Ruslan had scarcely been able to focus for the rest of the time that he'd spent painting. He kept finding himself gazing into Bernard's eyes, aching to touch his lips again, or imagining what those lips would feel like on his own skin.

He knew he really shouldn't have done that. Bernard shouldn't have let him. But since he had, it would be agonizing trying to rein in his thoughts and feelings towards his servant...

"You've been outside of the palace, Bernard...If you had the choice, would you leave?" Ruslan wondered as he slowly paced about the sitting room with Darya in his arms.

Bernard had busied himself with cleaning up Ruslan's paints and rags the moment Ruslan had declared he was done for the day. He paused, though, to consider Ruslan's question...

Before he had the opportunity to answer, however, there was the loud crack of the sitting room door opening, and the moment he saw one of the tsarina's maids step in, Bernard scrambled to hide the subjects of Ruslan's latest painting with a cloth large enough to cover the entire canvas.

Another maid filed in. Then, behind her, the tsarina herself, Oksana, and Raya.

"What's going on?" Ruslan questioned, clutching Darya a bit tighter. The little goat's tail wagged—not unlike a dog's. "What happened?"

The tsarina scowled at the presence of the animal, and motioned for one of her maids to remove it. For a moment, the maid looked a mixture of concerned and confused when Ruslan resisted handing Darya over, but he released his grip when his mother barked at the girl to, "take that animal outside."

"See yourself out as well, Bernard," the tsarina added firmly. "I'll speak with my daughter alone."

Alone, of course meant with the backup of her sisters. Three against one.

Ruslan let out an exasperated sigh before Bernard had even left the room, letting his hands slap against the sides of his legs. "Daughter? Why are we back to this? I've not even done anything to deserve it today!"

"Why must you make everything a fight?" Lisa countered.

"I'm not fighting? You're the one who came barging in here."

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap... She was tapping her rings against each other... Ruslan hated it.

"Nikolai has very generously agreed to a marriage. The least you could do is not dishonor him by continuing this childish game of yours. And the sooner you can accept that, the better."

So, it was exactly what he'd feared, then... Not only would he be denied even the smallest chance of being considered by the court to inherit the throne, he'd be married off to Nikolai without any say in the matter.

"You can be furious with me all you want, now," his mother said, "but someday you'll realize that I'm doing what's best for you."

"This isn't a game to me!" Ruslan snapped. "Who I am is this! Forcing me into a dress or to grow my hair long like yours, isn't going to change that!"

Oksana tsked, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Dressing as a man doesn't make you a man!" Mother countered harshly.

"Ruslan," Aunt Oksana cut in. "We can help you. I know this all is confusing, and-"

Ruslan stopped her there. "I'm not confused."

"Uncomfortable, then," she amended quickly. "But all of us must make sacrifices. That's our duty as women. To bear the weight and burdens we've been dealt with dignity and grace."

"I'm not a woman! How many times must I say it before it gets through your dense skulls?"

That was too far...

His mother advanced on him, pointing a finger sharper than a knife's edge, in his face.

"You are a spoiled, selfish-"

"It would change his perception of you," Aunt Raya said in a rare instance of speaking up. "It would show you mean to reciprocate Nikolai Olafovich's generosity."

Hearing her speak to him so bluntly was shocking. Hearing her voice any opinions at all, really, carried with it a weight that was distinctly different from his mother and Aunt Oksana—who rarely shut up.

Did he really sound so unreasonable? So ridiculous that even the family exile, as Alexander had put it, had felt the need to scold him over something so personal?

Ruslan's face was flushed with embarrassment and he tightly balled his fists. "If Nikolai Olafovich has so generously martyred himself in offering to marry me, then he should expect that I am what he's going to get!"

Aunt Raya shook her head. "You're incredibly naive and delusional, my dear. I can't imagine you inherited either trait from your father..."

His mother was seething again. He could see it. Like a pot left boiling for too long. But to his surprise, she didn't strike him, nor did she yell.

Instead, she pursed her lips and said, "Yours will be the place setting on Nikolai's immediate left at dinner."

"That's never where I've sat...that far down the table."

Mother gave him a scalding look.

"Well," Aunt Oksana sighed, "It would behoove you to acquaint yourself with it. Alexander Sokolov will be taking your place."

And that was it.

No room for argument or opportunity for discussion.

The three women left in a line, while the remaining maid went to Ruslan's bedroom to deposit what he could only assume were clothes selected by his mother.

Given that there was a tiara perched atop the folded armful, Ruslan already knew he had absolutely no intention of wearing them...

Bernard wasn't himself...

He felt distracted; like his mind wasn't in the same place as his body, and it showed when he nearly ran face first into a maid who was carrying fresh linens across the hall.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed, though she'd been mostly shielded from harm thanks to the soft heap of fabric.

"It's alright," she assured, as they both began to gather up the pieces that had fallen off the stack which well exceeded the limits of the basket.

That was when Bernard noticed something odd between the folds, something that was most certainly not a sheet or a pillowcase.

"Oh! What is that?" the maid yelped in terror. "Is it a rat!?"

"No-"

"Are you sure?" she squealed, placing him between her and the dark mass. "It looks like a rat!"

"It's not a rat..." but Bernard was still trying to piece together exactly what he was looking at.

It looked like a hand, or a claw, no it was a crow's foot, bound by ribbon with what he could only describe as dried weeds.

"...Whose room did this come from?" Bernard wondered.

"Mistress Raya's," the maid stammered. "Why?"

"I don't know yet... let's just, keep this between us for now." Bernard said, as he pocketed the odd effigy.

His calm demeanor, coupled with the fact that she seemed to very clearly want nothing to do with it, seemed to assure the maid that it was under control, and offered her some comfort, enough at least to continue on with her late afternoon chores.

Snow collected outside. Sticking to the corners of Ruslan's windows over the thin ice that frosted a portion of the glass panes. Bernard had only returned to bring him lunch and then to collect the tray after.

Following that, time seemed to pass agonizingly slow.

Was Bernard avoiding him because he'd made him uncomfortable? Or was it because the servant didn't want to be discovered in a compromising position with him? The painting had been a close call... It still wore the heavy canvas cloth—as though its very existence was shameful—only...Ruslan wasn't ashamed. He did fear for Bernard, of course, which was why he vowed to himself he'd be far more careful with any further attempts at expressing his affection for the man.

If he made any further attempts...

When Bernard finally returned to help him dress for dinner, Ruslan had worked himself into a nervous mess. Over Bernard, over the pile of clothing his mother and aunts had brought...It was still sitting where the maid had left them. A weighted feeling, almost like they somehow could see him and sense his snubbing them. And of course, over the public marriage proposal he knew was coming from Nikolai...

For the first time in a very long time, Ruslan regarded his reflection with anxiety and doubt while Bernard worked on fastening a sash and belt around his waist.

"...Bernard?"

"Yes?"

Their reflections locked eyes.

"Should I have worn the dress mother brought?"

Bernard turned to look at the folded fabric and tiara. "No," he replied, his tone firm and definitive as he continued his work with the belt.

"Why not?"

"I've never known you to second guess what makes you happy or what you feel is right."

Understanding crossed Ruslan's features, along with the return of a little confidence. "...If I'd truly wanted to, I would have."

"Exactly."

Ruslan smiled—heat filling his cheeks.

"Besides," Bernard said, coming around in front of Ruslan to give everything a final look. "This looks very handsome on you."

Ruslan's smile shifted into a prideful grin. "Are you just saying that to cheer me up?"

Bernard rested a hand on Ruslan's hip. "No," he whispered, before sweetly returning the kiss Ruslan had given him earlier.

From that moment on, Ruslan felt light as air. He could've danced all the way to the dining hall. He was so giddy over his secret love that he actually strained to present a stoic face to the servants that opened the doors for him.

Would they kiss again before bed? Would they touch?

The possibilities were dizzying.

But Ruslan's whirl of happiness came to a violently abrupt pause when his gaze landed on the head table's grotesque centerpiece...

...Anyone nervous to read the next chapter? 😰

Shout out to AudrieCogswell !! Thanks so much for your support!