to come, the further he walked backwards, putting one foot behind the other while watching her struggle. When he got a little too confident and slipped, she laughed with mirth at seeing him land on the ice unceremoniously.

“Shit, that’s hard,” he cursed and rubbed his hip while trying to get back up.

“Serves you well!”

“Who’s cruel now?!”

A fit of laughter took hold of her when he was on all fours, the slippery ice spreading his legs as his feet struggled to stay together, and she clapped her hands in delight. “Turns out you don’t need skates to make a spectacle of yourself after all!”

When he was finally back on his feet, he stumbled to her and held on for stability. The tables now turned, she benevolently granted him the little steadiness she had to offer, and as they held each other close, they both looked towards Kaeya on the pond’s bank. To their devastation, they found a rather large distance separated them from safety.

“This is like a dream for me,” she heard Childe say and faced up. His arms tightly around her, he had stopped looking to the bank a while ago, and instead had his blue eyes focused on her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, caught off-guard by his gentle tone.

“I never thought I would hold you like this. I never thought you’d shout for me to come to you, I never thought you’d… look at me so dreamily and kiss me. Despite the hopelessness of it, I fantasized relentlessly, but never did I think you’d return my affection one day.” She watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. His evident fluster only made her sheepish, and she breathed out a silent sigh while heat rose to her cheeks. His shimmering gaze roamed her features, before it refocused on her eyes. “I love you, [F/n].”

Just as she was about to reply, there was a crack beneath their feet. They both faced down, confused about the interruption, before Childe gasped and closed his arms around her waist to lift her off the spot where the ice threatened to break.

“Let me down!” she exclaimed in sudden panic. “You’re concentrating our weight!”

“Shit, you’re right!” he gave back and let go of her when the lines spread on the ice.

She brought some distance between them, still holding his hand with her arm extended. Only as she watched the cracks cover more and more of the ice did the fear truly set in. Even if they wouldn’t drown, they could easily perish from the cold once they were wet.

Childe was the one to move first. Letting her hold on to his hand, he pulled her across the unstable ice towards the shore. At first, he took careful steps away from the cracks, but once they followed them, he let out a shaky breath and started running across the pond, the princess in tow.

After they fell into the snow by Kaeya’s feet, their chests heaving to catch their breaths, they let out soft chuckles of disbelief.

“The timing of that,” he said and shook his head.

“For a moment, I thought we were done,” [F/n] admitted. “You won’t get me to skate for the rest of the winter.”

“Trust me, I won’t make you,” came Childe’s reply. When she stood up, he gathered her shoes and unlaced the skates on her feet.

“You’re interfering with fate,” Kaeya said dryly, watching Childe while she held onto him and slipped from one shoe into the other. “That was clearly God’s will.”

“Kaeya, come on,” Childe sighed without turning to him.

“You used to agree there is nothing more satisfying than watching a royal’s excess lead to their downfall. This whole island all to herself, skating in layers of velvet, all the while the common folk freeze to death in districts not far from here — avenged by a crack in the ice.”

“Are you done?”

Kaeya faced away. His expression was empty while his gaze wandered into the distance, watching the faint silhouettes of houses and domes all the way across the Neva River. Once she had her shoes back on and Childe stood up, Kaeya looked at him.

“I have an idea,” Kaeya said. “We have been given this day with her, away from watchful eyes. Let’s put it to use instead of wasting it like this.”

“Wasting it?” Childe turned to him. “What are you talking about? The whole point is to have this outing.”

“Childe,” he said and came closer. Now she saw how he clenched his jaw. “You’re acting like a smitten idiot, playing in the damn snow while revolution looms.”

He held Kaeya’s intense look, then breathed out. “Listen…”

“If you’re still serious about our ideals, we should take her to the city right now.”

Childe let out a confused scoff. His eyes still on Kaeya, he walked up to him to bring some distance between them and [F/n]. “To the city? What for?”

“Not to the upper parts. We go down to see the poorest of the poor, the ones who’ve never witnessed a single day of freedom in their wretched lives, to whom Yelagin Island is but a mere fantasy.”

“We can’t take her down there,” Childe told him, his tone incredulous and vaguely amused. “In that dress… They’ll rip her to shreds.”

“Childe,” Kaeya said with a calm, knowing look. “Not long ago you would’ve relished the thought.” He looked at [F/n], let his gaze wander down her attire, before he shook his head and directed his attention at Childe once more. “Just one of the pearls on her dress, just a single link of her necklace, could change the lives of any of those people.”

Childe closed in on him and lowered his voice. “Kaeya, think. What you suggest sounds like a way to dispose of her. And why would we do that? She will help us, she’s on our side.”

“I can’t believe you’ve fallen for that. She can never be on our side, Childe. You used to always tell me: the rulers will never betray their own interests. At best, they will feign alignment to appease and grant as little change as possible.”

Childe turned over his shoulder to look at her. She stood frozen in place, eyes alert, unsure what to say or do. Kaeya didn’t want to take her to the city to reveal the extent of the people’s suffering. If it was truly that, she would consider it, though she would have to go incognito, would need a plan and proper protection. It was clear that Kaeya’s proposal was to hurt her.

“Kaeya, calm down,” Childe said to him. “There’s no point in going to the city today.”

“You’re protecting your own oppressor.”

With the faintest of smirks, he chuckled and tilted his head. “Kaeya…”

“She’s bred to rule over us. As a Romanov, all she knows is to look down on us. And now you’re bending over backwards for her like a lovesick fool!”

“Since when is this about us?” Childe gave him a confused look, while the tug on the corner of his mouth only seemed to drive Kaeya closer to rage. “Our concern is with the common people. You grew up in a noble household, we have names that mean something. This fight is not about us.”

“This fight is about all of us. We have it much better than the peasants, but this isn’t a contest of who has it worse. This is about ultimately toppling the structure that has governed our lives for centuries, ours and theirs. It’s not about individual fates, it’s about changing the system, about abolishing the rulers.”

“I don’t need a lesson from you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kaeya hissed back. After he held Childe’s piercing gaze for another moment, he let out a dismissive huff and headed towards [F/n], who watched him with wide eyes. Kaeya met her look coldly, before he grabbed her arm and attempted to drag her the way they had come.

Before Kaeya could so much as take a step with her, Childe was there to shove him off, putting in enough force to make Kaeya stumble and fall.

“Touch her again and I’ll break your hands!” he barked.

She held her breath. Kaeya stared at Childe, the violet tint in his iris seeming to swallow the little light the white sky offered. It only lay dark as silence settled, until Kaeya pushed himself up, stood and wiped the snow off his sleeves.

“Childe,” he said, his voice strangely calm. “Do we still want the same things?”

“Yes, we do,” he emphasized.

“Then say it now. Say it to her. Say that come December 14th, you will topple the monarchy. You will destroy the very institution that made her what she is, because you despise the inequality it embodies, because it is unjust and founded on lies of divine anointment, because it causes suffering and destitution so vast, her spoiled mind cannot begin to comprehend it.”

“She knows that.”

“Then tell her.”

Childe closed his eyes and breathed out, then faced her. “You already know, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, eyes flicking from Childe to Kaeya as she was more concerned with the cold rage that seemed to seethe beneath the surface, and less with the meaning of Childe’s words.

“I’ve declared my intentions and never said otherwise,” Childe continued. “On December 14th, we will demand Nikolai steps down, we will demand a government to be formed and a constitution to be written.”

She flinched when Kaeya clicked his tongue. “She’s not even listening,” he stated and took a step towards her.

This time, he retaliated when Childe seized his arm to yank him back. Kaeya grabbed the collar of his greatcoat, pulled him close and hissed something [F/n] couldn’t hear, then threw him into the snow. 

A loud gasp escaped her when Kaeya drew his saber, looming over Childe, who stared at him with unblinking eyes. He had to roll aside to escape the first slash of Kaeya’s sword, shuffled backwards through the snow to bring more distance between them, then managed to get up and pull his own saber out of its sheath, just in time to block Kaeya’s second attack.

“Calm down!” Childe yelled at him while [F/n] shivered at the sound of metal hitting metal. “Kaeya, get it together!”

While Childe stumbled back, only on the defense as Kaeya closed in on him, she got a glimpse of his expression. The anger had made room for something she had seen before. She remembered it from the night they found him in the garden; the devastation, the fear of meaninglessness. Kaeya attacked Childe without thinking clearly, only driven by a pain that [F/n] couldn’t grasp.

“Kaeya!” Childe shouted, this time louder, and it seemed to get through to him.

In a moment of wavering intent, Kaeya slipped when the heel of his boot hit an icy surface beneath the snow, and as Childe registered his movement as another attack, he struck back.

Thick drops of red sprinkled the snow when Kaeya fell on his back. After he dropped his saber, Childe kicked it out of reach, then threw his own weapon away and sank to his knees.

“Idiot!” Childe snarled at him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Get off me!” Kaeya bit back and tried to drag himself away, only causing more blood to stain the frosty ground.

[F/n] finally hurried over and kneeled next to Childe, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that Kaeya only suffered a cut on the outside of his upper arm. “Just a scratch,” she whispered, more to soothe herself than the men.

“You’re such an idiot. You deserve that, you know.”

“Shut up,” Kaeya growled.

He continued his bickering with Childe, reluctantly allowing [F/n] to unbutton his coat while his glare stayed fixed on his opponent, before he hissed when the fabric was pulled down his shoulder. “It will be fine, but we need to stop the bleeding,” she deemed.

“Do we have bandages? The carriages have supplies, don’t they?” Childe asked.

“But not the sleigh,” she sighed. After thinking for a moment, she lifted the hem of her large cloak. “This will have to do.”

“Don’t want your silk, ” Kaeya snapped at her, but went fully ignored.

“We’ll say it got caught on a low-hanging branch,” Childe suggested and watched her nod.

“And the wound… He cut himself on a shard of ice, or… I don’t know.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Childe assured her, got up to retrieve his saber, then carefully cut a long stripe of fabric off her cloak.

[F/n] tied it tightly around the wound, paying no mind to the daggers Kaeya shot at her. She was scared of him, but even so… He was Childe’s friend.

The sleigh ride back to the palace was silent. Kaeya sat opposite of her, one hand pressed on his injured arm, his frigid stare trained on her, until she finally decided to look back. To her surprise, he averted his eyes when she met his gaze.

He looked defeated. His shoulders slouched, he made for a pitiful image as he faced away for as long as she watched him, missing the pale sunset above the roofs of St. Petersburg to stare at his own feet.

Kaeya was right, it came to her as a lonely feeling settled in her chest. What were they doing, fooling around while the end was nigh?

It would be her end, or their end. So they had decided, and it filled her with some anger. None of this had to happen, if they only changed their minds. That silly dream she had of marrying Childe and going away while the next Tsar ruled the realm, the way it was supposed to be… It could become reality if only they dropped their plans of revolution, and that, she had a clear premonition, was not going to happen.

Chapter Text

Small fires burned in the distance. The flames, though weak, were fanned by the wind and would not go out, their glow mirrored by the golden domes of the Kremlin. Wet, broken wood and pointy debris was strewn about the square in Moscow, and while faceless peasants ran about, clueless clerics stood in inaction, and Polish soldiers looted houses and dragged people to the street, the center of the painting showed a woman.

Her dirtied, pearl colored dress was torn at the hem. Her long braids had come undone and lined her back as disheveled curls. She sat amidst the chaos, seemingly unnoticed by her surroundings, clutching the vest of a dead nobleman bedded in her lap. His face was turned away. Only her expression was visible, terrified and confused and helpless.

While her hands held on to the man, her eyes went past him to the structure of a large, broken cross. The collapsed symbol was smeared with big letters, written in red paint: THE TSAR IS NO MORE.

[F/n] didn’t know whether this specific scene was witnessed or imagined, but it was set in the Time of Troubles, the difficult fifteen years from the childless death of the last Rurik Tsar, to the ascension of the first Romanov ruler.

As a child, [F/n] always wondered why the royal family would allow this messy, gruesome painting to be hung in the corridor before the throne room — one containing such a blasphemous phrase in bold, red letters, at that. It scared her a little. When she was a girl, she preferred to look at the paintings depicting the glory of her forebears. Red and blue satin, golden necklaces and jeweled earrings, palaces in all their beauty, crowds that cheered and praised their rulers. Those images were safe. They assured her of the normalcy of her life.

Now she understood that the enormous painting with the title The Last Lady Of The Rurik Line was an ode to her family, the House of Romanov. 

This is what we saved the realm from, it said. Anarchy and violence and chaos. The Rurik line ended and trouble ensued, false claimants came, the Poles invaded, lawlessness ruled — until the first Romanov Tsar, Mikhail Fyodorovich, emerged and saved the country from itself.

That is what it was supposed to signify, [F/n] was sure. Yet as she looked at it, it only felt like a warning.

This is what tsarlessness looks like, the painting whispered only to her. And don’t think it cannot happen. Don’t think your family is beyond ruin. The House of Rurik ruled for seven centuries, and now it is gone. There is no fundament that cannot be toppled.

She found herself before the throne room in the middle of the night, gazing up at the painting in awe and horror, because she could not sleep. December 14th was drawing near. Unable to see the future, unable to predict even her own movements, she had only stared at her canopy with tensed brows, breathing shallowly.

As the clock struck midnight and she deemed it impossible to find rest, she got up, threw a long, silken dressing gown over her night attire, and wandered through the quiet palace. The high walls and adorned ceilings were tinted in a melancholic blue, coldly illuminated in the moonlight that fell through the many windows. 

Without knowing it, she had slowly made her way straight to the devastated Rurik Lady. It had been over a decade since she last looked at the painting properly, had passed it countless times but never turned to take it in as she had done as a girl. Now she felt strange to have ignored it, to have treated it like any other of the many items that decorated the palace.

Struck by a sudden ache in her chest, a need to grasp for the past and hold on tightly, she gave the Rurik Lady a final look and walked towards the large doors leading to the throne room.

She pushed one of the double doors. Prying it open with the weight of her body, she wanted to indulge in the sight of the windows’ stained glass, the painted ceiling, the gilded columns, the heavy chandeliers and the dais holding the throne on the far side, but what she saw instead made her freeze on the spot.

Someone was there; a man who sat on the throne and jumped up as soon as he noticed her. Their quiet standoff lasted for a few agonizing seconds, yet upon equal recognition, the tension fell from the man’s body and he lowered himself back onto the royal seat.

It was Kaeya. Though it was the first time she saw him dressed only in a linen shirt and high-waisted pants, buttoned at the front and tucked into his boots, she could identify him by his long ponytail, his slender stature and the one-eyed stare.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to comprehend the scene. Kaeya slouched on the throne, one elbow on the armrest, his cheek against his fist, his legs crossed while his other hand balanced a bottle on his knee. Gathering her courage, she stepped inside and let the heavy door slam shut behind her.

As its shape appeared oddly familiar, she focused on the bottle he held. The tall, elegant vessel was half empty. Its intricate geometric patterns, etched into the glass, reflected the pale light and gave away its contents, swaying from right to left when he lifted it. A silver double-headed eagle was embossed on the front, and as she walked closer, her eyes recognized the calligraphic inscription: Zimniy Dar; Winter’s Gift — the royal family’s very own vodka, distilled exclusively for the court at Peterhof.

Only the royal family and their chosen officials had access to it. On occasion, a bottle was gifted to high-ranking military officers, but that did not explain why a lieutenant was drinking the imperial reserve.

She let it go. The brand of vodka he gulped down was the least of her concerns as she watched him lean to the other side and let the heel of his right foot rest on his left knee.

“Don’t get upset, Princess,” he said when she came closer, causing her to halt. His words were slightly slurred. “I just come here to see… to remember what it is we will destroy.”

His look softened when it wandered down the stairs of the dais, up her gown, then sharply left to the tall windows, the golden swirls on the ceiling, and back to her. Suddenly inspired to speak plainly to Kaeya, she took a step forward.

“You’re not taking it lightly,” she said.

“No, I’m not taking it lightly, but it wouldn’t matter if I did. The outcome will be the same either way.”

She let silence settle. Her look directed downwards, she tried to put her thoughts into order, tried to figure out what to say and how, before she lifted her gaze and locked eyes with him.

“You know… There can be legitimacy to one’s rule, even without the claim to be chosen by God.”

“ Legitimacy, ” he repeated as if it was a dirty word. “The only thing that can legitimize power over others is competence. Or maybe we shouldn’t rule each other at all, but… Even I can see that the realm isn’t ready for that.” A disappointed grin found his face. “All this is beyond you, though. You have been brainwashed since your birth; you can never comprehend how truly irrelevant your blood is to the question of legitimacy.”

“My family has ruled for over two-hundred years. Even if divine anointment is a lie, after this much time… maybe we can speak of royal blood, I sometimes think,” she tried with a smile, but Kaeya didn’t reciprocate it. Her own expression faded back into seriousness, and she continued. “This palace in its beauty,” she let her eyes trace the path of his look through the room, “has been built under Romanov rule.” She faced back to him, seated above her on the throne. “My forefathers shaped the realm as we find it now. The first Romanov Tsars absorbed Siberia. Pyotr the First led us to victory against Sweden, he made St. Petersburg the capital, he expanded our territory and turned the realm into an empire. My great-grandmother Ekaterina secured our access to the Black Sea.” Her smile returned. “My father Alexander made Napoleon’s invasion end in disaster, before he marched on Paris to earn our realm the respect it deserves.”

Kaeya listened to her, popped the cork out of the bottle and took a sip, then breathed out. “Your father, was he there?”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

“Did your father fight Napoleon?”

“He… He was in Paris. He was there in person, he marched towards Paris like the leaders from Prussia and Austria.” She took a quick breath. “And it was he who made the decisions about how to drive out Napoleon’s forces when they occupied our lands.”

“And what were those decisions?”

“The decisions…”

“ Scorched earth, ” Kaeya said. “That was the strategy your father decided on, wasn’t it? He ordered to burn down crops and fields, to destroy livestock and markets, to set fire to towns and villages, all so the French would find nothing to eat, no shelter, nothing to sustain themselves.”

“Do you want me to take pity on our invaders?”

“Maybe not on them, but what about the farmers, the vendors, and the families who lost their homes? Tell me, did your father set fire to their livelihoods himself?”

“That is not how it works,” she told him curtly.

“It’s not, is it?” Now it was Kaeya’s turn to show her a faint smile. “Did Ekaterina sail on the Black Sea? Did Pyotr attain victory by striking down Swedish generals?”

“You have an infantile idea of rule and power if that is how you want to measure the sovereigns. They were decision makers, not foot soldiers.”

“Those achievements you listed, who bled for them?” Kaeya posed, but [F/n] stayed quiet. “It’s a simple question. Who spilled their blood so that you can stand here and list those achievements with your ancestors’ names attached to them?”

“The men who fought, of course, but—”

“And since you’re already here listing achievements, ” he hissed and took a large gulp of vodka. “Weren’t it also your forebears that bound peasants to their land and made them serfs?”

“Yes,” she said and averted her eyes. “At the time it was necessary for… for the economy.”

Kaeya scoffed. “Was it?”

“Now I would like serfdom to be abolished,” she proclaimed as she looked back up.

“How is Childe not disgusted with himself…” he muttered and lifted the bottle to his lips.

She let out a quiet, heavy sigh. “I had no say in what my ancestors did. Their deeds are no fault of mine.”

“Yes, you’re not at fault for their wrongdoings, and equally, their exploits entitle you to no glory. You’re not to blame for how Ekaterina emboldened the landowners’ power over their subjects, and that your father supposedly saved us from Napoleon legitimizes no relative of his to rule next.”

[F/n] closed her eyes. This back and forth had grown pointless. “You do know your history,” she only said, her voice softer.

“Yes, I do,” Kaeya replied while his tone remained firm. “How do you think I arrived where I am now? I’ve really thought about this, [F/n]. I understand the advantages of a monarchy. In one capacity or another, I’ve lived them, after all. But in the end… In the end, it’s unfair, and that’s all that matters.”

“I know I’ve spoken of renown and honor, but in truth… There’s something else that has been constant throughout my family’s rule.”

“And what’s that?” Kaeya asked, the slurring of his words stronger, now that he stopped making an effort to enunciate.

“It’s fear and sorrow,” she replied, remembering the last Rurik Lady who sat in a destroyed capital just outside the throne room. “Fear and sorrow and an inability to rest. I believe no Romanov ruler has truly felt safe for a day in his life. Vigilance is handed down from generation to generation: a usurper would come, or rebels would come, or the line couldn’t be furthered, or, or…” She forced a faint smile. “It never ends, the fear. And now I am here, I know of your intentions, and while I worry, I also feel… vague hope.”

“Hope?” Kaeya repeated, his brows furrowed.

“I don’t know what comes next. But I know that it would be bad for the realm if my uncle ruled unchecked.” She let out a sigh, then whispered. “That much I know. And maybe it takes men like you to change anything in a meaningful way.”

Kaeya rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. She waited for a reply, but none came. Instead he got up, clenched his fist around the neck of his bottle, walked down the steps of the dais and headed towards her.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he passed her and continued to the doors. “You might have a good heart, I’ll believe that, but I still can’t stand to listen to you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked and turned around, prompting him to stop.

“It’s complicated,” he replied, his back still facing her. “It’s personal.”

“Is it about Childe?”

“You’re making him soft. You’re making him all reasonable. ” He turned to her and shook his head. “Before all of this started, before we became sure what path to choose, and before the succession crisis presented itself as an opportunity, things between us were different.”

“Between you and Childe?”

“No, not just between me and Childe.” He looked towards one of the large windows, part perfectly transparent, part blue stained glass, throwing cold shadows on his dark hair. “Diluc and I…” He seemed to hesitate. “Diluc and I were close. We share a great part of our past, you see. I used to be by his side all the time, I was his confidant.” Kaeya looked down. “We were… rather inseparable.”

“But then…”

“If you asked Diluc, he would say Childe tore me away from him, but that’s not true. I might seem the most determined to you, but it was Childe who convinced me of his ideas, and before I knew it, I found myself forced to make a choice.” Watching the etched glass of his bottle shimmer in the light, he softly shook it to make the liquid swirl in tiny waves. “Childe was so free in his thinking and his spirit, and Diluc, in comparison… His vision seemed like a sorry reflection of the antiquated ways we’ve been taught. At first I thought he was scared to set his goals too high, but once I really spoke to him, once it was just us and we spoke our minds about equality and a brand new world, I had to realize that he was not scared, and it also wasn’t that he didn’t understand. He truly was a monarchist, a loyalist through and through. If he could get rid of the rulers with a snap of his fingers, he would choose to keep them. That is who he is, and though I knew him all my life, this revelation that he and I are so different shook me, and I turned my back on him.”

[F/n] listened to him, then came a step closer. It was true; they used to be together, Diluc and Kaeya. As he told her about times past, she recalled instance after instance of having seen them by each other’s side, though she never made much of it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s a decision I’ve made. You’re not to be sorry for me. But what infuriates me…”

“Infuriates?” she repeated, her brows raised.

“I have given up what was most precious to me to stand shoulder by shoulder with those like-minded, with… with Childe and with his followers. And now that you showed up, now that he’s fucking you…” Kaeya scoffed. “As long as I can remember, he’s always looked at you, always. But since you stumbled upon our meeting in the catacombs, he hasn’t been the same. I don’t know what you’ve told him, what promises you’ve whispered into his ear, but he’s struggling. He’s struggling ideologically, and he’s even spoken to Diluc about compromise.” Now it was Kaeya who took a firm step towards her, causing her to stumble back. “Tell me, [F/n], what does that make of my sacrifice?”

Her pulse quickened when Kaeya’s eye glowed icy in the dark. He walked faster, charging at her until she tripped on the hem of her gown and fell onto the steps leading up to the throne’s dais.

“I haven’t promised anything!” she quickly said. “I told him that if he wants to succeed—”

“If he wants to succeed without causing too much damage to you and your legacy, yes, then he has to adjust his demands, quench his thirst for a better world, accept the fate of serfs, make compromises with the enemy, sleep with our oppressor!” Kaeya sank to the ground, dropped his bottle on the floor and cowered over her, one hand to the right of her head, the other to its left. “What you hinted at when we first caught you, I’ve known it all along. You were right: loyalists like Diluc, conservatives and traditionalists will exist as long as you exist. Childe told you no ill will befall you, that you can live your life rich and unbothered, even after our country becomes a republic. He wants to believe that so he doesn’t have to picture you, his sweet princess, hanging from a post, or burning at the stake, or covered in blood. But I know that the monarchy cannot die unless the monarchs die, [F/n]. I’m willing to burn down the whole Winter Palace with you in it, I’m willing to forget your past for the future of all.”

From the corner of her eyes, [F/n] saw thin metal reflect the moonlight. Before she could register where his hand had gone, he rammed a dagger into the stairs, right next to her throat. 

“Not today,” he whispered to her. “Maybe not ever. But you should know that your life is worth less to me than that of a single child enslaved by your dynasty.”

Her breathing was quick and shallow. There was such rage in his gaze… Such loss, she saw. What does that make of my sacrifice? it asked her again and again, growing more desperate by the second.

While his convictions were robust, the pain they caused him ran deep. He despised her status, but his true hatred stemmed from the way Diluc revered her and Childe loved her, fearing it would pull them beyond his reach, when to him, she was nothing more than the embodiment of a system that had to be torn down.

His look hardened the longer she stayed quiet. Kaeya scrutinized her wide eyes for another moment, before he sat up and pulled his dagger out of the red carpet that covered the wooden stairs.

Despite being afraid to enrage him, she closed her eyes and spoke. “Childe cares for you deeply. That much is evident.”

She looked when no reply came, saw him sit on her gown and watch her with a sad, tired shimmer in his eye, before he stood up and reached for his bottle on the floor, almost tripping over his own two feet in the process.

“I’ll make sure he goes through with it,” Kaeya muttered. “I won’t let him hold back the world for… for you, for a princess that seduces him into abandoning his convictions.”

“You underestimate him. I couldn’t do that if I tried,” she said, but remembered that Kaeya revealed Childe had sought out Diluc to speak. Could he really be considering an alternative to their radical demands?

Kaeya only gave her a knowing smile, before he finally turned on his heel and headed towards the doors, his dagger back in the small sheath by his hip. She sat up and laid her fingers on her neck as if to check whether he had scraped it, knowing the blade did not touch her skin.

Not much time was left until Nikolai’s ascension. Palace Square was already decorated with imperial banners. Crimson velvet and blue silk was draped from the balcony’s arches and columns, and [F/n] had noticed obscene quantities of lily flowers that were delivered in the morning. She had to see Childe before December 14th.

Chapter Text

———

I believe special vigilance to be in order on the night before Nikolai Pavlovich’s ascension to Tsar of our Great Realm. In addition to the two guards that are stationed by the stairwell to my quarters, I request that an officer be posted outside my bedroom door. Given that Captain Ajax has proven his dedication to his duty during my last outing at Yelagin Island, I deem him suitable for this task.

— Princess [F/n] Alexandrovna Romanova

———

It was through this note, which she asked one of her maids to pass along, that she found herself pacing up and down her sleeping chamber. [F/n] had debated whether to keep on the elaborate dress she had worn during the day, or change into her nightgown, but since she wasn’t officially expecting anyone and didn’t know what to do with herself until he would or wouldn’t come, she changed and combed her hair like she normally would.

It was almost nine when the door finally opened. [F/n] lay atop her sheets, her calves dangling off the end of the bed as she had let herself drop onto it, when he didn’t knock but only turned the knob and slipped inside.

She pushed herself up to see him by the door, standing there in quiet admiration upon seeing her with open hair and the same flowing dress he had once pushed off her shoulders. [F/n] took a deep breath and stood up, which prompted him to speak.

“Clever, my love.”

“A bit of cleverness is vital in these times,” she replied.

“Hear, hear,” he mumbled while he walked closer to meet her halfway. “Thanks to your note, no one even questioned my presence. It was almost strange to not be secretive about it.” He smiled, though it faded when she didn’t return the expression. “You look sad.”

“I worry,” she meant to say with a steady voice, but it only came out as a whisper.

“December 14th came faster than we thought.”

“Childe, I don’t…” She searched for words, before she averted her eyes and covered them with her hands. “Do you really have to do this?”

“I do,” he said, his tone firm.

“Is it really more important than… than your own life?”

“It is. And you know it is. It’s more important than any singular life.” He stayed quiet, but came closer when she still wouldn’t look up. She felt his hands on her shoulders, caressing softly before his left pushed a strand of hair behind her back. “[F/n], look at me.” She swallowed, then mustered the strength to face up. He looked so calm; his ginger curls, his solemn look, the faint smile and his tailored uniform — it was as if nothing at all was amiss, as if nothing at all was going to happen mere hours from now. “My love, you seem so sure it will go terribly wrong. I believe there is a good chance we’ll succeed, and then I’ll marry you like I promised.”

“You are delusional. I just know it.”

“[F/n]… Did you ask me here tonight to dissuade me?” She let out a soft sigh, then shook her head. “To have me stand guard by the door, like your note said?” Once more, she shook her head. “Then did you ask me here to have me close? To share the night with you?” Though her cheeks burned, she nodded, and Childe gave her a satisfied smile. “I’ll be with you until morning. I won’t leave until I have to.” While his hand cupped her face, he let his thumb brush over her cheek. “And I have a request myself.”

“A request?”

“I know that…” It was his turn to avert his eyes. “…that tonight is special.” As he looked away, she watched his features closely. Though he acted confident, he was aware that anything could happen tomorrow; from his success to a brand new realm, to his failure, imprisonment, or possibly his perishing. “You see, my love…” Though he still didn’t face her, a smile emerged on his face. “I was denied the first dance I asked for when you feigned some prudishness about European waltzes.”

“To be honest,” she sighed, recalling the event held in her father’s honor, “I was just sad that night.”

It gave him pause. His gaze softened when he looked at her, though his smile quickly soured at the next memory he recounted. “The second dance was stolen from me by that smarmy, pompous…”

“Count Shemetev. Was he really so pompous?”

“He was self-important and insincere.”

“I suppose he was,” she admitted with a calm look.

“Now, this third dance,” he said and took her hands, “shall be mine.”

“Most likely our last dance,” she whispered and averted her eyes.

“No,” he replied and made her face back up. “Our first dance.”

When he lifted her right hand, she let her left wander up his arm, contemplating his humble request. Childe led her into a waltz, but the Viennese music she remembered quickly quieted in her mind. It was a slow dance. Silently, he guided her through the room while his eyes stayed glued to her features, his pupils dilated as if afraid that he couldn’t take in all of her.

She watched him as if she would never see him again. As soon as the thought emerged, her brows furrowed in pain, but Childe’s look stayed tranquil. The blue of his eyes was soothing to the ache he so clearly perceived in her, and through his look, through how he guided her across her chamber as if it was a ballroom, he seemed to wordlessly whisper what he couldn’t say out loud: forgive me for not choosing you over everything.

It was strange, really. Not long ago, she had only found him brazen and impertinent in his advances, however handsome and charming he was. And now… Now she was filled with fear at the thought of him facing the consequences of the actions he engaged in so willingly. She wanted him to herself, and damned be the world. So she thought at times, and at others she admired his resolve and remembered what Diluc had asked of her.

“Tomorrow, we’ll meet as enemies,” he said to her, and it was only then that she realized how conflicted he looked. His smile, no matter how genuine the affection it carried, was difficult to maintain.

“You will never be my enemy,” she whispered back.

“Then we just have to act the part until all is said and done. It’ll be a new world tomorrow, whether it belongs to Tsar Nikolai Pavlovich, or to the people.” He lifted her hand one last time to make her twirl, then ended their single, sad dance. “Now… I know that I am the last man you should give yourself to. I meant what I said, that I will take you as my wife if you cease to be the realm’s princess, but the truth is that nothing is certain and I am in no position to promise you anything at all. And still… Still I can’t help myself but ask if you will indulge me tonight.”

She took in his hopeful look, revealing a longing that had steadily grown for years, and she let her hand slide further up his arm to touch his neck and pull him lower. “Against my better judgment,” she whispered in reply and finally saw the playful smirk she had missed so much.

His kisses carried his suffering. He couldn’t exist solely in the moment; the urgency of his touch, the desperation with which he caressed her warm skin, bit her lip, and dragged his tongue over hers, stayed rooted in the knowledge that this was their last night before December 14th.

The buttons of his uniform were undone quickly, and to let her fingers wander down the skin of his arms made her hold her breath as soon as they enveloped her. Compared to the first time he was in her bed, he seemed strangely serious. There was intent behind every kiss, and his eyes kept flicking to hers while he undid the lacing of her nightdress, as if to ask for permission to proceed, despite having pulled down the fabric with such confidence once before.

While the weight of each sign of affection felt suffocating, she couldn’t escape it. She too tried to sear everything into memory: how soft his ginger roots felt on her fingertips, the scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his breath, the strength with which he held her body, buried in the silken sheets of her bed. When he reached down to undo the buttons of his pants, she stopped him. This time, she would be the one to pleasure him.

She felt a bit clumsy as she rubbed over his crotch, feeling his hard length against her palm, aching for more while she exchanged sheepish, aroused looks with his blue, eager eyes. “Let me,” he breathed against her neck after leaning down and planting kisses over her hurried pulse. Childe sat up, and with a few more tugs on the fabric of her dress, he took it off to reveal her body to him, clothed only by her underwear.

She tried to fight the embarrassment, concentrating on the throbbing between her legs. She wanted him, wanted to be enveloped by his strong arms while he would thrust into her, and though she closed her eyes at her lowly thoughts, the need to be filled didn’t go away.

When she opened her eyes, she reached to push his pants down along with his underwear, but he grabbed her wrist. “[F/n], slow down. If you’re sure about this… we have to prepare you first.”

“Prepare?” she whispered back.

“A bit like last time, only… more. Trust me, alright? I love you, and I would never hurt you.”

He chuckled when she covered her face with her hands. How could he say it so casually? On top of it, he meant it, didn’t he? He loved her, and he had the courage to let her know. She on the other hand… She couldn’t say it with such ease, even if it was true. If she said it out loud, she would make it reality, acknowledged and unmovable, and it would make losing him unbearable.

Childe removed her underwear, traced the inside of her thighs with his lips, and let his tongue delve into her throbbing heat, much like the last night he had spent with her. Now, however, he used his fingers to pry her open just a bit, just until she winced, at which he would slow down and hum to soothe her. [F/n] understood that she had to relax her body to enjoy it, and when he pushed first one finger inside her, then a second to move them in and out, she found herself breathing shallowly in the rhythm he set.

As the pain slowly vanished, a type of pleasure she had never felt before emerged in her core. Childe never ceased to lick and suck on her clit; his face stayed between her legs while his eyes met her half-lidded gaze, bathing in how she lost control over her features. “You’re so wet,” he breathed against her skin, causing a shudder to run down her spine. “I love how you taste, but fuck, your cunt’s begging for more and I want you clenching around me, but…”

“But what?” she whispered back, out of breath despite only lying in her pillows.

“But once we start, I’m not sure I can hold back, and I don’t want to hurt you…”

“Don’t hold back,” it spilled out of her. “Not tonight, tonight I want…” She bit her lip, trying to shoo away the self-awareness that had always made it hard for her to let loose.

“Go on, tell me what you want.”

“I want to know what it’s like, to feel you completely, to…” She fought off the embarrassment and looked at him. “To be yours.”

Childe closed his eyes as if he had to contain himself, then pressed a final kiss on the inside of her thigh, sat up, and got rid of his pants along with his underwear. She had never seen him naked — or any man, for that matter — but only felt her arousal heighten when he leaned in to cower above her with his toned arms and his intoxicating scent.

After taking in the gentle smile he gave her, she laid her hands on his cheeks to kiss him softly, closing her eyes to seize his lips the way she would do it in the blissful life she imagined. Her fingers wandered to the back of his head to dig into his curls and pull him in.

She felt her pulse quicken when his hand moved down. His eyes closed, his tongue brushed her bottom lip before delving into her mouth, while he guided himself between her legs. His groan seeped into their kiss when he started to push in, even though she tensed at the intrusive sensation, suddenly unsure if she could take him after all.

“Re… Relax,” he told her, not oblivious to how she struggled. “You’re tight… So tight and warm and drenched for me, but we’ll… we’ll take it slow, [F/n], my love…”

Though it seemed a challenge to hold back, Childe kept his promise, grinding himself against her slowly, easing in just the tip to let her adjust to his size. Bit by bit, he pushed in more, watched her closely for any sign or shift, and only began to thrust deeply once she grew more comfortable.

For him, it was pure pleasure; she could see it in his face, in the way he had to force himself to be patient. For him, more was always better, but for her, it was a process, something that took adjusting before she could enjoy it. Yet when he finally bottomed out and his movements began to quicken, a sudden, tingling sensation swept through her, making her sigh before she quickly muffled the sound against his shoulder.

“Should I slow down?” he breathed into her ear, his words standing in contrast to how he continued to slam himself into her.

“No, just… keep going,” she replied, her arms wrapped around him to hold on, her eyes closed to take in the sensation.

“How does it feel?”

“It’s strange,” she admitted. “It’s so intense, like you’re filling me up, like…”

“But is it good?”

“Yes,” she whispered and felt it ring true.

“Doesn’t hurt?”

“Not anymore…” She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling how his temples had gained a thin sheen of sweat, and she pressed her lips to his ear. “Childe, I want it… harder…”

He cursed, and [F/n] smiled to herself. She wasn’t at his mercy, wasn’t only his to lead, but wielded more power over him than she had realized.

When she tried lifting her leg to change the angle at which he took her, his hand shot to her thigh to dig his fingers into her supple flesh. Childe sat up, lifted her leg to position himself flush against her, then resumed slamming his hips against her with the same fervor as before, only now he reached even deeper.

As the pleasure and overwhelm coursed through her, she used her elbows to prop herself up, while Childe grabbed her waist to keep her lower body in place. She watched how their bodies connected with each thrust, listened to the sound of skin hitting skin, then let her eyes wander up his stomach, his chest, his arms, veins slightly protruding from the strain, then to his face.

The tips of his curls looked damp as they clung to his forehead. His brows were furrowed in ecstasy and exertion, his blue eyes glowed as they focused on her, his lips stayed parted while his breath left them in labored huffs, and when he noticed her look, they formed a blissful smile.

He was so lovely. Everything about him made her heart overflow with adoration, and it filled her with fear when all she wanted was hope.

“[F/n]?” he whispered her name, making her lock eyes with him once more. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I… I’m just…”

“You’re doing so well,” he praised with a gentle look. “You feel so good, I won’t last much longer.”

“It’s risky if you come inside, right?” she whispered back when his movements slowed to a halt.

“I… guess so.” His expression changed, and she couldn’t help but smile at how he tried to hide his disappointment. “I guess to be safe, you should only let your husband do that.”

“How about…” She sat up, careful not to let him slip out of her. His hands supported her back at once, pulling her onto his lap, where he swallowed a sigh when she sat flush against him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and caressed his hair. “How about… not my husband, but the one I love?”

Childe breathed in sharply, and only for a moment, he seemed to suppress an urge to cry. This was her confession — the only one she could muster. 

As he looked into her eyes with wistful yearning, she felt his breath on her lips. One of his hands stroked up and down her back, the other traveled to her hip, and a smile formed when he spoke. “You put up such a…” His eyes flicked aside for no more than a second, searching for words, before they were back on hers. “Not cold, but… untouchable. You put up a front of being untouchable, you always stay composed. I know that’s what you’ve been taught, I know it’s what your position demands, but it’s… it’s a front after all, and beneath it you have a soft heart, you are gentle and not at all entitled, and I always knew it, I’ve always seen it in you, but for you to return the feelings of a man like me, who was… who was never meant to be by your side…”

“Stop,” she urged him, barely saying the word. There was pain in his eyes that her own gaze mirrored, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly to kiss his lips with reverence. “If I had half your courage…”

“Half my stupidity, you mean,” he whispered back.

“If that’s what it is, then please—”

“No. Everything has led me to tomorrow, and it’s not just me. You still think it’s about me, somehow, but it isn’t. It’s about anyone but me, it’s bigger than me or you, don’t you understand?”

She averted her eyes, unable to hide her sadness, and she felt his grip tighten around her body. “I can’t help but think…”

“What?”

“That… if you loved me a bit more…”

“Nonsense, [F/n].” With one hand on her cheek, he turned her face back to him. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” A sensitive whine escaped her when his other hand pulled her in by her hip, prompting her to grind herself against him. “And no matter what happens tomorrow, that won’t change…”

It didn’t take long for Childe’s pleasure to peak after she, first clumsily, then more and more rhythmically, moved herself against him on his lap. He didn’t ask again — he kept her tightly against his body, guiding her hips while he moaned into her neck, his fingers tangled in her hair, his face buried in its scent.

She felt herself clenching around him when he climaxed, spasming at the strange sensation of being filled with his cum, wholly unlike what she had imagined. He allowed himself a few more slow, lavish thrusts, already staining the inside of her thighs with the gooey substance, and it was only when she hid her face by his shoulder and let her fingertips caress up his spine to downplay her embarrassment, that he stopped and caught his breath.

Carefully, as if she was the most fragile thing he had ever held, he lowered himself into the sheets with her, before kissing her lips, her neck, her collarbones and the plump flesh of her breasts, then resting his head on her chest. Blue, shimmering eyes peering up at her, he smiled.

“I’m tempted to say this is all I ever wanted,” he mumbled, his voice radiating warmth, “but it wouldn’t be true.”

“There is so much more,” she replied while pushing some rogue ginger strands off his face.

“For you too?”

“Yes,” she whispered, trying to keep the emotion at bay.

“If we succeed tomorrow, I’ll make it all reality. We’ll live good lives, you and I, as equals. Though…” A playful grin found his face. “I might still call you Princess every now and then, just to tease you.”

Despite his mirthful expression, she didn’t mirror his amusement in the slightest. “Childe, I have to ask,” she said and watched his eyes focus on hers. “Have you changed your mind?”

Now he sighed, and his smile faded. “You already asked a hundred times. The answer is still no.”

“No, I don’t mean about your… defiance tomorrow. I mean about the plan. About its details. Or maybe you’ve changed your mind on… the ideological part of it.”

He furrowed his brows, then slowly shook his head. “Changed my mind on ideology? What would make you think that?”

“Well… You spoke to Diluc, didn't you?”

He froze. His look unchanging, he eyed her closely, then breathed out. “Who told you that? Diluc?”

She shook her head. “Kaeya.”

Now his brows moved up. “You talked to Kaeya? When?”

“ Did you speak to Diluc?”

“I…” He gave a hesitant nod. “We spoke. It’s not that I changed my mind, though. I only thought about what you said… That it would be our undoing to not stand united.”

“Kaeya mentioned the word compromise. ”

The moment a scoff escaped him, a small smile reappeared on his lips. “Did he?” Childe rolled on his back and sighed, then looked up at the bed’s canopy. “If being sensible is a virtue, I have to admit Diluc has more of it than me. And… Well, demanding constitutional limitations to Nikolai’s rule instead of forcing his removal outright is the more sensible path forward.”

[F/n] pushed herself up to face him with wide eyes. She was sure she must have misheard — or misunderstood. “Childe, that’s… that’s a major shift in direction. So you are willing to keep the monarchy after all? To have Nikolai rule under a constitution? But…” Her forehead creased. “Just then you said that if I cease to be princess, we will be together…”

“Hence why there is no shift in direction. Our demands stay the same. Nikolai has to go, and the tsardom along with him.”

“But?”

“But there will be… a temporal adjustment.”

“Temporal?”

Childe was obviously discontent with being pushed to reveal the changes he made. He looked a little disgruntled, though he tried his best to keep his nonchalant composure. “Diluc made some sense when he suggested we join forces with him first, to see what happens. If Diluc and his men succeed and Nikolai accepts a constitutional monarchy and the abolition of serfdom, we will make our demands heard. It might be strategically smarter too, since those truly loyal might see his concession as a weakness and will then be inclined to rid the realm of him altogether. But Diluc’s point was that, well, if even his moderate attempt at revolution fails, there would be a basis to argue that we did not commit outright treason. No one ever asked for the Tsar to be removed, we could still say.” With a slight shrug, he shook his head. “It’s a worst-case scenario, of course. A mere precaution. I fully intend on going the second step and dethroning him, with violence if necessary. It’s just…”

“That you don’t want to die,” she finished his sentence with an elated smile.

“I’m willing to die for the cause, but it’s not like I have a death wish.” He raised one brow at her expression. “And you have nothing to smile about, Princess.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You hate that I do,” she chuckled as her smile turned into a smirk.

“Kaeya and I and those backing us, which are thousands if I may remind you, will bring about a new era for the realm. Our objective has never changed.”

“Right, you just want to secure a possible way out for you and your men.”

“Call it what you will.”

She had to laugh at his aggrieved look, intensifying his childlike resentment before she leaned in and stole a kiss off his lips. “Forgive me for being happy at the prospect of having you safe after all. I’m still very afraid you’re in over your head, you know?” His look softened at her words, and she breathed in. “Much more than of losing my station, or more than of the end of the Romanov rule, I am scared of losing you.”

Lifting one hand to her cheek, warm with fluster, he guided her into another short kiss, then smiled calmly despite her confession. “My love, that is only because you cannot truly imagine it happening. No matter what anyone tells you, our failure seems infinitely more likely to you than the end of the world as you know it. It’s not your fault. But if you could get yourself to believe in me, you would be terrified of the future.”

She let his words sink in. Memories of the painting came back, the Rurik lady amidst chaos, but even as she allowed the suffocating feeling it induced to take hold of her, she understood that Childe was right: it stayed a painting, a fantasy she trusted to remain as such, all because she could not picture the revolutionaries getting what they wanted.

“Let’s speak of it no more,” she whispered to him. “It is our last night like this either way, because the bunch of you…”

“Because we won’t change our minds.”

“Yes.”

“Stubborn and obstinate until the end.”

“Yes…”

“I know,” he said, a faint smile still lingering on his face. “But I’m ready. I’m glad it’s tomorrow, that the wait is over, the masquerade we all had to engage in, the patience that wore thin, it will find release.” Childe pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her hair. “I agree; let’s speak of it no more. For the rest of the night, let us drift away from our circumstances. Just you and I, while it lasts.”

While it lasts…

As she lay awake in his arms, it came to her that there was no good end to this: either Childe would turn out a fool for believing he could overthrow the order of things, and he would pay for it dearly; or she would turn out the naive one for believing, deep down, that her family’s rule was a law of nature, indestructible in its seeming immortality.

Chapter Text

It was oppressive. Though the cotton lining felt soft on her skin, the outer layer of silk taffeta weighed heavy. It was pleasantly cool to the touch, but the sensation was quickly taken from her by the gloves that were forced over her fingers, the satin first warm, then clammy from her palms.

Four women had joined her maids in the early morning of December 14th. Two of them were elderly court matrons, overseeing how the younger ones dressed her with serious faces, ensuring everything was done appropriately. They brought a sense of solemnity to the process; the maids stopped their earlier fussing and quietly put on layer upon layer.

[F/n] stood in front of the mirror, watching how she slowly changed from a person into a symbol of dynastic continuity. Her dress was white with pale blue accents, its waist higher than those of her other gowns, sitting just below her chest. The sleeves were long, their shoulders puffed, and as if the beadwork wasn’t enough to weigh her down, it had a long train that would remind her of her purpose with every step. A silken leash, it crossed her mind.

A red sash of the Order of Saint Ekaterina was draped across her torso, the bejeweled star firmly attached to the starched fabric. It was purely ceremonial; as a princess of imperial blood, she had been invested into the order upon turning eighteen years of age. The stiff sash attested to her status as much as it denied her agency.

Finally, a kokoshnik was placed atop her elaborately styled hair. She had worn the tiara-like headpiece many times before, but this one was unlike any she had seen at balls or festivities.

It was an imperial court kokoshnik at its most formal. The crescent shape stood tall, giving her head the silhouette of a halo. Its silver brocade matched the pale colors of her dress, though the fabric was hardly visible beneath all the jewels: sapphires, diamonds, and a frame of pearls covered the headpiece and lined its edges.

When [F/n] thought she was done, clad in her prison of beauty and significance, the eldest of the court matrons lifted her hand the moment she attempted to move away.

“The veil,” the woman said.

“A veil?” she repeated with surprise. “At my uncle’s coronation?”

“It will not hide your face, Your Highness. It will be attached to the sides of the kokoshnik, a fine, thin veil. The princess will be surrounded by military regalia, and it is her imperative to evoke softness in contrast to it. Besides,” the matron explained and came closer, her stature short and her features stern, “you are an unmarried Romanov woman, Your Highness. You represent purity.”

Without giving her a reply, [F/n] let them sew the delicate, sheer fabric into the base of the heavy kokoshnik on her head. One look in the mirror was enough to push her discomfort over the edge, but she swallowed it and kept quiet. 

It was too much. She had never felt it was a masquerade, not until she encountered the rebels in the catacombs; since then she had conspired and kept the secrets of traitors to the crown. Now that she saw herself being doused in century-old symbols of royal legitimacy, she felt she had forfeited the right to wear them.

And the veil… Neither her mind nor her body were still pure, but there was no turning back. She would stay silent until the end, and if the opportunity arose, she would make good on her promise to Diluc and convince her uncle in his favor.

No, not his favor, she thought. In the favor of the people. She would argue for the rights of her subjects. Maybe, just maybe, she would turn out to be worthy of the regalia, and even worthier than the tyrants who had come before her.

“And do not make this face when you stand next to the Tsar,” the other matron screeched in a shrill voice.

[F/n] turned to her with a bewildered look. “Should I smile?”

“Goodness, no,” the old woman sighed. “When you stand next to Tsar Nikolai Pavlovich on the balcony, you must have a dignified expression. You must not show emotion. Your gaze must be steady, Princess. Your lips will stay closed, and you must neither smile nor frown.”

“Noble restraint,” the other one said.

“Yes, noble restraint. You are gracing the ceremony with your presence, not as an individual, but as a metaphor, an image the men who will swear to lay down their lives for the Tsar can hold on to.”

“I know,” [F/n] only replied, before picturing herself next to Nikolai and Konstantin, overlooking the entirety of the royal military from the main balcony. As she watched her own face in the mirror, she made an effort to put on a steadfast look.

“Your Highness,” one of her maids said softly, “I was tasked to let you know that the commemorative coins have been distributed.”

“The… what?”

“Coins with the icon of His Imperial Grace have been produced and distributed to the public.” She exchanged glances with another maid. “I was told it was your idea and to inform you.”

“Yes, right. Thank you.” It had indeed been her idea. During the meeting with her uncle, his advisors and Diluc, she suggested minting coins for the occasion. [F/n] closed her eyes. She was expected to be on top of things, and she would be if it wasn’t for what she knew was going to happen.

“Remember, Princess, you represent the legacy of your late father. Stand tall and composed,” the matron said.

“And silent, ” shrieked the other.

***

The blessing rite was held privately. One of the palace’s chapels had been chosen, with only select ministers, guards, high clergy, and the members of the royal family present: Nikolai, Konstantin, and the princess.

Her nose tingled as soon as the procession started. The priests, clad in their vestments, swung their censers to spread clouds of white smoke towards the family, forcing her to suppress a sneeze at the intense smell of burned frankincense and myrrh.

When she entered the chapel with slow, rhythmic steps behind Nikolai, her eyes began to sting. The grand space was filled with heavy incense and warm candlelight, gilded icons decorated the walls, and the imperial colors were draped around the room.

She averted her look to watch the fabric of Nikolai’s mantle brushing over the floor. It was lined with ermine, contrasting the colors of his Preobrazhensky uniform, the dress of the most elite imperial guard unit — in which he had never served. His chest, too, was adorned with symbols of honor and recognition not earned, but bestowed by his name and station. Now he wore them as silent, metal legitimizers, but before unease could take hold of her, [F/n] remembered: he was born into it, just like her. Nikolai, too, never really chose this life. He was dealt cards of privilege and responsibility, and he accepted them.

While the future Tsar walked into the chapel with a dignified strut, Konstantin was a nervous wreck. He trotted beside her with his shoulders slouched, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he had to be so anxious about when it was neither he who had to rule the realm, nor he who knew a rebellion was underway.

The elder brother, the abdicator, the one who waived his right to the throne for mental weakness, she thought as she watched his red eyes, lined by dark circles. That had to be it; that those who saw him would think these words was what kept him up at night.

Chanted litanies echoed through the chapel. The priests sang their prayers, moved to spread their censers’ smoke, and only slowed to a halt once Nikolai found his place before the gates of the iconostasis, covered in golden, sacred depictions that mirrored and broke the candles’ light to emblazon the future sovereign.

[F/n] stopped two steps behind him, then moved to the right side. Konstantin split from her and stood on Nikolai’s left, the three of them forming a symmetry in the chapel’s nave. She exchanged a single look with her nervous uncle, and as if a switch was flicked, they both channeled the composure they had to project. The ministers, the clergy, and even the guards were watching them. Konstantin’s eyes turned empty, and [F/n] bowed her head so that her veil framed her vision as soon as the prelate stepped before the iconostasis and faced Nikolai.

“I will sing of mercy and judgment: unto Thee, oh Lord, will I sing,” he began the rite, the gospel book in one hand, a cross in the other, and [F/n] readied herself for a small eternity of listening to scripture and proclamations.

“I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible,” Nikolai started citing the creed upon being asked to affirm his adherence. “I acknowledge one baptism for the remission of sins. I look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come…”

He delivered the creed without fail, making her wonder just how many nights he had practiced by himself, learning the long texts he would have to repeat inside the chapel. After his proclamation was acknowledged, two more prayers were read by the prelate.

“For Thine is the might and Thine is the kingdom and the power, of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages…”

“To Thee alone, King of mankind, has he, to whom Thou hast entrusted the earthly kingdom, bowed his neck with us…”

“For Thou art our sanctification, and unto Thee do we give glory, to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages…”

The ages of ages…

As prayers melted into prayers, sung and spoken by the deep, echoing voice of the prelate, [F/n] developed a headache; maybe from the holiness of the words, she thought with some amusement, but probably from the suffocating incense that had filled her head to the brim.

Thank God Childe wasn’t here. He would probably make her laugh by pretending to fall asleep — or actually falling asleep, for that matter. Her legs had grown tired from standing, further burdened by her attire, and she remembered that they had benches in the churches of most other creeds. God was more merciful with his other faithful, she thought when she subtly let her eyes wander to the attendees who were trained to stand still for hours. They would remain on their feet as long as it took.

She looked up when Nikolai stepped forward to receive the crown. While she had laid eyes on it before, its dazzling diamonds were a sight to behold. Just below the bejeweled cross sat the Menshikov Ruby; a red spinel weighing hundreds of carats, maybe the largest of its kind in the world. The crown’s mitre was divided into two halves, bordered by fine, white pearls, and filled with a multitude of sparkling diamonds.

Nikolai took the crown and placed it on his head with his own hands, signifying that he would rule by divine right alone, and not through the church. The scepter and orb were given to him, before the prelate declared: “The absolute, mighty lord, most pious autocrat and great sovereign, Tsar of the realm.”

“ Axios! Axios! Axios! ” the clergy exclaimed loudly, making [F/n] startle, at once fully awake. She remembered it was Greek — He is worthy .

Next was the chrism. The prelate used scented oil to anoint Nikolai on the forehead, his chest, and his hand. “The seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit,” he repeated with each touch, reaching down as Nikolai kneeled before him; the only time he would do so. Once the chrism was done, he was helped to stand, the oil was wiped off his skin, and he relinquished scepter and orb.

Nikolai turned around to receive his brother first, who stepped before him and sank to his knees. After bowing his head and pressing a fleeting kiss on the back of Nikolai’s hand, he spoke just loud enough to be audible.

“I, Konstantin Pavlovich, yield the burden of rule to my brother, God’s chosen sovereign, and stand as his loyal subject. Long live the Tsar.”

Her heart thudded inside her chest when it was her turn. While she didn’t have to kneel, she curtsied deeply, lowered her head so her face was obscured by the veil, before she mustered what she had to.

“I, [F/n] Alexandrovna, bow before the Tsar, anointed in faith. May your reign be long and righteous.”

“Many years!” it resounded through the chapel as not only the clergy, but the guests broke out in song. “Many years!”

The liturgical part was over. Accompanied by cheerful singing, they proceeded out of the chapel the way they had come, and once they reached the corridor connecting the Jordan Staircase to the main balcony, the clergy stopped following.

All three let out deep sighs when the tension fell from them. Aides scurried to Nikolai, their heads now low in deference, while [F/n]’s maids rushed in to adjust her dress, fix her hair and sew the veil on tighter, while Konstantin told servants to bring them water before they had to ascend to the balcony.

“The troops are gathered in Palace Square,” she heard one of Nikolai’s assistants mutter to him.

“You are Tsar. Are you relieved that it’s done?” she asked when she stopped before her uncle, forcing her maids to stay behind as she came too close to the sovereign.

“No,” he scoffed and dismissed the assistant with a wave of his hand.

“No?”

“This was a formality.”

“Don’t let the churchmen hear that.”

“What I worry about are the troops,” he said, making [F/n] listen up. “Once they have sworn themselves to me, I will be relieved. Some of them could still want to serve Konstantin instead, or worse…”

“Worse?” Did he know some were plotting to rid the realm of him altogether?

“They might want to serve you. ” As Nikolai’s eyes narrowed, she shook her head. “I need you today, [F/n]. You know how important this is for me. We must appear as one, you hear?”

“God, you need a wife, and fast,” she said with an eye-roll.

“Don’t defy me now!” he hissed at her. “Insolent girl!”

“It is political theater. Look, even the former Tsar’s daughter supports me! ”

“I never claimed it to be anything else!”

“And I never said I wouldn’t do it, so stop asking me to appear as one with you!”

“I am asking you to play your part!”

“I have and always will,” she told him, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “We need to calm down,” she added after a moment. “It’s the tension.”

“Tell me about it!” he snarled at her and turned away when even some servants looked shocked at how he shouted at the princess.

[F/n] felt a bit of dark glee at the fact that he had been Tsar for mere minutes and already lost his composure in front of his subjects. No matter how perfectly he had learned the prayers he had to recite, no matter how imposing he looked in uniform and mantle, Childe was right: Nikolai was unfit to be Tsar. He had a natural tendency to tyranny.

As soon as the herald met them, bowed deeply before the new ruler, then guided them up the stairs to the balcony, [F/n]’s throat felt tight. Seeing Nikolai so nervous didn’t help; it was almost as if he knew, though he mistook the threat for loyalty to his older brother.

Even as the tall doors were opened and the cold hit them, Nikolai kept glancing at her as if reading her expression would help him assess the situation. [F/n] swallowed, straightened her back and put on a face of regal sternness.

The morning was icy. The small clouds that left their lips revealed their breaths, and self-aware, Nikolai closed his mouth to control how he exhaled the frigid air.

First, she looked up at the cloudless, blue sky, before the sight of Palace Square made her freeze on the spot. Below them spread a sea of men, all in formation, all uniformed, some with rifles, most with sabers by their hips. She remembered what Diluc had said during the meeting: the ranks would reach all the way to Peter’s Square for they were so numerous, not even the grand plaza before the Winter Palace would be large enough to hold them.

While the cold made her cheeks taut and her eyes watery, her body was kept warm by the multitude of layers she wore, and she was suddenly glad for the veil that retained at least a little bit of heat around her head. She couldn’t help herself; she looked for him in the crowd, searched across ranks after ranks, before she remembered he had to be with General Diluc and Kaeya, their stations allowing them to stand not too far from each other.

She found them when the herald cleared his throat. It was Diluc’s red hair that made her spot the troop, the second regiment from the front, in tailored uniforms, shoulders drawn back at attention, their epaulettes shimmering golden and silver in the winter sunlight.

Though the distance was too big to say for sure, she felt like their eyes met. The men looked up to the balcony, and Childe, ginger strands peeking out from under his hat, stared up at her not to see a faraway symbol of beauty like the others, but to see the one he had been close to just the night before.

She recalled his kiss, how his hands roamed over her body, how she melted into his embrace, how his skin was hot and his scent intoxicating… [F/n] closed her eyes to chase the thoughts away.

“By command of His Imperial Majesty,” the herald began bellowing from the balcony, his voice so loud and echoing, she was sure only one of his profession could call out at this volume, “Nikolai Pavlovich, Tsar and autocrat, crowned by God’s mercy, let every regiment assembled bear witness to the divine legitimacy of our sovereign, and swear their sacred oath of allegiance!”

Nikolai suddenly turned to her, and she gave him a hurried, encouraging nod. He stepped forward, wet his lips, and seemingly had to gather the courage to speak as his wide eyes grasped the vastness of the Tsar’s military.

“Subjects…” he said, but much too softly. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, then finally managed to shout. “Subjects of the empire! The crown has passed by God’s will. Konstantin Pavlovich has yielded the duty to rule, and [F/n] Alexandrovna has borne witness to my ascension.” The crowd stayed quiet. Nikolai tried to look closely, tried to make out facial expressions, then continued. “Before you stands your sovereign who demands your oath to the Tsar and to the realm! Raise your swords and pledge!”

Her breath got stuck in her throat at what she saw next. Thousands of officers lifted their sabers, thousands of soldiers raised their hands and shouted: “Long live the Tsar!” — and thousands upon thousands did not.

The visual impact of the troops’ restraint was stark. Like an audience that was divided, some approving of the show, some silent, the sea of men beneath them reminded her of a wheat field that was flattened unevenly by the wind. 

The Tsar’s military resisted the unity that was demanded of them, and only now did Childe’s words gain meaning: while they were still a minority, he was telling the truth when he told her that thousands rallied behind them.

So many, she thought as her breath shallowly returned. So many want change.

“What…” Nikolai looked at [F/n], then turned to the herald. “What is happening?”

“Swear yourselves to the Tsar!” the herald yelled from the balcony as if it might have been an issue of volume.

The raised sabers and hands slowly sank in uncoordinated confusion. The buzz of thousands of murmurs reached up to the balcony, [F/n] spotted a few loyal officers walking up to their defiant subordinates and yelling at them or hitting them over the heads, but before she could comprehend the unrest that ensued in its entirety, she saw a path open through the ranks of the troop that contained Diluc, Kaeya and Childe.

The three seemed in tense conversation with the men around them, until Childe grabbed Diluc’s shoulder and pushed him aside, his movement not rough, but firm. The formation let him pass through when he began walking out of the crowd and towards the palace, and after [F/n] watched his figure make his way towards them, it came to her what he was doing.

Why him? Why did it have to be Childe?

If Childe delivered the demands, neither she nor he could ever deny his involvement. They must have had a quarrel about it just now, she deduced. Diluc shouldn’t be the one to step before the Tsar as the instigator after all, as he was too valuable a negotiator to be used as an errand boy. Kaeya was unpredictable and purposely dismissive of etiquette; even Childe knew that much. But it still had to be one of the rebellion’s leaders, it couldn’t just be any of the foot soldiers, or it would be seen as an insult. Thus, they chose Childe.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Nikolai kept repeating while no one answered. 

Childe had to make it inside the palace and up the stairs to the balcony, surely explaining himself to guard after guard, and just as [F/n] wondered if she should go inside to grant him the clearance he needed, he appeared.

Her heart raced with painful thuds when he emerged on the balcony. He looked perfectly handsome in his uniform; his epaulettes and the few honors he had attached to his chest shimmered under the bright blue sky, while his nose was a little red from the cold. As she struggled to keep her features under control upon seeing him, Childe maintained his composure perfectly.

“Captain!” Nikolai barked at him right away. “What is going on with the troops?! Did you tell your men to go against the Tsar?!”

Childe only stood before them, his expression unreadable, in his hand a letter. “Your Majesty,” he said to Nikolai and bowed deeply, his eyes lingering on the ermine of the Tsar’s mantle. “Grand Duke,” he addressed Konstantin next, having lifted his head a little, before he turned to [F/n]. “Princess.” Childe straightened back up, and while she tried to read in his eyes, he only faced Nikolai. “A letter,” he said, holding out the message, his arm steady, “on behalf of the men assembled below.”

Nikolai stared at the paper. He looked dumbfounded while his brows were already furrowed in anger, and when he wouldn’t take it, [F/n] carefully reached for it and gave Childe a nod.

Curtly and without delay, he bowed once more, then turned on the spot and headed back the way he came. [F/n] watched him disappear into the small group inside the palace, the ministers mumbling to each other while the guards exchanged nervous looks, when Nikolai ripped the envelope from her and shoved it into the herald’s hands.

“Read it!” he demanded, and the man hastily removed the seal with shaking fingers.

[F/n] watched the herald’s eyes rush across the single piece of paper, before beginning to stutter the words written. “To His Imperial Majesty, Nikolai Pavlovich Romanov. On this day of solemn transition, we address Your Majesty not in rebellion, but in conscience.”

Diluc wrote this message; one sentence was enough to let her recognize his voice. She closed her eyes and breathed out, keeping it shallow so Nikolai wouldn’t catch it, though when she glanced at him, he only watched the herald, consumed by anger.

“We, loyal sons of the realm and officers of its army,” he continued, “call upon you to affirm your reign by an act of righteousness and vision.”

“What?! What do they want?!”

“Your Majesty, should I really… Should I continue reading?”

“Yes, for God’s sake, read it!” Nikolai snarled at him.

The herald blinked a few times, suppressing tears of fear. He was supposed to announce the pledge today. Now he found himself revealing a message the Tsar wasn’t going to like. “We demand the following,” he read.

“ Demand?! ” Nikolai scoffed and looked to [F/n] for equal indignation, but her eyes stayed glued to the herald.

“Point one: that a constitution be drafted and enacted, which shall define and limit the powers of the Tsar and enshrine the rights of all his subjects under law.” He swallowed. “Point two: that the practice of serfdom, a… a shame to the realm and its people, be abolished without delay.”

“Wh…” He scoffed, then chuckled, turning to his niece and then his brother, but both stayed quiet.

“Point three: that legal and civil rights be extended to all citizens, and that arbitrary arrest, censorship, and forced conscription be ended.”

“Painting me like a… like a monster!”

“Not you, ” [F/n] finally spoke. “These are the conditions as they have been under my father and before him. They…” Should she say it yet? She took a slow breath. “They are giving you a chance no ruler before you has had.”

“A chance?” Nikolai raised his brows. “What are you saying?”

“Does the letter continue?” she asked the herald.

“Yes, Your Highness. It continues as follows: we seek your transformation from autocrat to ruler under law. If you declare your intention to grant these reforms, we shall lay down arms and serve you in good faith. But if you reject the call to reform, then know we stand united for liberty and shall not swear false loyalty to a Tsar who ignores justice. Signed in conviction and honor, on behalf of the regiments of the people.”

“These are my regiments! Of the people! Don’t make me laugh!”

“Uncle, please,” she spoke calmly and turned to him, “consider the situation.”

“The situation is treason! Treason by a select few!”

“It is not the majority…” She looked down the balcony. “But it is more than a select few. Many more.”

“For how long have they been plotting…” Konstantin almost whispered as he supported himself on the balustrade.

“Did you know about this?!” Nikolai suddenly snapped at her, making her flinch.

“No,” was her reply.

“The one who brought the letter, he was the captain who insulted Count Shemetev, and he has been sticking close to you, hasn’t he? Wasn’t it he who… who took you to Yelagin Island not long ago?”

“He came as a guard.”

“[F/n], do you have an inappropriate relationship with this man?”

“Nikolai,” Konstantin chimed in, stepping closer to his brother. “Do not ask our niece such a thing.”

“Did you conspire with him?!”

“I did not!” she exclaimed, forced to lie through her teeth, but hardly feeling like she owed Nikolai honesty. “I did not, Uncle, and this is not the time to accuse those that stand with you!”

“You stand with me, yes?!”

“Of course I do!” She closed her eyes to regain her composure, then focused on Nikolai. “Think, Uncle. They are not asking you to abdicate. These men are not violent revolutionaries. The letter is phrased with respect.”

“It contains a threat!”

“Yes, it does,” she admitted. “But it has to. They are making demands, after all.”

“What do you suggest?!” Nikolai looked at her, then at his brother.

“Oh, I?” Konstantin let out an anxious chuckle. “I cannot deal with this. I will leave the country, settle in our residence in Warsaw. This is too much for me. Once we get off this balcony, you will not see me for a long, long time.”

“At least he knows what’s good for him,” [F/n] said and elicited the slightest of smiles on Nikolai’s face.

She wanted to try and convince her uncle to agree to a constitution — not just for her promise to Diluc, not just to save Childe, but because it was right. There was only one problem: if she got him to respond positively to the rebels’ demands, it would fulfill the conditions Childe and Kaeya sought to launch their own ultimatum. All she could do was bet on the chance that Diluc had them under control.

Nikolai grabbed the letter from the herald’s hands to read it with his own eyes. “Miloradovich! Get him here! Where is Miloradovich?!”

[F/n] quickly came closer to her uncle, already hearing the count making his way through the small, elite crowd inside and onto the balcony; a seasoned general known to be a terrible philanderer, who had stayed close to the new Tsar since the old one died.

“Listen, Nikolai,” she called him by his first name alone, earning a raised brow. “This is your chance to be enshrined in history as the Tsar of reform, more notable than any who came before him. Seditious as they may be, their demands are practical, concrete, and honestly… sensible. Do not make the mistake of taking this for a personal insult. A constitution would limit your authority, yes, but to let it be drafted would tell the people that you were never going to abuse your power in the first place. And serfdom — a practice Europe looks down on us for. Their peasants are emancipated. It is time to follow suit, don’t you think?”

“Your Majesty!” Count Miloradovich called out as soon as he reached the balcony, almost as if to interrupt [F/n]’s rushed whispers. He bowed deeply, then pushed his thinning hair back to place a hat on top. “You asked for me?”

“This is what they demand,” Nikolai said and handed the count the letter, whose small, beady eyes scurried down the paper. “It is…”

“Treason, clear and simple,” Miloradovich told him. “All they should expect in return is the gallows.”

“This is an opportunity to become the most just, generous Tsar to have ever ruled,” [F/n] argued.

“I mean no offense,” the count said to her, then faced the Tsar. “But do you intend to take advice from a girl, Your Majesty?”

“Well…” Nikolai was hesitant.

“If she was so bright,” he continued, “and again, I mean no offense… Then her father would have chosen her as his successor, but he chose his brother.”

“He chose Konstantin,” [F/n] noted.

“Yes, but—” Miloradovich chuckled nervously. “Tsar Alexander, may he rest in peace, agreed to have you rule, did he not?”

“He did,” Nikolai said.

“So trust in yourself, Your Majesty. Not in… Again, no offense—”

“I will take offense if you keep insisting on meaning none,” [F/n] interrupted him, trying to keep her blood from boiling.

“Not in the princess, was all I was going to say.”

“And who made you advisor?” she retorted.

“His Majesty called for me just now, did he not?” Miloradovich paused. He let his gaze wander up and down [F/n]’s attire, before he watched Nikolai looking down the balcony to the restless crowd. “Perhaps… a compromise.”

“A compromise?” Nikolai turned to him.

“Her Highness speaks sense when she appeals to your just and generous nature. But this is treason and it cannot be looked at any other way, as I am sure Her Highness agrees.” The count looked at her for approval, but she faced away. “I believe I can convince them to forego their demands. Give them a second chance, so to speak. It is best to talk to officers and soldiers from man to man. As a veteran on the battlefield, I speak their language.”

With Miloradovich present, she would not be able to convince Nikolai. It was difficult to make him concede even a single point, while it took no more than a slight push to reignite his sense of entitlement.

“Maybe you make a counter-offer,” she said to the Tsar. “Grant a constitution with civil rights, and… and leave the issue of serfdom for a later time.”

“I am afraid Her Highness does not understand,” Miloradovich jumped in with a patronizing chuckle. “A constitution— Well, it takes a politically minded person to understand these terms. A constitution would limit and control the Tsar’s power, you see.”

“You insult me,” she hissed at him.

“I do not mean to!” He lifted both his hands in defense. “But your dear uncle, who is now the Tsar, has been chosen by God himself. You have acknowledged as much in the chapel, you have bowed to the Tsar because his authority and his mercy are endless.”

“Let’s focus on his mercy, then,” she said and turned away from the count, speaking only to Nikolai. “Uncle, these men are idealistic and brazen, and their actions are, in fact, treasonous. But I believe it would be a mistake to respond with emotion. If you lash out now, it will make you seem small and petty. Make a counter-offer, and while they consider it, think about what is best for your subjects. To think of them and not of yourself is exactly what the Tsar should do.”

Nikolai looked troubled. His eyes wandered from his niece to the count, then down the balcony to find the men below either in tense discussion or at stern attention. His right hand grabbed the ermine lining of his mantle and held on tightly, before he faced the two and spoke.

“I will be merciful and generous. My counter-offer will be to let them live, if they drop their demands and swear themselves to me right this instant.” When [F/n] closed her eyes, he focused on the count. “Miloradovich, I send you as my emissary. Go and deliver my response.”

“Your Majesty,” he replied, bowed deeply, then gave the princess a single, prideful glare and turned around to be on his way.

[F/n] bit her lip as she laid her hands atop the balustrade and watched the men below. Childe was back with his troop, and when she stepped into view, he looked up to see her.

“What?” Nikolai bit at her. “What’s with that look?!”

“When you negotiate, you have to put yourself in the shoes of your opponents. What are they to do with the message your emissary brings?”

“I do not negotiate.”

“At least you can see that.” From the corner of her eyes, she glowered at him. “What you demand is unconditional surrender. How are they to respond?”

“What I give them is a chance to come to their senses. If they swear themselves to me now, I will let their treacherous foolishness go unpunished. They should be in awe of my mercy.”

“Uncle?”

“What?”

“Are you opposed to the contents of their letter? Or do you merely feel insulted, and their words go on deaf ears? Does it not matter what it is they request, because you begin to seethe at the word demand? ”

“Why do you do their bidding? You have benefitted from being the Tsar’s daughter, and next you will benefit from being the Tsar’s niece. Why go against your family’s interests? Is it that captain after all? Has he charmed you?”

Nikolai spoke sense, though he didn't know the half of it. If he was aware that some of the men below the balcony were opposed to his rule as a whole, he would have sent Miloradovich with death warrants instead of a chance at surrender.

“A constitution. The freeing of serfs. Rights for your subjects. Do you truly oppose these changes?”

“Yes, my sweet niece,” he said, emphasizing each word. “And if you didn’t forget who you are, you would too.” For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to drop it, but with a bothered click of his tongue, he turned to her once more. “They want to undermine me. They want to change what it means to be of noble blood. They imply that I will not be a benevolent ruler, so the people need protection from me.”

“Your emissary arrived,” she only said when Miloradovich emerged on the ground and made his way through the path that the troops had formed.

Both the Tsar and the princess watched closely. Their hands on the white stone of the railing, they focused on the figures below to see Miloradovich head for Childe once he found him, but was stopped when Diluc came forward instead.

“General Diluc?” Nikolai muttered. “Is he their leader?”

“He might just speak on their behalf. Part of the troops, but on your side, the perfect middleman,” she replied. Childe had given himself up when he took the stairs to hand the Tsar Diluc’s letter, but if she could save any more of them from being found complicit, she would try.

It had slowly sunk in that Nikolai wouldn’t be swayed. She wanted to rush down and tell them that it was pointless, that their best bet was pledging allegiance if their lives mattered to them, but all she could do was stand in the bitter cold and watch.

The conversation became animated. Miloradovich gestured firmly, his hand in a fist, while Diluc stood straight, one hand resting on his belt, right next to his sword, not yet reaching for it. Nikolai’s emissary yelled at them. Even from above, she could tell he spoke to them like children to discipline, and while Childe exchanged looks with Kaeya, Diluc endured the man’s tirade with dignity.

But she couldn’t predict what happened next. A gasp escaped her while Nikolai held his breath, and the troops’ growls sounded all the way up to them when the crowd merged into a mass where there had been order before.

It was Kaeya. He had pulled out a dagger while Miloradovich was still speaking, and as if to quiet a nuisance, he stepped forward, flipped the blade in his hand, and stabbed the emissary in his chest. When Miloradovich stumbled back, Kaeya followed, pulled out his dagger and went for his throat next, splattering himself with the blood that gushed from the count’s artery, before Childe roughly dragged Kaeya away while shouting at him.

It was as if a spell had been broken: emboldened by Kaeya’s choice of violence, soldiers threw themselves at Miloradovich's body to give him a piece of their own minds, and the crowd collapsed in on itself as war cries echoed across the square.

“I…” They heard Konstantin stutter behind them. “I will go into hiding… until it’s over…”

[F/n] stared on. She heard Konstantin’s steps as he hurried inside and asked to be taken somewhere safe, while Nikolai quietly remained next to her.

“They killed my emissary,” he said, his tone strangely calm. When no reply came, he repeated: “[F/n], they murdered the Tsar’s emissary. They killed a decorated general in wild mutiny.”

“It seems so,” was all she got out, struggling to form a coherent thought. “One…” She finally cleared her throat. “One of them did. It did not look planned.”

“Guards!” Nikolai suddenly shouted, startling [F/n]. The men stationed just behind them rushed onto the balcony. “Aim your rifles at the troops from above and on the ground! Build a brigade around the palace and let no one in!”

They saluted and rushed off while she watched the crowd regain some order. The men were arguing; Diluc held Kaeya by the collar of his uniform, his face covered in red specks, Childe tried to separate them, and though Nikolai missed it, [F/n] saw that Miloradovich’s bloodied body was being dragged away by three soldiers.

Aim your rifles… 

The meaning of Nikolai’s words only now reached her.

“Uncle!” she said and turned to him. “Send me!”

“Send you?!”

“I will negotiate on your behalf.”

“With these savages?! Do you have a death wish, [F/n]?!”

“No, they wouldn’t hurt me,” she told him, trying to sound as convincing as she could manage while her hands were shaking. “They wouldn’t hurt an unarmed woman… Let alone the princess. Uncle, these men will clearly not surrender unconditionally. Let me talk sense into them.”

She believed what she said — they wouldn’t hurt her. If anyone tried, Childe would protect her. And more importantly, Nikolai wouldn’t give the order to shoot as long as she was in the crowd.

The Tsar looked at her, then to their entourage that had retreated deeper into the palace, before he faced the crowd. Inside his head, he went through the scenarios that could result from his decision, but in the end, his fear showed on his face, and it was this fear of the rebels’ wrath that moved him.

“Fine, go. If you believe you can influence them, then go in service of your bloodline. Two guards will accompany you.” Nikolai reached for her wrist. “Do not make any concessions. When you go, you go as an extension of my will.”

The guards walked in front of her at first, but as soon as they left the palace and made their way towards the troops, she overtook them to take the lead. Once she reached the crowd’s edge, another path formed. The men stared at her with wide eyes to take in the opulence of her dress, her kokoshnik, the sheer veil and her even features. Most of them had never seen the princess from up close, and as if dumbfounded by the contrast of her softness to the martial reality around them, many soldiers lowered their heads in deference.

No, was the word she watched Childe mouth when he saw her. “Stay behind,” she told her guards when she walked up to the officers, but they waited no more than a few steps from her, forced to obey, but unwilling to leave the princess to her devices.

“Your Highness,” Diluc said, his look distressed. “This is not the place for you to be at this time.”

“Miloradovich — was this planned? Was it a show of force to attack the Tsar’s emissary?” she asked.

Her heart was racing. Her lungs burned a little from hurrying out of the palace and down to the square, breathing icy air that came out as cloudy huffs, and now that she was in the center of the mutiny, now that she stood before the men she knew so well, surrounded by their followers on the day they had been waiting for, the trembling of her hands didn’t seem to calm.

“No,” Diluc replied decidedly.

“It is what it is,” Kaeya said, his tone dry.

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Diluc snapped at him. “You are going against the agreement! You could be dooming us all!”

“You may have an agreement with Childe, but not with me. Don’t you realize it’s today, Diluc?” He turned to Childe. “It’s today. This is our chance at change. If violence is what it takes, so be it. Those were once your words.”

Childe looked lost. [F/n] furrowed her brows at how he watched her, wistful and worried, his eyes fixated on her face, framed by her thin veil. She had expected him to argue one way or another. He was a man of big words, yet now he stayed quiet.

Was he scared? What held him back?

“Do you have a message from His Majesty?” Diluc called her attention back to him.

“One different from his first emissary, I hope,” Kaeya added.

Her look wandered from Kaeya’s purplish gaze to Diluc’s focused, fiery eyes. She took a deep breath, then chose her words with intent. “The Tsar’s offer hasn’t changed, but its value just increased. If you swear yourselves to him now, he might still pardon you, except… except for Kaeya. Count Miloradovich was a member of the Tsar’s inner circle, so I cannot make any promises as to what happens to the one who killed him, but for the rest of you, and not just you, but all the men standing behind you, there is still a chance at forgiveness.”

“Now she shows her true face,” Kaeya scoffed. “Now that it matters, she does his bidding.”

“This is not about what I think is right,” she argued. “It’s over. I… I could not convince him. I tried,” she asserted to Diluc, whose look grew somber. “The Tsar will not be moved, and you just murdered the man he sent to speak to you. What you must do now is damage control. ” She shook her head. “You have to give up and think about what to do to clear your names.”

“Or we kill the Tsar.”

“Kaeya…” It was Childe who said his name to caution him.

“If we can better the realm, I will pay for it with death, and I’ll be glad if it isn’t mine, but that of His fucking Majesty.” Kaeya turned away from Childe to face [F/n]. “So I am sorry, Princess.”

“You are… sorry?”

“I wanted to hear what you have to say. And now that it turns out you have nothing at all to contribute, I must see your decision to come down here for what it is: an opportunity too golden to pass up on.”

A shriek escaped her when Kaeya grabbed her roughly, turned her around and forced her back against his chest. He stumbled back as a circle formed around them, his fellow soldiers either trying to appease him, or drawing their swords not in defense of her, but support of him.

The cold metal of the blade that pressed against her skin felt sharp and icy, and even though she could only glance at the handle from the corner of her eyes, she recognized it: it was the same dagger he had rammed into the stairs of the dais, that night in the throne room.

Out of reflex, she held onto the arm he had wrapped around her to keep her in place, while his other hand held the dagger that threatened to cut her throat. She was dragged back with each of his steps, trying to keep her breaths shallow to not increase the blade’s pressure against her skin.

“Kaeya!” Childe shouted, having found his voice just when the two guards drew their swords behind him. “Let her go!”

“Use your head, Childe! To take her hostage is our only course of action; it gives us leverage! Maybe the Tsar will bow to our demands to keep her safe and we won’t have to spill more blood!”

“This won’t end well,” she hissed at her captor, trying not to let the fear show as it rushed through her veins along with an unprecedented dose of adrenaline.

“You shut up,” he told her, then faced the guards as he increased the pressure on her throat. “Listen and deliver this message to your God-king! The old deal’s off the table! He either abdicates and lets us form a government, or this will be the last he sees of the princess!”

There was a blow to Kaeya’s shoulder. Its force was unlike anything she had felt before, a wave of pressure that hit the man behind her and threw him off balance, making him go down and drag her with him.

The dagger had fallen from his hand. He groaned while she pushed herself up to see blood pool beneath his shoulder, and when the thunder of shots resounded around her in chorus with the shouts of soldiers, she realized that Kaeya had been hit by grapeshot, and it was pure luck that the projectile hit him and not her. The guards had opened fire on the crowd.

Panic ensued. The men tried to run as rifles were aimed from the balconies, as well as from the line of defense before the palace, shooting indiscriminately at anyone who was part of the disobedient troops.

It was so loud. The hailing of shots was deafening, along with the screams and cries of those around her, falling and trampling as the assembly turned into a smash-up of bodies. As soon as she got on her feet, men pressed against her with enough force to make her gasp for air, the shouts became louder, she lost all sense of orientation as she saw soldiers go down to get stomped on, and as she was getting crushed by the panicking crowd, her wrist was grabbed.

Childe pulled her into his arms when another wave of shots fell. They were pushed around the mass-collision, stumbled and barely stayed on their feet as [F/n] saw blood, clouds of dirt, and fallen men whose backs were trampled on by those shoved left and right.

Though Childe too was at the mercy of the forces around them, he kept her protected against his chest, shielding her with his body while the air was crushed out of his lungs. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the fabric of his uniform so she wouldn’t have to see the hell they found themselves in, only praying for it to be over.

There was a hand on her arm. Childe still held her in his embrace, but there was a third hand, reaching for her upper arm and losing her as the silk of her dress slipped through his fingers, before he grabbed her once more and held on so tightly, her skin would bruise at the roughness with which he pulled.

“I’ll get her out!” Diluc shouted at Childe while he attempted to drag her out of his arms. “Let her go!”

His red hair was open. It was tousled over his shoulders as blood ran down his temple from what might have been an elbow to the forehead. She met his ruby eyes, distraught but determined, and after Childe’s clutch first tightened, it loosened the next moment.

“Come with me!” she pleaded with Childe when Diluc pulled her towards him. “Wait, don’t let go! Come with me!” she yelled and grasped for his hand.

As if a final will had taken hold of him, he suddenly closed his fingers around her palm once more, pulled her back in, kissed her lips with desperate urgency, then let go so Diluc could take her away. She called out for him, her hand extended but unable to reach, before Diluc wrapped one arm around her waist.

His body always in front, his sword drawn, he forced himself through the crowd while keeping her close, bit by bit making his way to the edge of the collision. [F/n] kept looking over her shoulder, only to catch a last glimpse of Childe getting swallowed by the crowd Diluc had rescued her from.

Five men aimed their rifles at him when they reached the brigade before the palace. Both of them had to catch their breath, their chests heaving while [F/n]’s legs threatened to give in, and Diluc had to exert his last strength to keep her on her feet.

“No,” he wheezed, dropped his sword and lifted his hand instead. “I bring…” A violent cough came from his lungs. “I bring the princess…”

You have to think about what to do to clear your names, it came to her while her entire body was trembling, still feeling phantoms of the crushing weight. That’s what she had told them. Was that what Diluc was doing?

One of the guards kicked his sword away, then lifted his rifle and stepped aside. With evident relief, Diluc proceeded through the opening and pulled her with him towards the palace’s entrance.

“Stop shooting into the crowd!” she shouted at the guards while Diluc took her away. No longer needing to keep her pressed against him, he now held her hand and led her through the corridor and up the stairs. The palace had become empty. “What are you doing?” she finally asked, before being shaken by a violent cough.

“I take you to the Tsar, Your Highness,” he muttered, neither letting go nor slowing down.

“Why… Why do you…”

“Come, please,” he urged her, and she only now realized that he was shaking too. The blood dripped down his chin, a few of the golden buttons of his uniform were torn off, and where his decorations had been attached to his chest, the fabric only showed small, empty holes.

[F/n] didn’t have the strength to resist, and her mind was in such turmoil, whatever was the right thing to do became more blurred by the moment.

The Tsar’s Preobrazhensky attire perfectly pristine, his ermine mantle without a speck of dust, he stood on the balcony and watched the mass panic unfold. Two military advisors were just behind him, solemnly observing the event as if things were going as planned, and all three turned when Diluc took [F/n] over the balcony’s doorstep.

“Good Lord,” Nikolai mumbled upon seeing her.

When she faced up, she noticed that her veil was missing. Her hands reached to her head to find that her kokoshnik was gone, her hair had come undone, and her lips quivered when she tried to speak. “You…” Her throat was dry, and she swallowed. “You gave the order to fire while I was there!” it finally came out when she held onto the balustrade for support.

With only a faint look of guilt on his face, Nikolai took a deep breath. “You got yourself taken hostage. That blade by your throat… Forgive me, [F/n], I deemed you lost already.”

“You are insane!”

“Watch it, now. A situation such as this requires swift action. You allowed them to blackmail the Tsar, and the Tsar did not have it.”

“Tell them to stop!” she pleaded. “It’s over! Tell them to break up the crowd!”

“Indeed.” Nikolai clapped his hands once. “It is time to clean up. May this be a lesson for all insurgents, present and future.”

“Your Majesty,” she heard Diluc’s voice. When she turned, she saw him on his knees, his head low as blood dripped on the white stone beneath his knees. “I brought you the princess.”

“Well done, General. She owes you her life.” Nikolai stepped before Diluc to eye him from above. “You have always served the Romanov family well. But you did not raise your sword when prompted to. Don’t think I didn’t see. Am I to believe you are with the rebels?” He waited, but Diluc gave no reply. “You know that to claim we are in need of a constitution is to claim my incompetence. I will not be insulted like this, General. I will not be treated like a toddler that needs correction, while past Tsars have ruled with impunity.”

Diluc still remained quiet. He waited to ensure Nikolai was finished, before he spoke, his head still low. “Your Majesty, I have saved the princess from said rebels, so—”

“Yes, yes, you’ll get to keep your life.” He scoffed and looked to his niece for assurance, but faced away when he found her on the ground, looking through the balcony’s columns to see the pile-up slowly dispersing. Nikolai cleared his throat. “I do wish a man of your worth would have saved the princess without asking for compensation, but well, here we are. As an act of mercy, I shall pardon you if you do swear yourself to me.”

“No, Your Majesty,” Diluc said and finally faced up when [F/n] glanced over her shoulder. “In return for your niece’s life, I want to ask for the lives of my men. If you are truly a benevolent ruler, spare them the ultimate penalty and take their defiance as an act of misguided patriotism.”

“Yes,” [F/n] quickly jumped in when she realized Diluc’s true intention. “Spare them, Uncle. I will not… not be so insolent anymore, I swear it. Please let them keep their lives.”

“It seems it took getting half crushed to death for you to admit to your attitude towards me. But [F/n], I am Tsar now. You are to treat me with esteem whether I spare their worthless lives or not.”

She felt lightheaded. Though she was already on her knees, she grabbed the structure beside her as if an invisible force dragged her down further, and the last thing she heard before her vision turned black was Diluc, calling for water for the princess.

***

She was still in her dress. The silk taffeta felt soft and stiff at the same time, and just for a moment, she thought she might have taken a nap before the ceremony. Nothing at all had happened. The gruesome images were only bad dreams.

But her hair was open. Her body ached. A thudding pain emanated from her temple into the rest of her head, and when she opened her eyes, she found two maids and a vaguely familiar man, standing by her bedside.

“Your Highness,” the elderly man said with a foreign accent. “Do you remember who you are? Where you are?”

She pushed herself up and hissed in pain, but the man let her proceed. “Yes, I… I do.”

“You suffered what we call a concussion. Not too severe, luckily, and it seems…” For some reason, he looked ashamed. “It seems a rifle’s grapeshot brushed your shoulder. The impact must have been right next to you. The surface wounds are small, but they might leave faint scars. Besides that, there is nothing to be concerned about.”

She only nodded, barely registering the doctor’s words. “Where is Childe?”

“Who?”

[F/n] closed her eyes. She had to get her thoughts in order. “The… The uprising.”

“Yes?”

“The men, many of them were crushed, I… I saw it.”

“Indeed,” the doctor said, his tone somber. “Around a hundred men died in the stampede. Palace Square…” He sighed. “It began snowing after Your Highness fell unconscious. Palace Square was a mess of snow and blood and soot, and, well, we tried to save who we could but the toll… The toll is high.” He cleared his throat and sat up, regaining some composure. “The square has been cleaned up for the executions His Majesty, the Tsar, has ordered.”

“The…” She furrowed her brows. “How long was I asleep for?”

“It was not technically a state of sleep—”

“How long?”

“A few hours.”

“But then… How…” She got out of the bed at once, but was forced to hold onto its edge and press her palm against her temple when a sharp pain rushed through her head. “How can he already… This is madness…”

“Your Highness, please—”

“You are dismissed,” she got out and stumbled towards the door, opened it and found herself in a corridor she knew, but struggled to place into her mental map of the palace.

“Princess!” one of her maids called out behind her, and she turned around.

“Take me to my uncle!” she told the maid, saw her worried face, but remained firm.

Against the doctor’s recommendation, she was led outside after a thick cloak was draped over her shoulders. The snow was still falling from a cloudy, reddened sky, and when she saw the construction before the backdrop of the sunset, she felt sudden, violent nausea well up.

The doctor said Palace Square had been cleaned up, but red remnants of blood and black lines of soot still tinted the plaza. Erected in the middle was a scaffold, a thick rope, tied into a noose, already suspended from the central crossbeam. Beneath it was a flimsy wooden stool, and when [F/n]’s eyes wandered to the right of it to see an elevated platform with a simple canopy on top, she stumbled back a step.

“[F/n]!”

It was Nikolai. He emerged from the small crowd of officials that had already gathered before the structure, and rushed towards her while accompanied by two guards, sticking closely to his side. He smiled as if he was happy she had made it to a family picnic.

“Isn’t it… Isn’t it still the same day? I don’t understand…”

“What don’t you understand, my dear?” Nikolai laid his hands on her shoulders and watched her flinch. “Oh, does it hurt? I was told there was some grapeshot in your arm. Forgive me, I forgot.”

“Who will you execute?” she asked, her voice thin.

“The traitors, of course. But to show my benevolence, I will only ask the lives of their leaders as penance. Some others will be exiled, and most will be stripped of all they have. Thousands, can you believe it? Thousands who had their minds poisoned by a few.”

“But Uncle,” she said with as much emphasis as she could muster in her weakened state, “should we not question them first?”

“And ask what?”

“Should we not give them a trial?”

“[F/n], their crimes speak louder than any words. They are to be judged on the spot. I need to assert control after what happened, need to make an example of them.”

“Can I…”

“What, my dear niece?”

“Can I speak to them?” Nikolai laughed, but she was adamant in her helpless request. “Please?”

“[F/n], how stupid do you take me to be? Last time I let you go to them, you almost got yourself killed. Your wellbeing is precious to me. You will stay by my side until it is over.” Nikolai clapped his hands when a thought crossed his mind. “But you can speak to General Diluc! He will be joining us on the viewing tribune.”

“Diluc?” she only whispered, and Nikolai gestured her to follow him.

When the officials lined up in rows of five, the clergymen stood to the side of the elevated scaffold, and a hooded figure emerged on the platform, [F/n] realized that she was too late. Groups of soldiers, presumably uninvolved in the revolt, had gathered at a distance, curious to look, but too scared to come closer. [F/n] had arrived at the last moment, which was why Nikolai was so excited to see her: he could make her watch after all.

“Here, here, stand next to the general,” Nikolai told her after helping her up the small, quickly built tribune, before he found his place in the front.

Diluc’s skin was sickly pallid. He didn’t look like himself as he stood there in the same broken uniform, the wound on his forehead not yet patched, but his hair tied back into a ponytail. [F/n]’s eyes wandered from his pitiful appearance to her chipper uncle, directing words at the small crowd of onlookers.

“Diluc?” she whispered once more.

He was clearly forced to be here, but when his eyes met hers, she caught a glimpse of the extent of his distress. His red gaze lay dark and exuded an energy wholly unlike him.

“I am glad you did not suffer severe injuries. Truly, I am glad.”

“Diluc, how can this be? Executions on the same day? No trial?”

“The Tsar,” he said, his voice empty, “has absolute power. His will is enacted without question.”

“Diluc…” She reached for his wrist, but he pulled away as if her touch burned his skin. “Please tell me that he is alive.”

“Childe? Yes. And Kaeya too. But not for long.”

“You’re saying they were identified as the leaders?” Diluc remained quiet. She stared at him, but he gave no reply as he only watched the scene. “Diluc, please answer me!” she hissed, before she felt a hand on her arm.

“Look, [F/n]!” Nikolai said. “It’s starting.”

Where did she go wrong?

She remembered Childe at the ball, asking her to dance, only to get rejected. She remembered how he insulted Count Shemetev, how Diluc pushed his face into his food, and how he looked endearingly angry despite it. She remembered how he rolled through the snow with her, pulled her off the cracking ice, how he visited her at night, how he smiled, how his blue eyes glowed, how lovely and vigorous he was.

Now he was in chains like a common criminal; not in rags but his dirtied, torn uniform, making for an image of humiliation as he was forced to walk towards his own death, right behind Kaeya.

Where did she go so wrong that this was not a nightmare to wake up from?

Kaeya’s right arm hung limp. Either it was broken, or his shoulder got obliterated from the shot, and he lost control over it. There were dark bruises around his cheek, and when she focused on his face… It looked like he had cried in frustration not long ago.

One of the clergymen stepped forward to read from the book in his hand, while Childe was told to wait, and Kaeya was pushed up the stairs to the platform where the noose hung from the beams. It swung in the cold wind, and though he looked distressed, there was a solemn air of acceptance in his expression, fierce even in the face of death.

“Ah,” Diluc sighed next to her before breathing out deeply. “I cannot do it.”

“Hm?” She faced aside to find him looking at Kaeya, his gaze now softer. “What?”

“I cannot let him die.”

“You mean… Kaeya?” She looked back to the scaffold. He was already being pushed towards the noose. Her eyes shot to Diluc’s hip to find he carried no sword. “But what can you do? Even if you fought, the guards would make quick work of you…”

“No more fighting,” Diluc said with the faintest of smiles. “Can you see that he cried?” He scoffed, but it sounded warm. “Always in over his head. He tries to bear it with dignity, but one look is enough to tell he doesn’t want to die.”

“But Diluc, what…”

He took a step forward, putting himself even before the Tsar. Nikolai’s attention was pulled to Diluc momentarily, and he lifted his hand to pause the ceremony.

“General Diluc? Eulogies are to be spoken after the convict’s death.”

“I would like to trade my life for the lieutenant’s,” Diluc announced, suddenly sounding like himself again. A gasp went through the small crowd that had gathered, but he continued. “While I have contemplated it before, now that I see him dragged to his death, it is clear to me: I will not live if he dies.”

This was the kind of spectacle Nikolai would enjoy — so [F/n] thought, but when she looked at her uncle’s face, she only found discontent.

“After I gave you the gift of life, General, you want to trade it for the fate of this man?” he posed, extending his arm to point at the convict.

“Cut the crap!” Kaeya yelled from the scaffold, making another wave of gasps ripple through the audience, this time for offense.

While his back was half-turned to Kaeya as he addressed the Tsar, [F/n] could see the affectionate look on Diluc’s face. He nodded slowly. “If you permit it, I will receive his punishment in his stead.”

“You have served the Romanov family well, General,” Nikolai said with what sounded like genuine disappointment.

“And it was an honor to serve.”

“Now you ask to hang in front of the Tsar and the princess.”

“Would it be enough to ask you to spare the lieutenant’s life?”

Nikolai scoffed. “I am already sparing the lives of thousands of his underlings.”

“Then I ask you to take mine for his.”

He watched Diluc closely. His scrutinizing gaze rested on the general, standing resolutely, and he shook his head in disapproval. “What a waste,” he said and glanced at [F/n], who stayed fixated on Diluc. “You wish to die? Be my guest.”

“Keep your sacrifice, I don’t want it!” Kaeya shouted when Diluc was escorted down the tribune and towards the scaffold. “Diluc!” he called out and lost control of his countenance when the general smiled at him. “Why?! Stop it!”

There was no hesitation in Diluc’s movements. He turned to let the executioner tie his hands behind his back, so he wouldn’t instinctively claw at the rope. As if it was a natural task, he stepped onto the small stool and allowed the noose to be put around his neck.

He looked so at peace; it didn’t make sense. Diluc faced the tribune, not to see the Tsar, but only the princess, and he gave a nod of recognition. Tears rose to her eyes at once, and at a loss for what to do, she returned the gesture. From that moment onward, Diluc only looked at Kaeya.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Kaeya continued to protest, winding and kicking while he was held in place by two guards. “Stop this madness! I never asked you to die for me!”

“Any last words?” the executioner asked.

“Diluc!” Kaeya interrupted him, shouting even louder. “Please!” His features distorted when his voice broke. “I don’t want this!”

Diluc said something. His voice was so low, only Kaeya and the executioner could hear, and judging that those were the general’s last words, the hooded man kicked the stool away from under Diluc’s feet to make his body drop.

He died slowly. The fall was deep enough to compress his throat and squeeze his arteries, but not enough to break his neck. His body convulsed, deprived of oxygen. His legs were kicking as he lost control over his muscles, and wet, choking gasps for air came out of him when the rope crushed his windpipe. Diluc was wheezing as his lungs failed to fill and a primal instinct to survive set in, making him panic through his agonizing consciousness, underscored by Kaeya’s cries to make it stop.

[F/n]’s quivering hands covered her mouth, before she turned to Nikolai and grabbed his arm, repeating Kaeya’s pleas to put an end to it already. Diluc was suffocating in plain view, bit by bit, minute by minute, and it was torture to watch. The Tsar, too, did not enjoy it, but reigned by pride as he was, he would not admit to the grotesque treatment he had sentenced the general to.

Diluc finally lost consciousness after what seemed like an eternity. As the rope cut off the flow of blood to his head, he was finally relieved from feeling everything that happened to him, and though his body was still twitching, his legs had stopped thrashing and his choking for air had subsided.

Kaeya’s visible eye was wide and empty. He hung in the arms of the guards that were supposed to restrain him, listless and drained of any and all will.

When it was over, [F/n] let go of Nikolai’s arm, who rolled his shoulders in discomfort when he addressed the executioner. “It…” He cleared his throat. “It took too long, didn’t it?” Nikolai posed to the man, and murmurs of agreement came from the crowd, shaken by the prolonged agony of Diluc’s death.

“When the drop’s not deep enough, or he’s not heavy enough, it gets like this,” the hooded man replied, before quickly adding: “Your Majesty.”

“Well, make the drop deeper!” Nikolai shouted, and the crowd called out in support.

“Yes, well, need a different stool…”

A new one was found. A few servants carried a tea table from the palace to the scaffold, and [F/n] pressed the back of her hand on her mouth as new nausea welled up. She knew the small, square table with gilded wood from one of the palace’s salons. It had once held lemon tea and biscuits, and now it would be used to serve death.

Nikolai nodded in approval when Diluc’s body was cut loose, a new rope was tied, and the table was placed where the stool had been before. Kaeya had sunk to his knees, sitting on the wood while the guards tried to pull him back up, telling him to stand upright before the Tsar.

It was when one of them reached behind Kaeya’s back to untie his wrists. Nikolai intervened by lifting his hand as a sign for them to stop, and when all eyes went to the Tsar, he gave a grand gesture. “Do the here present really think,” he said, “that you can trade a life for a life?”

“Wh…” [F/n]’s eyes widened. “But you promised…”

“If you had listened, you would know that I did not promise anything at all. I asked if he wanted to die, and he said yes.” He faced the crowd and raised his voice. “Every traitor must face his fate! Because General Diluc wanted so eagerly to be one does not mean the lieutenant is absolved of his crime! I will not have my judgment questioned and I will not be told what to do by petty officers!”

“Don’t do this,” [F/n] whispered to him. “It’s a mistake, it’s cruel and unnecessary.”

“I do have a mind to slap you,” he said much quieter, so only she would hear. “And every time you question me in front of others brings me a little closer to indulging myself.”

Kaeya hardly resisted when he was pushed to the same spot where Diluc stood, only that he was made to climb the tea table, which turned out not to be the easiest task with his hands tied behind his back. He didn’t bother to look at the Tsar or the princess. The tribune went ignored, and instead he only glanced at Childe, then focused on the groups of soldiers in the distance.

The noose went around his neck. While the crowd murmured, unsure what to make of what they witnessed, Kaeya looked as if his soul had already left his body.

“Last words?” the executioner asked.

“You can kill us,” Kaeya said without hesitation, barely loud enough for the crowd to hear. “But you cannot kill our ideas. Long live the people.”

Oddly, [F/n] found herself praying. Her hands folded, she prayed for a swift death, for a reunion in whatever place came after this one, a place without chains and subjugation. She prayed that Diluc wouldn’t mourn his wasted sacrifice, but would rejoice at the revelation that there was an eternity to be together. She prayed that Kaeya’s heart was not heavy with regret at ever having turned his back on Diluc. She prayed that where they went, no grudge persisted.

But when she opened her eyes to see Kaeya’s face, she found only fury, even in death. With his last breath, a desperate gasp for air, he cursed them for all ages to come. Kaeya died filled with contempt.

When his body stopped convulsing, only hanging from the gallows as a symbol of the Tsar’s tyranny, the executioner went to cut the rope. Silence settled over Palace Square, but before its gravity could sink in, it was interrupted by the sound of violent retching. Still in front of the steps to the platform, Childe had fallen to his knees and threw up, coughing when he was being dragged back up to his feet and pushed towards the stairs.

He would die for the cause, he said. He would gladly give his life. If that’s what it took…

But his face was white as snow. His eyes were wide as every muscle in his body tensed to lean away from where he was forced to go. The guards behind him shoved him forward while his feet tried to stumble back, he stuttered pleas and words of denial, stared at the new rope that was being tied for him, and tried to run away before both his arms were grabbed and he was heaved atop the stage.

Childe was terrified. He said he was ready to give his life, but this… This was senseless death, imminent and concrete as his two comrades had already crossed over, shaking and wheezing while their minds were trapped in agonized bodies, and Childe — he didn’t want to die.

When he looked up and made their eyes meet, her mind went blank. Before she knew it, her hands ripped down Nikolai’s coat, her fingers clawed the ermine as her legs gave in. She was on her knees when she grabbed his hand, reaching for it again whenever he pulled away, clenching it so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She cried and begged for Childe’s life. With tears streaming down her face, she kneeled before her uncle, groping for his clothes as if to pull herself up or drag him down, and though he tried to shove her off him, irritated and overwhelmed by her breakdown, he listened when she promised to do anything if he only let Childe live.

“Anything?” Nikolai repeated. The onlookers seemed moved by her display of passion, but the Tsar watched her coldly.

“Anything you ask, please, please…” the words spilled out of her.

“So it’s true,” he said so only she could hear. “It’s this man.”

“Yes,” she admitted on the spot. He wanted the satisfaction of having been right, and she would give it to him. “Please,” she whispered, tears still rolling down her cheeks, fingers dug into his mantle. “I beg you…”

“There is a punishment more befitting a coward like him. Look how he’s unable to face death, needing his mistress to grovel before me and beg for his pathetic life. You’ve degraded yourself for this man.”

Nikolai could say what he liked. She would endure anything, if only she didn’t have to see that primal fear in Childe’s eyes. It didn’t matter what he had done. What fate he deserved meant nothing. Her heart was tied to his, and it made her unfree in ways she hadn’t known were so severe.

Chapter Text

———

Dear Childe,

Winter has ended in St. Petersburg, and I do not know what season it will be when this letter reaches you. They told me it takes months for a message to be brought to where you are, and though I know you are leagues away from me, I still struggle to imagine the vast distance. I only hope my letter makes its way to you at all.

Not a day has passed that I am not thinking of you. I know you were sentenced to labor in exile, and the point is for you and all the other rebels to suffer the supposed consequences of your actions, but I hope your life in Siberia is bearable. I hope you do not feel lost and abandoned, and if you do, know that I have never abandoned you and never will.

The days continue to come and go, but I still live inside my memories. After you were gone, everyone at court resumed their pursuits, but I find myself still there, still returning your witty comments at the ball, still playing in the snow of Yelagin Island like a child, still staring from the tribune in horror.

Though I was not told the location of Diluc’s and Kaeya’s resting places, I will spare you the details of what I do know. Their graves are unmarked; no crosses were erected and no rites were performed, so I doubt I could find them even if I searched.

I do not know who Kaeya’s relatives are or if he had any. When I tried to look into his background, I hardly found anything at all. I have decided to leave it at this, since Kaeya was the kind of man who did not enjoy the prying of others.

Diluc’s family, however, I have visited. I inquired why they have not requested their son’s body, and they told me it would be seen as seditious. The mother seemed consumed with shame as she could hardly face me, and the father… Though Crepus Ragnvindr is a boyar whose exploits during the Napoleonic wars are known as legend, I was very disappointed upon meeting him. All I will say is that he asked my forgiveness for the dishonor his son has brought, and when I told him that Diluc was the most honorable man I knew, he fell quiet.

Childe, in the end I could do nothing at all, and there is much that I regret. Maybe if I wouldn’t have been so conflicted, maybe if I had been more courageous and abandoned caution when it mattered, your efforts would have been worth something. Now you have been taken from me, and even Diluc, who was a loyalist among revolutionaries, died a pointless death.

Nikolai made me admit to everything. It was one of his conditions: confess your involvement and keep out of politics forever. Stay in your room. Focus on looking pretty at parties and dancing when you are asked to. Never come to another meeting. Never give council or advice. Do not have opinions, and if you must have them, keep them to yourself for as long as you live.

At times I feel like this punishment is cruel and severe, but then I remember all that has happened, and I come to the conclusion that it is not severe at all. What Nikolai felt at your disobedience was indignation and fear, but by me, his niece and fellow Romanov, he felt betrayed. When he was annoyed with me before, now he hates me with a passion, and I am certain I have caused him to be distrustful of those around him for the rest of his life.

In good news, His Majesty will have a child. I was of the mind to travel to my uncle Konstantin and spend my days in his Warsaw residence, as I feel there is little left for me but painful memories in St. Petersburg, but I have decided to wait until the birth of the Tsar’s child. If it is a boy, he will be named after my father. I intend to get to know him then, and who knows, by the time it is his turn to reign, he might become Alexander the Liberator. Maybe it won’t all have been for nothing, Childe.

As I am strictly prohibited from meddling in my uncle’s affairs, I spend much time with his new wife, who appears to be wholly uninterested in politics. She is a little frail and timid, a young woman from Prussia who is kind and, it seems, genuinely in love with my uncle. She admires what she calls my forthright nature, and I help her with learning our language. To be frank, I am not sure she will ever master it; it is difficult for her, and we have French as a common tongue, which makes us prone to the temptation of conversing in a way that is not so strenuous for one of us.

Of course, she has heard of the uprising in December, and she knows of my role in it. I am certain that Nikolai told her every shameful little detail and goes on demeaning tirades about me whenever I am mentioned, but his wife only remembers the part about you and I, and, it seems, she finds it terribly romantic. Despite her passive nature, the Tsaritsa’s voice carries more power at court than my own, and so she promised me to ensure our letters will not be read or held back, but delivered to each other, no matter what we write. I owe her for that.

My love, unless you tell me that you do not wish to learn about developments in the west, I will keep you in the know of what happens in your absence, so you do not grow secluded and lonely. You might be inclined to remind me of the time you have to serve in exile, but you should know that I am somewhat of a stubborn individual. I love you, and I will keep writing to you for decades. Please trust in me.

Do tell me everything about your life in the snowy east. I will not forget you for a moment as I await your letter faithfully.

Remaining ever yours,
[F/n]

———

To my love, so far from me,

I never expected your letter to find me in this godforsaken place; yet it did, and it brought me more comfort than I thought I could still feel. I was in disbelief of holding something you have held, and I read your words slowly, as though afraid they might be taken from me if I turned the page too fast.

Here in Petrovsky Zavod, in the deep southeast of Siberia, the winters come early, are harsh and last long, while the summers are short and dry. I am grateful to have kept my life, but to be sentenced to labor and twenty years of exile, to be trapped so far away from you, from my home, and from my existence as I knew it, is a harsh punishment nevertheless.

The news of the Tsar’s child is indeed news of hope. I hope that he will be a boy, I hope that he will become gentle, like you describe his mother, and not cruel like his father, and I hope that his cousin will wield influence over little Sasha.

I admire how you think of the future, my love, when I myself am stuck in the past. I know the world has moved on, I know that I will be forgotten in the capital, and I know that, maybe, there is a life to be had here in Siberia; but I remain in 1825.

I remain with you. I remain with the feeling of being let in by you after years of watching from afar. Never have I felt so happy and alive as when we grew closer, and here in this prison of icy nothingness, I indulge in the memories of knowing you.

But when I open my eyes, I am inevitably reminded of reality. Twenty years, my love. In twenty years, who will I be? Who will you be?

Two thirds of my life will have passed. My dreams of marrying you and having you birth my children will have turned into the fruitless wishes of a former life. When I think about this jarring fact, I cannot help but think of the revolution too, of my vision for the realm, and I find myself standing before the shards of my ambitions, before shattered hopes and broken dreams, and all that is left are the endless, white plains that surround me.

At times, it seems the silence of this snowy neverland mocks our busy suffering in the cities. I find it hard to tell whether the question of who is Tsar, whether his military bows to him, whether he writes a constitution or rules unchecked, matters at all here.

Oh, how I wish your father had seen sense and named you his heiress. Flowers of freedom would sprout all across the realm if it was you, I know it. My love, I dream of kissing your hands, your hair, your lips, and I dream of never missing you. I write your name, I whisper it before I sleep, I remember your embrace, your look, tinted with a bit of shock at your own infatuation with me. I wish I could have seen it grow into calm love. Now I wonder if I should have abandoned my convictions and taken you away from St. Petersburg to live in peace somewhere. Instead I stuck to my principles, at least I tried to, and what came of it?

Nothing came of it at all. I feel consumed with guilt at the fact that I am here, utterly useless, while my friends are dead. They have died, not least because of my incompetence, and I live without a purpose, dreaming of the princess in her palace. I was supposed to topple the structure that kept you there. Instead, it soothes me to imagine you in your pretty dresses and silken sheets, and I find myself hoping you will always be comfortable.

I think of them, too. Kaeya and Diluc were my comrades, and here, without them, I rage on quietly.

The revolution turned out to be poorly planned for what we wanted to achieve.  I feel shame towards Kaeya for the fact that we did not even get to name our demands. I was careful and hid behind Diluc’s voice, maybe because I had too much to lose, or maybe because I knew, deep down, that the scope of our goals was beyond us. We were, just like you said, in over our heads.

But enough sulking. You asked about my life here.

The mornings are early. Roll calls are at five in summer and six in winter, when we get counted and checked by the guards. In the beginning, they had us line up in formation and march to the labor sites, there were punishments for speaking out of turn (my forte), or not saluting properly, but by now, discipline has become much less strict.

The guards are a strange bunch to us, though I believe we are an even stranger bunch to them. They are not officers, but simple men, some of them former soldiers, appointed by the military to be our supervisors. They are, to put it plainly, undereducated compared to the prisoners they are guarding. On top of being twice as literate as our captors, many of us are of noble birth, and it seems to fluster the guards. Some deem us high-born officers a political embarrassment to the realm and are especially harsh, while others contradict the treatment employed by their peers and give us more leeway.

At first, the labor I was assigned mostly consisted of cutting timber and hauling it across the colony. I am going to be honest: to chop and carry logs through the snow, in insufficient clothing, for ten to twelve hours a day, was brutal. I have since been moved to construction, where I build huts and fences and the like, which is much more bearable. It feels worthwhile, at least. The settlement grows, so we need basic housing and infrastructure, and I was recently allowed to move out of the barracks and into one of the huts I built. It is a small, single room that gets terribly cold at night, but it is my own.

Can you imagine a nobleman felling wood and sleeping on bunks? Though I have been preaching about acknowledging our privileges for a long time, my prior comfort gains new meaning in the face of physical strain. Just how unfamiliar I was with the lives of those that work — truly work — makes me feel confronted with my own ignorance, despite my efforts to understand and advocate for the peasants. Just imagine the ignorance of aristocrats who make no effort at all to understand the lives of others.

Though I call myself a noble officer in a penal colony, I was, of course, stripped of all my titles and privileges. I was born a noble, but I may no longer consider myself that. I climbed the ranks of the imperial military, at least to an extent, but am no longer so much as a soldier.

Isn’t that strange? They insist with such fervor that their riches and their power are a matter of blood, yet somehow others can be stripped of them at their whim. It might not be about blood after all, don’t you think? To cite birth as a legitimator might be motivated reasoning, don’t you think?

Remember these inconsistencies. One day they will have piled up to a mountain of evidence for the illegitimacy of the rule of a select few over the rest, and it will make their house of cards crumble. They are already busy exposing themselves.

So it might take another hundred years, I might not see the day, but I believe there is a future without masters. One day, the rule of one human over another will be seen for what it is.

But to come back to my life in Petrovsky Zavod: I am glad I got to move out of the barracks and into my own hut, because my fellow prisoners do not seem to like me.

I heard they call us Decembrists in the capital. The nickname merely refers to the month of our revolt, but it is a pretty word, I think. I don’t mind it.

While I work with the other Decembrists day in and day out, they do not speak to me at all, even when I approach them. Since they will only mutter insults or spit at my feet when I try to make conversation, I cannot know the true reason for their hatred, but I think it must be that they blame me for our shared predicament.

They think the attempt at revolution was poorly handled, surely; that clueless, self-appointed leaders like myself have not only ruined the realm’s chance at change, but also their personal lives. They blame me, I am certain of it. And I don’t fault them.

So instead, I have become a little closer to our neighbors outside of the settlement: the Buryats. You have probably learned about them in ethnography, though I imagine the court teachings about the realm’s peoples are strongly tinted by imperialistic exoticism.

I will not say they are noble savages, or any other such nonsense. There is nothing enchanting or barbaric about their way of life. They are self-sufficient and reserved. While they are, of course, wary of outsiders, I learned quickly that their silence was not a response to my presence. They only speak when they have something to say, but they are not unkind.

I think I must be a curious specimen to them. When I visit, I always arrive half-frozen, I am clumsy at the tasks they give me, and I talk too much. Despite being a fool enamored with rhetoric, they have not turned me away, which feels like a mercy in itself.

Some of the men speak our language, broken and accented, but enough for me to pester them with my questions. The women and the elderly only speak their own tongue, and they are even quieter than the men. It turns out the flowery ramblings we love so much in the capital are not needed to understand each other, after all.

I think they like my tenacity. I might appear fickle at first, but you know that I am a determined man. My persistence in getting to know them has made them open up a little, and they have taught me how to keep warm and allowed me a glimpse at their horsemanship. They ride like the wind, [F/n]. It is unlike anything we do in the west.

Despite getting closer, I still feel strongly that I am different from them, as the life I have come to live until now has almost nothing in common with theirs. The world as I know it is foreign to them, and they do not pretend otherwise.

They do not speak of politics, of Tsars, or of revolutions. In fact, I think they are indifferent to these matters, and it makes me feel strange to have dedicated my life, and ultimately sacrificed everything, to the question of who rules the realm and how.

What do I even mean when I speak of the realm? I thought I was advocating for all the subjects of our vast, beautiful country, but when I see the endless plains of Siberia and watch the Buryats live lives wholly disconnected from any of the concerns that reigned my life, I wonder if I ever truly thought of a place other than St. Petersburg, and of people other than those just like me.

My love, I have started to draw sketches, and once I become better at them, I will send you my renditions of the Buryats’ attire. What the women wear is quite beautiful to me. Their dresses are long, layered robes made of thick fabrics that withstand the cold. Despite being practical, they are never dull: their dresses are of deep blues and vibrant reds, embroidered with silver thread. While it is nothing like the silks of our court, their robes give them a dignified, ceremonial appearance.

Of course, I am only speaking of their clothes. No woman here has caught my eye, and none will. Even if I never see you again, [F/n], I will dream of my princess in the capital until the labor and the cold have gnawed through my bones.

So much for my life in Siberia. While I am glad to tell you of the interesting aspects of my punishment, the truth is that I feel sad all the time.

I miss you, [F/n]. If I could choose, I would return to you right this instant.

My only solace is that you indulged me before I lost everything. I have loved you for many years, and for you to return my love, even just for a bit, is more than I had hoped to experience in this doomed life.

I recognize the promise of faithfulness in your letter, but do not forget who I am: a convict in exile with nothing to offer you. Even if my sentence ended early, even if I could return, it is not like I would become who I used to be. The only identity I have left is that of a Decembrist. In the capital, I am no one. And you still have a life ahead of you.

Though I struggle to write the words, I need you to know that for you to marry someone eligible would be the natural course of things, and that no one, including myself, would hold it against you.

That said, my dreams are still of a life with you. In my fantasies, we have abandoned politics. We live in one of my family’s residences, not large like the Winter Palace, but perfectly befitting a couple of noble descent. You are my wife and I am with you everyday. When I indulge in those wild dreams, we are in the garden on a warm summer’s day: there are flowers all around us, you sit on the blanket I laid out on the grass in your beautiful, airy dress, embroidering one of our daughter’s skirts. She is playing with her older brother, running around wildly and squealing with joy, while I watch them with our baby in my arms.

That is the mundane, peaceful life I long for, as my mind goes there again and again. You by my side, our three children, and no more ambitions. At times, I imagine I am called to fight in a war or the like, and after you wait for me anxiously, I return to you to find our children have grown a little in my absence. Those are the small hardships I dream of fondly.

Every now and then, I wake up with wet eyes. Without formulating a single coherent thought, I feel throughout my body that I have forfeited every chance at what I want more than I have ever wanted anything. I am filled with regret, [F/n].

Please stay just as you are. Don’t make my misery your own. Seize every bit of happiness there is to seize, and don’t let a ruined man on the other side of the realm hold you back.

Selfishly, I love you.

Yours beyond distance,
Ajax

———