Page 9 of Tiger's Tale
“Yes. But first, your guards are cold. Perhaps someone can fetch their coats? And I’d hate to let the night air disturb your other guests. One or two can serve as chaperones, can they not?”
Surprised, Andrey turned and gave a quick nod. The doors were shut and only one guard, a very discreet one, was left to watch over them. It was a great relief to know she was kind. It was rare for one of her station to be concerned about those who served beneath her. She was also observant of protocol and her reputation. He was pondering that and other things and missed the first part of what she said.
“Where I noticed a small flaw in the fabric—perhaps left in by the weaver due to a catch in the loom, repeated on each officer’s uniform—I found no trace of it on yours. That is how I know you take care of your own uniform.”
“What was that?” he asked. “A flaw?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
She turned to face him then and took his hand, turning his arm so the sleeve was exposed on the underside. When she traced her finger up the sleeve and found a tiny stitch, she said, “This is the first repair. The second should be somewhere...”
Andrey took her trembling hand from his sleeve and slid it to his chest, pressing it below his medals and insignia until it rested just against his beating heart. He wore far too many layers to feel much more than the pressure of her gloved hand, and yet, for just a fraction of a moment, he thought he imagined the uptick of her pulse.
“It was here,” the tsar said softly, cupping her gloved hand, unable to resist moving his body closer to hers. He told himself it was just to keep her warm, but he knew it was a lie. He wanted to feel her against him.
When she looked up at him, her beautiful face lit by cold moonlight, strands of hair dancing about her delicate neck in the crisp breeze, and a spark of awareness slowly blossoming into interest, he smiled.
Lowering his head closer, Andrey was rewarded with a hitch in her breathing, but instead of touching his lips to hers as he so desperately wished to, or nuzzling her soft neckline, he murmured, “Perhaps I can arrange a personal tour of the gardens tomorrow?”
“Y... yes, that... that would be acceptable,” she said. And Mila was surprised to note that she was anticipating seeing him again.
“Good. I very much look forward to it. Now, as I am certain we are causing the wagging of many, many tongues, despite the fact we aren’t doing anything interesting with ours...” Though it was dark, the windows offered sufficient enough light for Andrey to see a very pretty blush stain her cheeks. The sight warmed him. “As much as I wish we could linger here, I feel it might be better for us to head back inside.”
“Of course, you’re right,” she said immediately, then turned to the soldier guarding them. “We appreciate your acting as our chaperone. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind escorting me back in. It wouldn’t do for the tsar to show... favoritism.”
The soldier sputtered, but at seeing the nod from the tsar, offered his arm, and without a glance back in his direction, Mila took her leave.
As they parted, both Mila and Andrey had the same thought.
That was... unexpected.
* * *
Her given name, Milena Mariani Dalle, was changed on their wedding day, representing her complete transformation not only as a wife but as a newly baptized and utterly loyal citizen of the empire. When the crown was lowered onto her head, and the cardinal pronounced her tsarina, the woman who was Milena Mariani Dalle was indeed gone forever, replaced by the regal, the new Ludmila Marianka Sashenka Stepanov.
Despite her reservations, Mila not only liked her new husband, the tsar and high commander of the Royal Guard; she quickly came to love him. It was obvious to all that the tsar was enamored of his beautiful new wife as well. That she brought no wealth or connections to the empire was soon forgotten as the tsar and tsarina embarked on a tour around the empire and he introduced diplomats, kings, and ambassadors, young and old, to the tsarina, stepping back and allowing her center stage as she impressed them with her poise, wisdom, beauty, and keen eye.
When the tsar was congratulated on his rare find in a wife, he circled an arm around her waist, thickening with their soon-to-be firstborn and proudly said, “But I didn’t find her. She found me. I am a lucky man, indeed.”
So effective was their co-rule and the changes made in the empire—thanks to policy reforms drafted by Mila—that the roles of women, even those elite born, shifted dramatically in the span of just a few years. Opportunities in education, the military, and politics were suddenly opened to females where they had been closed before, and the economic boon converted those few who remained tied to the old ways.
When the twins were born, both female, and doctors told Mila and Andrey they would not be able to have any other children—specifically and somewhat unkindly pointing out there would be no forthcoming male heirs, something that might have devastated royal predecessors—they were saddened, of course, but the young couple knew they could fashion an empire their daughters could someday rule. Together they worked to build a society that not only relied on women but embraced them and encouraged the growth of their twins in every possible way.
Then, when the girls were only just past a decade of age, Andrey died, and a part of Mila died with him. Though by then all considered her perfectly capable of running the empire, at least until her daughters came of age, and she had trusted generals to take over the Royal Guard, it wasn’t the same without the tsar. The light was gone from Mila’s life. The empire came to a standstill.
All were waiting for the twins to rise to power. Mila could almost taste the anticipation. If only they could see how much good they could accomplish, for women, for the world. If they only knew how much had been done on their behalf. But the younger never did. They never appreciated the sacrifices of their elders. Not until they learned their own life lessons.
If Mila could just get them ready...
Her dreams shifted away from the past and her own true love.
If only her daughters could find happiness as she had. But who among all these choices would be right? There were so many options. So many paths. Which one was right? How could she protect her children and the empire she and her husband had built when she couldn’t see all the pieces? No matter what she did, she’d have to leave everything on the table, the result of the game unknown, cards still in play.
Would her daughters even take her seat? Pick up her hand? Would they notice how she’d stacked the deck for them? How everything they loved, everything that meant anything to them, had been risked and tossed into the game? Did they know how much she loved them? Did they understand how much they could lose?
Men’s faces danced again behind her closed eyelids.
