At The King's Command Read Free

broad-shouldered man in a fur hat and black boots strode forward. His wicked curved sword flashed in the firelight.
    Natalya Romanov’s screams stopped.
    “Mama!” Juliana tried to scramble out from beneath the bush, but Laszlo held her fast.
    “Be still,” he whispered. “There is nothing you can do.’
    Nothing. Nothing to do but watch the murder of her family. She spied Alexei rushing to and fro, and for a moment hope crested inside her. Perhaps Alexei would save her brothers.
    But as quickly as he had appeared, he faded from sight, surrounded by menacing attackers and roaring flames.
    It was evil torture for Juliana to lie there, helpless, as if in the grip of the hideous nightmare. The assassins struck like a storm. They were no band of outlaws but soldiers, doubtless under the command of one of her father’s many rivals. Fyodor Glinsky from across the river—only the week before, the rival lord had called her father a traitor.
    “Shield your eyes, little one,” Laszlo begged her.
    She sobbed into her cold hands, but she would not look away. It was too late to help her loved ones, for the soldiers were swift. Their shadows loomed like demons on the fire-colored snow. In seconds she saw Mikhail’s throat slit, little Boris fly backward as a man shot him at close range. Servants were herded like cattle into the courtyard and stabbed. The dogs, loosed from the kennel, were slaughtered as they lunged at the invaders.
    Her entire glittering world, once so full of opulent promise, shattered like a house of spun sugar.
    Juliana’s mouth opened in a voiceless scream. Her hand closed convulsively around her pearl-and-ruby brooch. The priceless piece had been a gift from her father. The cruciform shape concealed a tiny stabbing dagger, but the weapon was useless against the swords and sabers and firing pieces of the soldiers.
    The snap and hiss of the flames invaded the snow-insulated quiet of the night. Then a dog barked. Squinting, Juliana saw two men locked in a struggle. One of them was Alexei, she was sure of it! She closed her eyes and offered a brief, frantic prayer for his safety.
    The baying of a dog caused her to open her eyes. One of the windhounds leaped out of the shadows and clamped its jaws around a booted leg. Juliana heard a muffled curse. “Be damned to hell!” As one man fell to the ground, she saw the stark outline of his cheek above a thick beard and felt a stab of awareness, but the feeling quickly dissolved into the eerie horror of blood and flame.
    A blade flashed, met the animal’s shoulder. The dog sped yelping into the night.
    Through a drumbeat of shock, Juliana heard male voices rolling across the lawn.
    “…find the girl?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Devil take you. Look again. We can’t let a child of Gregor Romanov live.”
    “I’m here,” Juliana called to them, but her voice was only a dry whisper. “Yes, I am here. Come for me!”
    “Fool!” Laszlo covered her mouth again. “What will it serve to sacrifice yourself to these boyars, as well?”
    Like the bitter winter wind, comprehension swept over Juliana. Boyars. Jealous, power-hungry nobles. They had killed her father, her family, her fiancé.
    She remembered the whispered arguments between her parents. Over the fearful objections of her mother, Gregor had helped the grand prince draw up a new will on his deathbed, one that slashed the powers of the boyars. Now Juliana understood her mother’s fear. The nobleswould murder even women and children to seize control of the realm.
    “Search the outbuildings,” one of the soldiers called.
    She turned her tortured gaze to Laszlo and whispered, “Help me.”
    “We must hurry.” He dragged her from beneath the bush. “Keep low and to the shadows,” he said, taking her by the hand. They skirted the lawn, her neck prickling in anticipation of the sting of a razor-edged blade.
    They reached the barn and slipped inside. Moonglow shone through gaps in the wood siding.
    Zara, Chavula