Seeing Bernard again for the first time in what felt like weeks, though it hadn't even been a full day, was the greatest blessing Ruslan could've asked for. The experience was marred however, by the task Bernard had at hand—aiding Ruslan into his wedding dress for a fitting so that last minute alterations could be made...

The monstrous gown wasn't actually his, in that it hadn't been made for him. Instead, the palace seamstresses were in an anxious rush to resurrect grandmother Makarov's silk gown that she wore for her wedding ceremony to his grandfather.

It was a stunning piece of carefully preserved family history; gold silk brocade fabric littered with stumpwork embroidery, pearls, and glistening gemstones...long draping sleeves that reached the floor to pool there along with a long train... It would've looked beautiful on anyone except for him.

Ruslan felt swallowed by the garment. It was so heavy that he could hardly imagine his grandmother, who was never a large woman, moving in it—much less hope to move in it himself. It still even smelled faintly of her perfume and of what Ruslan assumed was the lingering scent of ceremonial incense.

Grandmother was present, of course, to oversee the process, seated next to Aunt Oksana and his mother. He hated the way they stared and chatted as if he wasn't even in the room. Like he wasn't even human.

"Maybe you should pad the bust," Aunt Oksana suggested. "To fill it out more?"

Lisa sipped her tea before adding, "Yes, something. It looks dreadful in the front."

"The ermine mantle will mostly cover what she doesn't have there," Grandmother said, voice grating. "I wouldn't waste time with that."

"Oh, yes! Yes, I suppose it would, wouldn't it?" Aunt Oksana replied. "Well, that will save them a little time...Maybe taking it in a little more there at the waist?"

"Right here, my lady?" The maid's question prompted Oksana up out of her chair to point more closely.

"Bernard, get the other veil," Lisa ordered. "The shorter one...maybe a sash, too."

"Yes, by all means, add on more shit," Ruslan sneered. "Maybe I'll just topple over and Cousin Nikolai can roll me down the aisle like a barrel caught in five bolts of fabric."

His mother rubbed her temples in a self-soothing manner while Grandmother pursed her lips "...She'll be fortunate if Nikolai wishes to consummate this marriage."

Ruslan had already been uncomfortably warm in the dress, with the maids pinching and pinning fabric, and making stitches, and the fireplace roaring, assuring the gallery of awful crones were kept comfortable—not that any amount of heat could do a thing for his mother's shriveled, frozen heart. But now, Ruslan's face was burning. How much embarrassment was he expected to endure?

Yes, Nikolai was a very handsome man, but the idea of being intimate with him nauseated Ruslan.

"Maybe I'll just faint."

"Stop being so dramatic," Mother barked, "You're not a child, and Nikolai is your fiance, now—soon to be your husband. Referring to him as your cousin is no longer appropriate."

Bernard gave him a sympathetic look as he gently placed the veil over his head. It hung just below his shoulders and collarbone.

Ruslan glanced to his right to regard the tall standing mirror... The girl standing in his place wasn't him, and he hadn't been forced to look at her in so long that the sight of her was jarring—like looking at a sister he didn't have. And worse, being in women's clothing made him feel like there were eyes everywhere... Like even the walls themselves were judging him...leaning in closer to criticize every inch. It made his chest tight.

"Who's going to give her away?" Aunt Oksana asked suddenly, avoiding making eye contact with Ruslan—probably to dodge the glare she could likely feel him giving her for betraying him, and flipping back to calling him "she" and "her" just like his mother had...

Lisa sighed, gazing at the flames dancing in the hearth. "Perhaps Olaf will do it."

"Nikolai's father?" Aunt Oksana questioned, as she made her way back to her seat. "But shouldn't it be someone from our side of the family?"

"Yes, of course it should," Lisa said quickly.

"She can't be given away by a woman," Grandmother said.

Ruslan's lips curved into a dark smile that held no actual amusement. Maybe he'd been giving Aunt Oksana more intellectual credit than she deserved. There were no 'men' left in the family. At least none that they'd acknowledge. That was the whole problem! That was why they'd invited a complete stranger to become the next tsar!

"You all summoned Alexander Vissarionovich here to take my throne, why not give him the honor of that as well?" Ruslan grumbled bitterly. Why not add further insult to injury?

The tsarina rose from her seat. For a moment, Ruslan's breathing hitched, and he remained completely still... What was she going to do? Hit him, even though she'd been fussing over the cut on his cheek just this morning?

No... She didn't hit him...

Instead, she slowly and delicately stepped closer, like a spider sizing up something helplessly caught in her web. "...How refreshing to hear something sensible come out of your mouth for once," the tsarina finally said, before directing her attention to the maids and seamstresses. "I'll take lunch in the drawing room while I speak with the florist. The gown is to be ready for my inspection before I retire for the evening." With that, his aunt and grandmother also stood and followed her out, along with their personal maids.

"...How much longer do I have to be in this?" Ruslan asked the moment the door was closed behind them, glare crumbling as a wave of despair overtook him.

"Just a bit longer, your highness."

A bit longer... Not long... Soon...

Soon...he was going to be a bride... Soon, he'd have to leave the palace... His ancestral home. And his entire world would collapse.

His gaze met the canvas hiding his unfinished painting of the two most precious things in the world to him...the man he loved and his dearest friend. One, he'd already lost forever—the result of her gruesomely cruel end and truly callous treatment afterward forever branded in his memory...

Ruslan startled as something soft suddenly touched one of his hands, and his movement, though slight, had elicited displeased gasps from the seamstresses as they tried to hold in place what they were working on.

Bernard smoothed a thumb over Ruslan's knuckles, staring up at him with the most concerned look on his face that Ruslan had ever seen. "Get him down, he's trembling," Bernard directed, causing the seamstress and remaining maids to flutter to attention.

"Your highness?" "Oh, she's crying-" "Is she alright?"

"He," Bernard corrected as he and what felt like at least half a dozen other hands helped Ruslan shakily step down from the stool they'd stood him on for the fitting.

"I..."

"Take a breath," Bernard said gently, holding Ruslan close as he helped him towards the chair his mother had been seated in.

"Wait-wait-please! Let us remove the dress first," the head seamstress begged, already frantically working on getting it off before Ruslan moved around too much and they lost some of their painstaking work.

Without the heavy garment, Ruslan was left in nothing but the veil and the delicate lace and thin silk undergarment he'd been forced to put on under it. It took all of the seamstresses to coordinate carefully folding the parts they could of the gown and train and to carry it out.

Ruslan tore the veil off his head, catching Bernard's wince as the tiara the veil was attached to hit the floor with a loud 'clack'. He let himself fall into the chair like a sack of flour, and openly sobbed.

"Ruslan..." Bernard sighed, dropping the formalities now that they were alone. He didn't know what to say to console him. Their situation wasn't one he had any ability to mend.

"I can't do this," Ruslan wept with his face buried in his hands. "What have I done to her to deserve them treating me this way? Haven't I been a-a good son? I-I've tried to be a good son... F-father...I tried. I tried so hard..." he choked, barely even audible anymore.

Bernard's heart ached. It was so painful to see his master reduced to this... If he'd only been born to a noble family, then he wouldn't be so powerless. He would've whisked Ruslan away from this dark, cold palace and given him a better life... Sure, it wouldn't have been as grand, but at least he'd be able to rest at night knowing Ruslan felt treasured and safe. This...this was just maddening.

"It'll be okay..." Bernard said, kneeling in front of the chair. "I know this isn't what you wanted, but I'm still here..." He dared to rest a hand on Ruslan's knee, and Ruslan slowly lifted his head to look at him.

It was only then that an absolutely gut wrenching question rose in Ruslan's mind... Would Nikolai even allow him to retain Bernard as his personal servant? He couldn't go on without Bernard. He wouldn't. Bernard was the only one keeping him sane.

Ruslan threw himself into Bernard's arms, sliding out of the chair to straddle his lap, burying his face into the crook of his servant's neck. "No-no-no," Ruslan mumbled, clinging to him tightly.

"W-what?" Bernard stammered, face burning. This...was a very compromising position. He could get in a lot of trouble for this. Severely punished. Dismissed at best. But...he wrapped his arms around Ruslan's narrow waist, gently rubbed his back, and tried desperately to keep his thoughts pure... "Shhh... It's okay."

"No—it isn't," Ruslan sniffled. "What if they won't let you come with me? What if they separate us? I can't bear to be without you."

Bernard bit his lower lip. His heart was beating out of his chest. "They won't," he assured. "I promise. I'll always be right by your side. No one will keep us apart..."

😢These boys definitely needed a hug. Any guesses as to what's coming next? >>

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