I waste no time riding into the fortress of Peter and Paul. There is no one waiting for me in the driving rain save for a handful of guards, who usher me inside. At my left, Alexander steps forward, presenting the Archbishop of Novgorod with the wooden box containing the scroll. I fall to my knees before him, part humility, part exhaustion. He reads the mandate aloud to the gathered Synod and council members before taking me by the hand and leading me to the golden iconostas that arches above us and into the bell tower. As he begins his chanting, the storm breaks. The afternoon light filters through the tall, stained glass windows, illuminating the cathedral in shards of red, blue, and green. The gathered crowd is so quiet that his words echo through the room as he pronounces me Gosudarina, the sovereign ruler of Russia.

Each attendee takes a moment to offer me a blessing as well as their fervent oath of loyalty. Perhaps it is having seen them offer the same loyalty to Peter, only to then watch as they each, in turn, turned on him, that makes their pledges feel empty. I know that their loyalty, their support, will come only so long as I continue to earn it, to prove each day that I am worthy of their devotion. Perhaps that is the biggest difference between Peter and me. He thought himself owed their love. I know I will have to earn it over and over.

By the time the rest of my group arrives, I am already mounting for the trek back to Winter Palace. I will not stop in the square, but rather address the crowd from the great balcony of the palace, my son in my arms.

Alexander rides ahead, to set the final preparations into motion. By the time I arrive, Dash has dry clothes set out and little Paul is waiting in my chamber, playing with a wooden train with his nurse. I kiss him gently atop the head and retire to change.

My legs quake beneath me, threatening to give out at any moment. By the time I arrive at the balcony, Lord Grey, along with Prince George and Mikhail himself, are addressing the crowd. They attest that I, Catherine II, being moved by the perils facing Russia from a shameful dependence of foreign powers, and sustained by divine providence, have yielded to the outcries of my people that I should ascend the throne. When I step forward, Paul on my hip, the crowd greets me with riotous cheers. I raise a hand to calm them, but it is of no use. The crowd is thick from palace square, as far as the eye can see.

With my chin up, I simply say, “My faithful subjects, you have prayed earnestly for liberation from the dark days that have followed us since the death of Empress Elizabeth. It is my humble offer that I will lead you once more into the light. And I present to you, my son, and the rightful heir of the Imperial throne, Paul Petrovitch of Russia.”

Cheers double, creating a thunderous sound. Church bells ring out, and Paul covers his ears against the noise. Ducking back inside, I release him to his nurse and turn to Grigori.

“I must do one more thing this day. I must visit the soldiers. Gather the house guard, the infantry, and any nearby regiments. I will meet them at Peterhof, at the head of the Horse guard,” I say, the first hints of exhaustion seeping into my voice.

Dash and I change once more, into Preobrazhensky uniforms, the uniforms of the old guard, before Peter ordered them into their silly Prussian-inspired attire. Mine fits well, but Dash’s makes her look like a young boy, something that seems to make her giddy with delight. Leaving my poor, hard-ridden mare Peony to rest, I mount the largest white stallion and lead my men on the road toward Peterhoff. People gather in the streets to watch us pass, some running up to kiss my boot or the hem of my jacket.

It’s slow going, but we make it to the grounds at Peterhoff before nightfall, and at my count, nearly fourteen thousand men await my arrival. A handful of men approach me, their faces flushed.

“Beg forgiveness, Your Majesty. We would have joined you at the Winter Palace, but some of our generals would not allow it. We have arrested them, you see.” They motion proudly to where four men stand tied in a tight ring.

Reaching down, I touch the head of the one speaking. “Your loyalty is appreciated.”

They all cheer as I dismount, Grigori close by my side. “Have those four generals brought to my tent. I would speak with them,” I say flatly.

“Of course. But first,” he pauses, waving his hand toward the assembled masses, “your army awaits your inspection.”

Taking a deep breath, I nod and head for the first regiment.

 

***

 

I sleep only a few hours on a small cot, Dash curled beside me in the tent outside of Peterhoff. But the men are eager to return to St. Petersburg, so we ride out before dawn. As before, the streets are crowded with people. Only now, I ride into the city with thousands of soldiers at my back, a sight startling enough to make anyone quiver with awe. When I return to my chamber, the maids are already moving my things into the Imperial apartments—the rooms that once belonged to Elizabeth. I’m too tired to stop them, so I simply allow myself to fall into bed.

It is nearly a full day later when I wake to find the transition well in hand. George has sent letters to every foreign ruler alerting them to the coup, as well as sending agents to the wharf to alert all ships and dock workers to the new sovereign. I find he is quite good at these things and consider keeping him on as part of my new Privy council. Days pass in upheaval, the old house guard replaced, Peter’s Prussian soldiers sent back to Holstein—save for the few who volunteered to remain as members of the new Russian army—and new ladies-in-waiting are assigned. Soon, we have formal alliances with every nation from France to Denmark, and old wounds are finally beginning to heal.

“Where is Peter now?” I ask, shuffling the papers around my massive oak desk.

“He was complaining of the conditions, so he’s been taken to Ropsha, a secluded house in the country. There’s a lake, as well as pastures for him to walk around,” Alexander answers through gritted teeth. “Though I don’t know why you go to such trouble to see that he is comfortable. Surely, he never gave you such consideration.”

I pause, looking up from my work. “He has been in custody for months and he has sent me letters nearly every day, each begging me to reunite him with Elizavetta. He still believes I will eventually release them both to Prussia,” I answer, my heart leaden. “Not only have I lied to him, but I have stolen from him the thing he holds most dear in life. Do you not imagine that is suffering enough for his sins?”

Alexander’s answer is firm and unwavering. “No.”

“We could send him to Schlusselburg for confinement,” Sergei offers.

I shake my head. “No, it’s too close to the city. Besides, that is where Ivan was kept, and I saw firsthand what that sort of confinement can do to a person’s mind.”

“Either way, you cannot deny the need to rid yourself of him. Even dethroned and imprisoned he remains, in the eyes of God, your lawful husband,” Alexander adds, his voice monotone.

That gives me pause, and I set my quill in the inkwell. “And you imagine I should murder my husband so that I might be free to take another?” I glance between them. “I suppose I know which of my lovers you believe should take his place.” His face falls, and I know I’ve been too harsh. “I will not stoop to the depth that Peter would have in my place. He will live out his days, as comfortably as I can allow, far from court. And that is my final word on the matter.”

Neither man seems pleased with my decree, but the matter is dropped.