Nikolai paced the hallway just outside of the ballroom that had been converted overnight into a luxurious wedding venue for him and Ruslan. Inside, most of the family was already seated and waiting, along with the entire court, and many other noble lords and ladies of note. Ruslan was still getting ready, or, at least he hoped that was the case.

He still had this nagging feeling that Ruslan would somehow slip from his grasp again... No. There was nowhere for Ruslan to run now, he told himself.

"No need to be nervous," the cleric beside him offered, "This is a joyous occasion."

The old fool had no idea how Nikolai felt. How could he? But Nikolai gave him a nod and a confident smile anyway. Just after was when he noticed a servant rushing down the hall toward them. It was the last thing he wanted to see, and he could hardly contain the sneer on his face as she reached them.

"M-my lord! My lord! It's Lady Ninochka! The Tsar's mother
! I-I-I just went to check on her! She was just having some tea before! She was fine! Just fine, and now-"

"Calm yourself, woman," the cleric hushed. "What are you saying?"

"She's dead!"

SMACK!

...Nikolai's strike was so swift that it took the poor maid off guard completely.

"Don't say a word! NOT ONE WORD to anyone! Am I clear? I'm not letting you or anyone else ruin this for me!"

"B-b-bu-"

"Hush!" the cleric urged, stepping forward, and taking the arm of the lady's maid into his hands before muttering, "This is terribly inauspicious timing... Who else knows about this?"

"The uh-uh-one of the laundry maids. Her, and the girl I sent to fetch the doctor."

"Go back to her room and keep silent, as his lordship said. Don't let anyone enter. I'll notify Cleric Stanislav after the ceremony. Go. Go!"

The frightfully pale maid nodded, shakily rushing away back down the hall. The cleric gave Nikolai a grim and fearful look, but both of them remained silent until the sound of fabric, movement, and lowered voices could be heard approaching.

"Go in," the cleric said quickly. "It's bad luck to see the bride before, and I'm certain that's her coming."

Nikolai nodded and straightened his coat before doing as he was told, but the look in his eyes was distant and distracted with the news. Of course, Ruslan's grandmother was elderly and fragile, her death had likely been natural, but he couldn't shake the concern that she had been a victim in another possible murder...

When Nikolai's betrothed turned the corner, just as the cleric had suspected, she looked every bit the royal bride, befitting a fairy tale book. A cluster of maids surrounded Ruslan, carrying his train and sleeves, along with bouquets of fragrant flowers, meant to keep the bride safe from evil on her journey to her betrothed.

What had started out as a somewhat tolerable scent had become overwhelming since they'd left Ruslan's room, searing his senses into near numbness, and adding to the sharp ache stretching from the base of his skull to his left temple.

Bernard was there at least—right at Ruslan's side. Ruslan had an iron tight grip on him, a fact that the cleric didn't seem pleased by.

"Where is Lord Sokolov?" the old man asked once Ruslan was at arms length from him; looking back down the hall while he gestured for the maids to step away.

Ruslan didn't get to answer before the man in question replied in that same stoic tone he always used. "Here." From the end of the hall, Alexander made his way towards them at his own leisurely pace.

"Good," the cleric huffed, "Now, you get out of here," he said, clearly meaning to dismiss Bernard. But when Bernard made a ginger attempt to pull away from Ruslan, the prince didn't let go. "Your highness, don't be difficult. Your mother wouldn't want this ceremony held up any longer, would she?"

Ruslan could practically feel the sting of bile burn the back of his throat. That evil bitch... He wagered she wouldn't want a lot of things...

"Your highness," Bernard's voice was so gentle...so warm. The look in his eyes—so passionate... "I'll be right here after the ceremony to attend to you. Just like always. I promise." He carefully pried Ruslan's fingers free of his forearm, just in time for Alexander to arrive on Ruslan's opposite side.

"But-" Ruslan was cut off as the cleric began a spiel of instructions.

He would enter first with the incense. They would follow exactly a certain count behind him. When they arrived at the end of the aisle they'd both bow to the court, to the empty throne of his father, to the tsarina, to the family of the groom...

Ruslan wasn't listening. He was watching Bernard backpedaling away along with the maids and their nauseating bunches of flowers until they had to turn away completely.

This was really it... This was happening... He was about to be legally and spiritually bound in marriage. He felt dizzy. Adrift.

That was, until Alexander extended a hand to him, and the lord's tailored coat sleeve rose up slightly, revealing what appeared to be the remnants of a dark smattering of little scarlet smears on his pale skin... and everything suddenly snapped into startling focus.

Blood?

"Did you get all of that?" the cleric asked. "...You mustn't forget any of it. Your reputation-"

"Yes," Ruslan rasped, mind racing and pulse soaring.

Whether the cleric believed Ruslan or not, he lit the musty incense inside his ornate metal lantern, and entered the ballroom, leaving them alone in the hall, while Alexander casually tugged at his sleeves to cover what Ruslan thought he'd just seen...

Ruslan's heart was pounding furiously—its frantic, painful rhythm splitting his head. He'd already lost count of when the cleric had entered, and he'd only retreated a single step before meeting resistance from the heavy gown.

Alexander took Ruslan's hand and placed it on his solid forearm to steady him. "Ready?"

Ruslan looked up at Alexander's face for the first time that evening. His dark waves had been gathered tidily at the nape of his neck and his stubble added further definition to his sculpted jawline, but it was those bright grey eyes that had momentarily entranced the prince... They reminded him of staring at the moon on a frigid, clear night.

Ruslan must have nodded, because the next thing he knew, they were stepping forward together, and Pasha came up swiftly to open the doors for them. Ruslan hadn't even noticed Alexander's servant's approach, but it didn't really matter.

Alexander seemed to be keeping time effortlessly, guiding Ruslan along without falter, and Ruslan's slight frame, even covered in heaps of cloth, didn't at all seem to burden the tall, dark Lord of the Hollows.

In a way, to Ruslan, Alexander was like a sturdy ship navigating a calm river—ferrying him down the aisle towards his own beautiful but frightening end...

Towards his betrothed.

Nikolai was waiting—his hands clasped behind his back, which was rigidly straight and attentive. A thin veneer of sweat had settled on his forehead and cheeks. Swallowing thickly, he watched Lord Sokolov deliver his prize to him. It was so perfect that it didn't feel real, and that was all that Nikolai could think about... Well, that and how pretty Ruslan looked—regardless of if he looked more male or female had never mattered to Nikolai.

The rest of the wedding was a blur for him; all miscellaneous nonsense, and tedious, meaningless rituals...they were the only things left standing between him and Ruslan now. And when it was all finally over, he and Ruslan were finally allowed to retreat to their bridal suite together, for the first time.

Nikolai felt it was his due reward for all of the work that he'd put in to be patient and do things right and proper. Now Ruslan was his. He was so eager that he helped the maids in removing the layers of heavy cloth, and then quickly shooed them all out once he was sure he could manage the rest on his own...

"Well, how does it feel to finally be mine?" Nikolai wondered with genuine curiosity, the same way the cook would ask how his latest recipe tasted, and eagerly await an answer. The same way a child would hand over their latest creation and await it to be displayed by their parents, in someplace not too forgotten.

"I'm exhausted," Ruslan groaned, finally completely free from his wedding gown. He rolled his shoulders before turning to face Nikolai, only then seeming to realize that all of the maids were gone. He suddenly crossed his arms modestly over his chest, then glanced around before looking back at Nikolai. "Did they not bring my bed clothes?" he huffed, genuinely stunned. "I told them to bring my camisole and night pants... They have to come back. I can't go fetch them myself wearing this."

The lingerie in question, which Ruslan seemed to be quite ashamed of, was stunning on him. The thin, delicate lacework left very little to the imagination thanks to how sheer it was, and bore patterns that resembled hops flowers.

Ruslan's words brought a wolfish smile to Nikolai's face as he took hold of one of his wrists and pulled his new 'bride' to him. "I don't think you'll be needing them," he said as his other arm slithered around Ruslan's waist.

"But I can't sleep in these," Ruslan insisted quickly while gently pushing on Nikolai's chest, trying to afford himself a bit of space. Trying to remain calm. Trying to buy himself time, though to what end, he wasn't sure. "They aren't comfortable. And if I'm tossing and turning all night, you're liable to catch an elbow or knee." He needed a way out of this. Out of this room. And he needed it now. "I'd feel bad..."

Nikolai pulled back, as though Ruslan had slapped him in the face.

"Sleep? SLEEP?" He started to chuckle but it never quite became anything more than a few huffs. Taking a breath, he was about to say something when he caught himself and turned slightly, as if he knew what he was about to say wouldn't get him to his desired destination, and instead revised his statement on the spot before speaking. "I don't understand... I really don't..." said Nikolai, his words a mix of frustration and disappointment. "Do I repulse you so much?"

"Well, no. But-"

"Do you realize what I'm giving you—What I've given you? No other man with any shred of a title wants to deal with you! Your own mother is at her wits end with you...and I see why... It's like you are hell bent on being difficult with no regard for anyone! You're nothing but a selfish, spoiled child!" he snapped.

Ruslan's lips parted as he listened in silence, his expression slowly shifting from astonishment to anger. "I'm a spoiled child?" he balked. "You, and my mother, and everyone else never have any reservations about making decisions for me! About my life! But I-"

The back of Nikolai's hand had connected so quickly and so viciously with the side of Ruslan's face, that it turned his entire head, and caused the bruise around his cut to throb.

"...How fucking dare you," Ruslan seethed, but the next thing he knew, he was being lifted nearly off his feet and dragged towards the large, four poster bed.

"You won't yell at me," Nikolai growled, but because Ruslan was being so unruly, he ended up just shoving him face-down over the side of a heavy chair that was much closer—pinning Ruslan's arms behind him at a painful angle.

"Wait! OWCH!"

"And you won't disrespect me," Nikolai added callously while he forced Ruslan's thighs apart with a knee. "I've been ten times more patient than anyone else would be! And now I'm going to take what I'm owed."

"Stop!" Ruslan roared. "Guards! Gua-ahf!" His cry was cut short as Nikolai yanked on a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back and away from the seat cushion.

Nikolai wore a sinister smirk. He enjoyed putting Ruslan in his place—right beneath him—and as he was enjoying his victory, the oddest sensation overtook him...and he felt as if he were falling... But Nikolai was falling. In fact, he hit the floor with a deadening thud, red oozing down the side of his face, which was locked in an expression of complete shock.

Bernard was in shock as well—stunned by his own actions. He dropped the heavy, metal pitcher that he'd struck the duke with and rushed to help Ruslan up. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

"No!" Ruslan's face was as white as a fresh sheet as he stared wide-eyed at his bleeding spouse. "Oh-no, No-no-no-no! Nikolai?" Ruslan crouched down next to him. It wasn't that he necessarily felt remorse for what Bernard had done to save him, but rather, he was horrified of the possible consequences... This was the worst thing Ruslan could imagine. This could mean death for his beloved servant; his best friend, his everything. "...Nikolai?"

Bernard watched as Nikolai tried to get to his feet, but stumbled like a newborn fawn—grabbing at anything he could to try and stabilize himself, all the while, his gaze locked on the servant. "You miserable wretch! I'll—" his threat was caught short by a sudden bout of nausea that threatened to bring back up the evening's dinner.

"Shhh. C-come, sit down," Ruslan begged, trying his best to shepherd Nikolai into the armchair he'd had him pinned against only moments before. "It was an accident! Just an accident, that's all. Come, sit, and I'll fetch the doctor right away," he added, giving Bernard an apologetic look. If he could manage it, they'd both leave the room together, he and Bernard, before any guards came. Where they'd flee from there, he'd have to figure out once they were in the hall...

"Oh-ho, now you care? Get off me!" Nikolai jerked away, though the simple act of doing so threw him dangerously off balance again, but not enough to stop his advance on Bernard, who was still frozen in place.

The look in Nikolai's eyes told him that he needed to act, and the two of them both looked at the pitcher laying on the floor before looking back at one another...and then both lunged for it.

They connected before either was able to grab it and their struggle brought them both to the floor. Bernard was probably the stronger of the two, but Nikolai's limbs were longer and his temperament more unbalanced.

As they swung and kicked at each other, Ruslan realized there was no way he could physically intervene. "Nikolai, please, stop! You're above this—you'll make your condition worse!" he tried, hoping to appeal to his husband's ego, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Ruslan didn't want to do this, but he didn't have a choice. The moment Bernard seemed to have the upper hand, Ruslan cut in. "Bernard, stop! Get up! Get away from him!" he shouted, mustering as much contempt into his voice as he could stomach to feign. "Have you lost your mind?! Forgotten your place?! Go fetch Doctor Petrova! Now!"

Bernard seemed stunned by Ruslan's harsh tone, and his guilt only compounded when he realized that Nikolai was no longer able to fight. Instead, he was holding his head and stomach as he tried to retreat with whatever semblance of dignity he had left...

"But I..." It was hard to tell if the look on Bernard's face was shame or disgust. "I'll fetch the doctor..."

Ruslan could practically hear his own heart shatter as Bernard closed the door behind himself.

His entire world felt so dark... Like he'd been swallowed deep enough to choke on his own despair.

"...I'm so sorry, Nikolai," he whimpered, even though Nikolai was the last person he wanted to apologize to. "I was stupid... And I shouldn't have called for help. This was all my fault." Tears welled in his eyes, stinging them. If there was anything he could do to soothe Nikolai's anger and lift the blame from Bernard, he would. Anything. "He'd not have done that if I hadn't made a fuss..."

"Just...get away from me..." Nikolai grumbled, his words were thin and weak, there was no more fight left in them. No anger, only weariness. "I'll deal with you both in the morning..." he murmured as he cupped his head in his hands and tried to get the world to stop spinning.

Whatever he'd hoped his wedding night would be like, this was not it...

At least Bernard was able to come to the rescue! But it might end up costing him dearly... >>;

Thank you so much for your support!!