Page 7 of Tiger's Tale
Still utterly unable to read the tsar by the time he made his way over to her, Mila decided to try something she’d never done with any other would-be suitor. It was risky, in that it was nearly guaranteed to wipe the self-satisfied smile from the tsar’s face and therefore anger both him and her father, but it would also serve to send him off quickly, seeking the next pretty young lady in whom to pay favor.
She decided to reveal her full self, show the tsar Milena Mariani Dalle, in all her cunning glory. Playing all her cards at once, Mila set each one deliberately and purposely on the table, a thing that should frighten any male easily intimidated by an intelligent female. She looked him in the eye, confidently assessing him as one would an enemy. When they spoke, she countered each of his queries with one of her own.
Mila didn’t bat her lashes, simper, faint, or fan her face. She was bold as brass, daring him to defend his stances on recent political decisions, then she brought up the blight affecting the recent harvest, and finally, she questioned his intentions regarding a series of new immigration laws applicable to peoples petitioning to join the empire, relocating from the other side of the Ural Mountains to their own lands. There were many issues to consider, including culture, language, and what to do about the abandonment of long-held traditions. The Native Alliance was a very new and fragile government and would have to be treated gently and...
And... he didn’t leave.
So Mila finally learned something about the tsar.
Andrey loved a challenge.
* * *
It was true.
Andreydidlove a challenge.
And Mila was a puzzle to him.
It was her scrutiny that interested him at first. No one had ever questioned him before.
As for Andrey, he’d known it was time for him to wed, but none of the women presented to him as potential brides were interesting enough. They were lovely. At least some of them had been. There were definitely a few who were strategically excellent options. Mila wasn’t one of those. She was the youngest but extraordinarily lovely daughter of an insignificant diplomat from an even more insignificant country to the far west.
Mila’s remarkable face was the only reason her father even dared offer a seventh daughter as a potential match. Others tried to persuade her father to leave the party early, but the man was stubborn to a fault. Even Mila had seemed embarrassed. But Andrey, used to such attempts, laughed off the gossip and approached the young woman, ignoring her father, who, seeing his only opportunity for advancement, bowed quickly and then rather awkwardly introduced his daughter along with poorly timed, unsubtle comments about the benefits of allying with his country and the merits of his family tree.
The young tsar waved a hand, and skilled servants, always standing at the ready, smoothly guided the father away, distracting him with food and drink and, seeing the tsar’s interest in the young woman, even more food. When the parental guard was sufficiently occupied, Andrey bent over the young lady’s gloved hand and, with only half of his usual charm and enthusiasm, asked, “Shall we take a turn on the dance floor, then, Miss Dalle?”
As he stood, he automatically turned, extending his elbow, expecting to hear her simpering response in the affirmative and the instant female chatter that immediately followed as the young woman used the dance as the opportunity to win his affection. He didn’t mind it, truth be told. He liked women. Andrey found it wasn’t too difficult to listen and respond noncommittally, and yet, in a way, that kept them happy. It was much like working with diplomats. They, too, often prattled about nothing of substance.
But with women, the chatter relaxed him. They spoke of family, of friends, of favorite dishes, or horses and hounds. It didn’t take much to keep them talking—a nod here or there or a simple question or two and they’d be off again, telling him everything he could ever want to know.
Andrey had found, at a very young age, that almost everyone gave up their secrets if you just listened. Sure, occasionally, he needed to make more of an effort. There were some who posed a challenge, but not many. By and large, the greater population was desperate for acceptance and friendship. All he had to do was offer one of those and the masses fell over themselves trying to please him.
But not Mila.
It wasn’t even that she’d said no. Others had tried that before. They’d teased him by attempting coyness, playing hard to get, but Andrey had seen the easyyeshiding behind their masked expressions. He liked games, so he’d play with those women for a while.
It was so easy. All he had to do was shrug and walk away. Most would panic and chase after him almost immediately. Some of them carried the game through. They were a mildly entertaining distraction, lasting a week, or sometimes two, depending on their tenacity and the fervency of their parents.
There’d only been one who’d posed a challenge of any sort. He’d thought something might come of that one. She’d lasted for several months. But in the end, he walked away from her too. Andrey found it curious that he felt melancholy when the game was over. When he finally won, and she was his at last, he thought he’d feel a sense of victory, much like he did after defeating a particularly clever commander in battle.
Instead of buoyant jubilance, the typical swelling itch to crow that comes when moved by male pride, or even the sweet stirrings of dewy love, Andrey felt... nothing. No. Nothing wasn’t quite right. He felt something for the girl. And that something made him want to send her immediately packing.
It was distaste. Andrey just plain didn’t like her. He respected her well enough; she was calculating, cold, and clever. Wrongly, he’d believed the coldness would disappear after they were together, but if anything it became worse. Then he quickly discovered that when his eyes were turned away, her eyes went roving. She also possessed a streak of cruelty, especially toward the staff or anyone else she deemed as being of a lesser station. Her viciousness was the bag of grain that upset the boat. Admire her, he did. Like her, he didn’t. All those undesirable traits made up his mind for him, and she was discreetly shown the door.
For a time, despondency took him. He was surprised to learn that he’d been looking forward to the new challenges that would come with cultivating a relationship, and he began truly seeking out a bride for the first time in his young life after that. But all too quickly, enthusiasm turned once again to boredom and then despair. That was until he met Mila. When he’d asked her to dance, there was no reply at all.
At first, when no gloved fingers clutched his arm and no warm body pressed up against his, he assumed something was wrong. Andrey twisted his head to glance back at the lovely young woman, expecting to either handle a problem or see a coy expression. Instead, he looked behind those long, dark lashes and storm-gray eyes and recognized that she was assessing him.Him! The tsar!
Such a thing had never happened to him before. Andrey found himself straightening, turning back to her fully as if to present himself to a queen. The seconds dragged on, adding up to a full minute. He looked into her face for that entire minute, searching for her purpose.What is she looking for?he wondered.
His mouth quirked ever so slightly as he anticipated a new game with an exciting new opponent. But as another minute passed, and a charming little line appeared between her delicate eyebrows, indicating she was still deep in thought, he heard the crowd stirring, their whispering escalating in volume, her own father among them, growing ever more desperate to intervene, and the tsar found he wasn’t ready for their encounter to be over yet.
“My lady,” he said, dipping his head respectfully. “If a dance is not to your liking, perhaps you would do me the honor of taking some refreshment together?”
She seemed to consider his offer very briefly, then shook her head. “I’m not hungry at present. Perhaps a walk instead?”
“A w... walk?” he sputtered, but then quickly acquiesced. “If that is your desire.”
