The Romanov Bride Read Free Page A

strictly laid out. My own court gown, the train of regulation length-which is to say the length of nearly three men-was of creamy velvet embroidered with gold thread. And as I approached Nicky, I swept a curtsey as graceful as any ballerina. I could feel that dear boy’s beautiful blue eyes upon me, his warmth, his love. Then I went to Alicky. So that she might be close by me, I had long prayed and done so much for her to find a husband in Russia, and I had succeeded beyond expectation, for here in my new land she had found the truest of love with her Nicky dear. Now as nearly everyone’s eyes fell upon me to see would I kiss the hand of my younger sister, I took her soft fingers in mine and with real joy pressed my lips to them, and it was stunning and sweet, the love flowing between us. In a rush of emotion, I pledged myself entirely to her service and to that of our new Motherland. At that moment I was quite certain that no country was greater or brighter or more blessed than our beloved Russia.
    That night, when the vast crowds gathered round the mighty Kremlin walls, their Empress Aleksandra Fyodorovna-my little Alicky-was led to a prominent bastion along the Kremlin walls and instructed to push down upon a particular button. Much to the joy and utter delight of Court and peasant alike, the miracle of electric illumination burst forth in the dark night as the thick walls and formidable towers of the Kremlin glowed for the first time ever with the dazzling magic of thousands upon thousands of electric bulbs. It was all glory, all power, and the future of our Holy Mother Russia seemed boundless and plentiful, stable and assured.
    Indeed, none of us could have begun to think, let alone imagine, that this God-Anointed Tsar would ever, ever be pulled away.

Chapter 2 PAVEL
    I was full of hope when I was twenty, and for a short while not only did I have a beautiful bride but we were wonderfully happy.
    Oh, Shura… my Shurochka. She was the eldest daughter of the village priest, and she had such a big smile, such straight teeth, and such eyes, so blue. Beautiful blond hair, too, that at night she uncoiled all the way down to her waist. And, oh, what soft parts! A real sweet bee! She was the most beautiful girl in our village-we both came from the same small place, a mere crossroad at the foot of the Urals-and I had always wanted to marry her, knew that I would. And I did! Yes, we got married in the fall of 1904. September. She was just eighteen and I just twenty, and not three days after the ceremony-her father performed it-we fled the countryside. My grandfather’s life had belonged to his master, and he basically died a farm animal, crushed in the mud. Years later, of course, my own father cut himself on his rusty plow and contracted tetanus… just heartbreaking. We had to hammer planks to the side of his bed to keep his quaking body from bouncing onto the floor, then we had to tie him down as his temperature rose… and next he passed from us. Granted, Papa was a free man but he left this world without so much as a single desyatina of land to his name, let alone a single ruble, and so I knew I would be leaving the province as soon as I could. To tell the truth, I didn’t want to doom a son of mine to a fate like Shura’s father, either-a poor priest with a big beard, totally dependent on handouts. No, the back of beyond of Mother Russia had not been kind to us, nor to anyone else in our village for that matter.
    As my own dear babushka used to say, “Oi, things were better when we lived under the masters-at least then we didn’t have to worry where we would find tomorrow’s bread!”
    And how did I do it, get the money for the train to the city? I stole it. I went to a nearby village and raided the hut of an old woman when she was out milking her only cow. But it turned out it was only enough for two tickets for me and my Shura to get as far as Moscow, which was a problem. Shura wanted to go to the capital. She