* *
He was silent and grim. It was true. The fire between them had been unexpected and inexplicable. On top of that, they didn’t know one another. He didn’t even know her name.
‘Yet,’ she said.
Her voice was small, but crystal clear. Andrey lifted his eyes to meet hers. Her expression was open. Earnest. Honest.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Not yet.’
* * *
Ekaterina smiled then, and the lifting of her lips brightened her face. She cupped his cheek in her small hand, and he covered her fingers with his. The magnetism between them was undeniable. The echoes of their passion still pulsed under her skin. But she couldn’t risk everything on a stranger—no matter how magnetic.
At least not yet.
She wanted to find some measure of happiness in the stifling court atmosphere, and perhaps he was her chance. There was obviously something that had drawn them together, be it destiny or chance. This man wasn’t one of her aunt’s tools, nor was he a candidate for a political marriage. So surely, surely he might enjoy her company and her body without ulterior motives. She desperately wanted to know him deeper, in soul and in body.
‘Will you meet me again?’ she asked, unable to keep the hopeful tone from her voice.
‘Yes.’
* * *
A million times, yes, he added to himself.
She was a strange woman, he thought. But one worth pursuing. He didn’t want to scare her away, so he didn’t volunteer any more information about himself. Let her find out in due time, he decided.
* * *
She leaned into his willing embrace and pressed her ear to his chest. For a moment she listened to the steady beat of his heart.
He was an enigma, she thought. But he was as interesting as he was seductive. She didn’t want him to abandon her, so she said nothing about her true identity. Let him believe she was a peasant girl on an equal footing, she decided.
She frowned. Let him wonder—except for one detail.
‘My name,’ she said, ‘is Ekaterina.’
The Winter Court was in full swing. Lavish drapery in silver and ivory hung from tall windows. Wreaths adorned with red and gold decorated every windowsill, and candles set in red glass spheres of varying sizes hung from the ornate ceiling. Court jesters clad in Christmas colours performed flips and cartwheels among the mingling courtiers dressed in all their finery.
And at the centre of it all, on a ridiculously gaudy throne on a raised platform, was the Empress Anna.
Ekaterina gritted her teeth as she glided through the hall, her golden fan clenched in a death grip and her lips a line of thinly veiled displeasure. This should have been a joyous Yuletide celebration. Oh, there were cakes shaped into Christmas trees and presents wrapped with shiny bows aplenty. And the spiced wine was flowing freely into greedy glasses. But still her aunt’s tastes ran towards the vicious and distasteful.
In one corner of the magnificent hall stood a giant Christmas tree that was completely lit up with candles. But at the foot of that Christmas tree was a small group of nobles, dressed fabulously but walking about barefoot...on a thick carpet of sharp pine cones.
It was a punishment her aunt had thought up the night before, specifically for an aristocratic family that she felt had snubbed one of her current lovers. They grimaced and pretended to smile as the sharp edges of the dried cones pierced the tender soles of their feet, forced to pace as her aunt watched in morbid amusement.
And that was only the least of the macabre displays in the great hall.
Ekaterina bit her tongue and exhaled slowly, desperately trying to tamp down her rage at the indecent and cruel party amusements. It was wrong. It was horrible. It was definitely not behaviour worthy of an empress.
She chastised herself inwardly, gently tapping the tip of her closed fan against her chin. Such thoughts were dangerous. If ever voiced, those words would earn her not just humiliation but a secret and painful execution.
‘My lady Ekaterina. You look absolutely beautiful tonight!’
At the sound of the voice Ekaterina turned suddenly, her satin skirts swishing. An eligible aristocrat stood in front of her, his cheeks flushed with drink. He leered at her. She snapped her fan open, hiding her face. She knew his type. He was her aunt’s favourite type of courtier: dumb, loud, money grubbing and abusive. He was after status and power, and he would do anything to rise in Empress Anna’s favour.
‘I’m sorry, Your Excellency...?’ she said, arching an imperious brow.
‘Please, call me Vladimir. I said you look beautiful,’ he repeated with a grotesque smirk.
‘Do I, Vladimir?’ she asked, her tone superior.
‘Yes, you look radiant,’ he said, his lips smacking together hideously.
‘Well, then,’ Ekaterina said crisply, ‘that’s a shame, as you do not.’
With that she spun on her heel and marched away—only to be stopped a few seconds later by another tipsy social climber. Alternately ignoring and insulting her would-be suitors, Ekaterina slowly made her way to the edge of the room. She paused to press her gloved fingertips to her throbbing temples. She hated these royal functions; the decadence gave her a headache and the false smiles made her cheeks hurt. But most of all she hated, hated the fact that she was being dangled like a prize—a treat to reward the courtier who managed to impress her aunt the most.
Her jaw clenching, Ekaterina hazarded a glance over her shoulder.
Her aunt was doubled over in obscene guffaws of laughter as two miserable women—no doubt suspected of some trivial slight—were subjected to a humiliating face-painting. They were already smeared from head to toe with filth, and scraps of old food clung to their skin.
Ekaterina looked away, troubled and disgusted. Shaking her head, she edged nearer the exit and slipped around the ornate doors into the corridor. She quickly paced down the hall, lifting her skirts as she practically ran away.
Just a few moments, she told herself sternly. I just need a little bit of air.
Sure that her absence would be noted sooner rather than later, she quickly ducked around a corner—only to slam face first into a muscular chest. She looked up, eyes wide in panic.
‘A-Andrey!’ she stammered out in shock. ‘What are you doing here?’
* * *
Andrey stared back at her, his jaw slack in surprise. Here was his mystery woman, his muse. But she no longer wore a simple cotton shift and a rough coat. Here she was, decked out in the most gorgeous finery, her hair up in ringlets and her face subtly painted according to the fashion of the day.
