I take ill the next morning. Thankfully, Sergei has long past retired to his own chamber when the vomiting begins.

This time there is no doubt in my mind what has happened.

Dashka stays with me, pressing a cool rag to my head as I lie curled on my side on the floor by the sick pan. The cool, parquet floor offers a small measure of relief. Exhaustion wracks my body, but I can’t close my eyes or the world tilts and the bile rises up again.

“Should I call for the physician?” she asks for what seems like the hundredth time.

“No, Dash, please. I’m fine.”

The truth is… I’m far from fine. I’m with child again. Only this time, there can be no doubt of the paternity. The child can only belong to Alexander, from our encounter weeks past.

One night of love. One night of passion. One night of solace.

How it has wrecked me.

When the spinning room finally stills, I sit up, leaning against Dash for support. She’s still in her shift as well. She’d come running when my guard, hearing my distress, had summoned her from her bed to tend to me. She cradles me in her small arms, rocking me gently and singing a soft, sweet tune.

The child is not Peter’s. There will be no way to convince him otherwise. He will know the truth of my latest betrayal. If he presses the matter, I could be charged with treason and adultery. The punishment is death.

I take a long, deep breath, blowing it out slowly as I force my mind to focus.

Peter and I have a tenuous peace, at best. I know he would rage at the truth, and I have no doubt he would see me hang for my disloyalty. Then, he could set Elizavetta as his queen, as he’s always wanted.

No, Peter cannot know. He can never know.

My mind churns, grasping for solutions.

There are herbs. I remember Mother speaking of them once to the kitchen maid in our old home. There are herbs that can end a pregnancy, if taken soon, before the child is strong enough to resist them.

As soon as the thought comes, I push it away. My hand cups my still-flat belly without thinking about it. I would not harm my child, Alexander’s child.

There must be some other way.

Sergei will know. The thought of bringing this news to him, especially now, makes me pitch forward and retch again. It feels as if my heart will climb up and spew out my throat with the rest of my insides. I settle back, Dash wiping at my face gently.

“What can I do?” she begs.

I shake my head. “Nothing now. Nothing but keep my secrets. This one included.” I twist my head to look at her. “Can you do that? No one must know. You will have to help me hide it.”

She presses her lips together and nods. “Yes, of course. Anything.”

“Good, good,” I murmur, lying back against her for a bit longer.

By midday, I’m mostly recovered, sitting in my chamber nibbling on some crackers between sips of lavender tea, when my guard opens my door.

“Count Mercy to see you, Your Highness.”

I nod and straighten myself in the chair, folding my hands demurely as he enters. Slipping the blue velvet hat from his head, he bows gracefully.

“Your Highness, please pardon the intrusion.”

“Not at all, please, have a seat,” I offer, motioning to the chair across from me. “What can I do for you today, Count?”

He sits, holding his floppy brim hat in his lap, squeezing it between his fingers. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes downcast, not meeting my glance.

“His Highness has withdrawn all Russian troops from Berlin. Our armies have had to abandon the city and retreat back to Austria. Empress Maria is quite displeased. News has reached her of Peter’s new treaty with Prussia, and she has ordered me back to her side.”

The news is nothing I didn’t expect. Peter is nothing if not predictable in his love for Prussia—and King Frederick. “I will be sad to see you go. You are a good man, Count Mercy, and I’m saddened that our relationship has been sullied by the change of events.”

He sits back, straightening. “I must speak plainly, for my time here is short. Austria and her allies, we have seen things here at court. Even the Russian lords and generals speak of it, of their displeasure at the new regime.”

Now it’s my turn to sit back, taking a sip of tea to give myself a moment to compose my next words before speaking. “With any change of leadership, there will always be dissenters. There will always be those who preferred the old ways, who are resistant to change. Tides will always change, Count. Fighting against it is futile, and fruitless.”

“I think, Your Highness, it is the direction of the tide that worries some. There are rumors…”

I stop him with a gentle laugh. “There are always rumors. If I had a kopek for every rumor swirling around court, I could rebuild the Tower of Babel out of pure gold.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Of course. I only mean to say that, in my time here, and during my visits to Oranienbaum during your residence, I have witnessed what a wise, fair, and just leader you are. You are loved by the gentry and commoners alike. It is my humble observation that His Highness owes the support of his lords and his Russian army directly to you.”

I take another sip of tea. “You flatter me.”

He pauses before continuing. “I don’t mean it as flattery. It is simply a fact. Any man with open eyes can see it. It is your temperance, and your council, that keeps the throne secure.”

“One of a wife’s greatest duties is keeping her husband’s council, offering strength and support when it is needed,” I say modestly. “Are you here to ask me to bend his ear toward sustaining our friendship with Austria? Because I fear that ship has sailed.”

“No. I think you are quite right on that. I only wish you to know, that should the tides change again, and if you should ever see yourself struggling at the head of them, you have an ally in Austria, and in me.”

The blood in my veins freezes, and I have to set my cup down to keep it from spilling into my lap. I blink, reading his expression and finding only sincerity.

In one subtle conversation, Count Mercy has offered me Austrian aid, should I ever choose to usurp the throne of Russia from Peter.

The idea is as laughable as it is terrifying.

I nod and he departs, leaving me to ponder his offer and the choices that have led me to even consider it.

 

***

 

At supper that night, I notice that Count Mercy and Baron de Breteuil have gone from court. Sitting at the head of their usual table is a man I recognize as Baron von Goltz, a Prussian envoy. He’d been at court when I first arrived, when Elizabeth was initially considering a treaty with Frederick. Peter is celebrating his new alliance with his usual boisterous mixture of alcohol and decadence. I sit to his right, Elizavetta to his left. Between dances, he drapes himself on her, laughing drunkenly. As I sweep a gaze across the room, I realize something. There is a division amongst the guests. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but once I see it, it feels blatant, unmistakable.

On the right side of the massive banquet hall most of the lords, the Privy Council, and the head members of the Synod sit. Around the edge of the room, my guards stand, their sharp, green-and-black Russian uniforms tight, swords at each hip. On the other side of the room, a handful of the younger nobles sit, along with a few visiting ladies and a handful of Prussian diplomats, including Von Goltz and his company. The wall on the left is lined with Peter’s Holstein guard, their bright blue uniforms tight and uncomfortable looking.

Mikhail sits to my right, an oddity since his normal place is beside Peter. He must see me taking stock because he leans in, whispering. “Just spotted it, have you? It’s been this way for a few weeks now, since Peter announced the treaty.”

I pull the corners of my mouth into a forced smile, leaning in as I raise a goblet to cover my lips. “Has he noticed yet?”

Mikhail shakes his head. “No, I doubt he would, even if it were pointed out.”

“What has Peter been up to these past days?” I finally ask. “He’s been unusually quiet.”

“Lestocq is back at court. He has Peter hammering out some reforms for the church. And other things.”

Count Lestocq, once an ally, had plotted with my own mother to try to free Ivan, Peter’s cousin and rival for heir to the throne of Russia, to smuggle him to Prussia and raise an army at his back to depose Elizabeth.

“Why on earth would he have Lestocq return? He knows of the man’s part in the conspiracy.”

Mikhail nods, staring at Peter, who has taken to the center of the room and is dancing in a salacious manner with not just Elizavetta, but another young lady as well.

“Lestocq has convinced him that they only sought to end Elizabeth’s reign because they found her unjust. Peter is prone to believe anything sanctioned by Frederick must be an action worthy of praise, even if that action likely would have ended in his own death.”

I shake my head, disappointed but not surprised. “I will speak to him.”

“I pray he will listen,” he says, raising his glass to me before taking a long drink of wine.

By the time I retire for the evening, Peter is nearly unable to stand. I watch as he’s half carried off to his chamber by Alexander, who doesn’t even spare me a glance as he passes by. Elizavetta, staggering but somehow still on her feet, follows, wine bottle firmly in hand.

I don’t sleep that night. Lying in bed, I rub my belly absently, trying to imagine a life where I could have my child, where I could live in peace, without always looking over my shoulder for enemies or having to manipulate those around me. Silly, really, that when I look around at my chamber, at the fresh roses, the silk tapestries, and the ornate gold filigree etched into every wall from parquet floor to vaulted ceiling, I would find myself longing for a simple life, for a cottage and a clutch of chickens and a husband who holds my hand next to a simple stone hearth at night.

Perhaps we only long for things we cannot possess.

When morning comes, the sickness returns and is slowly calmed with ginger tea and biscuits. As soon as I dress, I make my way to Peter’s chamber, followed by a maid holding a tray of coffee and fresh bread. He will be feeling the full effects of last night, and I will have a better chance of swaying him if he’s being coddled.

His page moves to announce me, but I wave him off. “Best not go in yelling,” I gently say, pressing the double doors open and stepping inside.

The door to the far chamber is open. After motioning for the maid to leave the tray, I pour a cup of coffee and head to the back. Elizavetta is naked, her curvy, freckled body only half obscured in the tangle of blankets. Peter is upside down in the bed, still fully dressed from last evening. Reaching down, I touch his shoulder.

“Peter?”

He mutters, throwing an arm across his face. “Go away.”

I gently shake him. “Peter, it’s morning. I’ve brought you some coffee.”

“Blast it, woman, let me rest.”

I step back, tapping the side of the cup with my fingernail, making a clicking noise. Finally, he rolls his head to the side, glaring at me through one half-opened eye. I hold up the cup. “There’s whiskey in it.”

He sighs heavily and rolls off the bed, stumbling before managing to upright himself.

“Why are you here so early?” he demands, snatching the cup from my hand and walking limply past me. Once he’s in the outer chamber, I pull his bedroom door closed, letting his mistress remain in her deep, noisy slumber.

“It’s after midday, Peter, truly. You have to meet with the Synod in an hour. I wanted to make sure you were woken gently. But next time, I will be happy to leave you to your grooms, if you prefer.”

He frowns. Of all the people in the palace, his grooms, both elderly men with little patience, were the least likely to pity his current condition, and we both know it.

I take a seat as he paces, sipping the coffee with disinterest.

“So, what is your meeting today about?” I ask as if absently. “Are you instituting some pro-Protestant reform?”

He snickers. “Something like that.”

That piques my curiosity. “Are you going to tease me, or may I know of your dastardly plans?” I keep my tone light, joking.

“Well, if you must know, I’m ordering all the idols and saints be removed from places of worship. And I’m also demanding each church give half of their collected tithe to the crown.” He pauses, taking another drink as he looks past me, out the window overlooking the gardens. “And I think I will have them shave their beards, as a display of fealty to their new king.”

I wait, hoping he’ll turn and smile, and it will all be some terrible jest. But when he looks at me, he’s stone faced and deadly serious. I open my mouth just a little, saying nothing but running my tongue along my teeth. Do I dare stand against him in this? My own situation is precarious; to point out that his move may lose him even more loyalty would be a mistake. Especially since that loyalty seems to be swinging in my direction. Should he ever take notice, should he ever perceive me as a potential threat, his retribution will be swift and merciless.

“Do you have an opinion on the matter?” he asks, his voice a clear challenge.

I look down. “I fear for you, husband. I fear that by bringing Lestocq back to court, that he might not have your best interests at heart.”

“Lestocq? He is my man, trustworthy in every way.”

“He would have usurped the throne for Ivan,” I blurt out, unable to stop myself. “They would have put him on the throne in your place, and possibly worse.”

“If you think that Fredrick would have harmed me, you are gravely mistaken. He loves me as his own son.”

“Fredrick loves only himself and his nation. He would rule Russia, and he would use your love to do it.” I hear my voice rising, but I can’t seem to bring myself to heel. “I love Prussia as well as you; it was my home also, once. But we are Russia now. Our priorities must lie with her. You must carefully consider your actions. There is a fine line between being an ally to Prussia and being a puppet to King Frederick.”

He hastily tosses the cup onto the table, cracking it. “And you think me a puppet? A simpleton with no mind of his own?”

I take a step back. “I think your love for Fredrick, your trust in him, blinds you to his true ambition. And Lestocq is a servant of that ambition, make no mistake.”

He waves me off. “He has given me reason enough to trust him. Come see.”

He sweeps past me, throwing open his chamber doors and leading me down the corridor. We weave through the maze of halls until we arrive at a small chamber near the counsel room. He pushes the door open and, taking me by the arm, pulls me inside.

The chamber is meager, but comfortable. A small, four-poster bed draped in a damask canopy is at the center. When Peter arrives, a slender, hunched boy throws back the blankets and rushes to his side, falling to one knee. His hair is long and un-groomed, but he’s clean and in a fresh linen shift. When he looks up at me, something tugs at the center of my mind, a familiarity which I cannot seem to place.

Then I see it, the family resemblance. The boy looks so much like his grandfather, whose painting hangs in the grand hall, that it’s uncanny. I feel my hand fly to my chest of its own will. “Ivan?”

The boy furiously shakes his head, lowering his chin further into his chest and muttering.

I turn to Peter, who is smiling like a fox. “You see, little mother? I handed Ivan to Lestocq myself. He turned me down flat. They have no interest in him. His mind is addled from his imprisonment.” He lowers his voice. “He doesn’t even know who he is. Isn’t that funny? I call him Pigeon.”

Peter pats the boy’s head and laughs.

Stepping forward I slap his hand away. “Are you mad? You can’t bring him here and keep him like some pet! He is the heir of Empress Anna and a legitimate rival for your throne.”

“Frederick will not have him; he would not even try to use him against me.”

“If not Fredrick, than it will be some other. You have well managed to make enemies of France and Austria. What if word of his presence spreads? Either of them could fund an uprising against you with him as the figurehead,” I practically scream in his face, finally at my limits with his idiocy. I motion to the boy, who scurries around the bed, hiding behind the headboard. “This, this is political castration, Peter. Surely, you can see that?”

I don’t see the blow coming, so when it lands, an open-handed slap to my face, it rocks me from my feet and I sprawl to the floor.

“Don’t think to challenge my wisdom, Catherine.” He spits my name like bitter milk. “No one will challenge me because they love me. They adore me. You saw them, each pledging fealty to me as I rode into St. Petersburg. Even Count Mercy begged me to let him remain. You would poison me against Frederick, but his heart is the same as mine, and it beats for Prussia!”

I struggle to my feet, my face still stinging from the blow, my lips quickly swelling. Curling my fingers into a tight fist, I step forward and swing, landing my blow to his jaw with an impact that seems to instantly shatter all the bones in my hand. Peter falls back, his head smacking against the floor with a dull thud. He looks up at me, disoriented.

Leaning over him, I speak. “You will never raise a finger to me again or I swear to holy God that I will geld you in your sleep. You will return Ivan to wherever you found him, and you will do it immediately. He isn’t just a threat to you, but to me and our child as well. Let go of your foolish grasp on Prussia, Peter. It will be the death of you.”

“You hit me,” he whispers, in disbelief, clutching the side of his face. “You can’t hit me. I’ll have you flogged for this!”

“Oh? Then call the guard. I’m sure your soldiers will get a good laugh when they hear about how your wife laid you flat on your ass with one swing!” My chest heaves with rage as I shout. Finally, uncurling my hand with a wince of pain I try very hard to conceal, I straighten.

“Is that a threat?” he demands as I turn to leave, my skirts swishing behind me. “You can’t threaten me!”

I turn back to him, slowly, keeping my expression neutral. “Everything I do, I do to protect you, to protect our son, and to protect Russia. I am not your enemy, Peter. Please don’t force me to be one.”

As soon as I’m out the door, I press my back against the wall, stuff my aching fist in my mouth, and scream.