Ekaterina resisted the urge to shrug. Such a sentence was hardly even a punishment. She’d never wanted to come to the Winter Court anyway. Now she was only worried for Andrey.
‘And you,’ the Empress said venomously, jabbing a finger in Andrey’s direction. ‘You should thank your lucky stars that your mentor has brought to my attention that the work on this palace would never be finished without you.’
Andrey’s breath caught in his throat as he dared hope.
The Empress turned away, her hands clenching. She suddenly slammed her fist into a table and spun around, her cheeks aflame. Andrey felt his heart sink.
‘I will give you a month to finish here, and then,’ she hissed, enraged, ‘you will be off to Siberia whether or not you are done. You will spend the rest of your life hauling goods under the whip, until your beautiful back is torn to ribbons and your jaw cracks under the strain. You will die my slave, Andrey Kvasov, this I promise you.’
Ekaterina’s voice, clear and melodic, cut through the fog of his panic.
‘I’m sorry, Aunt,’ she said evenly, ‘but that will not be possible.’
Both the Empress and Andrey turned to look at her, bewildered.
‘Are you mad?’ the Empress sputtered. ‘Do you think you can command me?’
‘No, Empress.’
Ekaterina steeled herself and straightened imperceptibly. She forced every ounce of her aristocratic upbringing into her next words.
‘But you cannot send this architect to Siberia.’
Her aunt spat, her expression shocked and enraged. Ekaterina stared down her aunt, commanding and glacial. Andrey had never been so proud or so terrified.
‘You. You!’ the Empress stammered, for once at a loss for words.
Ekaterina took a breath and got ready to put her plan into motion. All the other pieces had fallen into place; now she just needed to trap her aunt.
‘I am Ekaterina Romanova of the North,’ she said, lifting her eyes proudly. ‘And my father, the Baron Dimitri, has requested the services of the architect Andrey Kvasov in this letter.’
She held out a parchment, which her aunt snatched away. Her beady eyes scanned the scrawled words. Her face grew even redder, her cheeks puffing in aggravation.
‘That scheming brother of mine,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘How dare he?’
‘How dare he?’ Ekaterina sniffed delicately. ‘When without his funds you would not be able to maintain this palace? We all know how much you rely on his money.’
Empress Anna looked as if she was about to explode. Both Andrey and Ekaterina fought to keep their ground. Shaking her finger at her niece, Empress Anna finally conceded defeat.
‘You conniving little fox,’ she spat. ‘You are nothing but a thorn in my side. Get out.’ She turned away in a huff. ‘Both of you—out of my sight!’
They did not need any other encouragement. Without a moment’s hesitation they marched from the royal suite, leaving the Empress to sulk by herself.
As soon as they were far enough, they both stopped and embraced in relief. Ekaterina grabbed Andrey’s shirt and pulled him close.
‘I must not linger,’ she told him in a low voice. ‘We have angered her enough, and who knows how she will retaliate if I stay but a moment too long?’
‘Then go,’ Andrey urged her, pressing a kiss to her temple. ‘But know that you and your father have surely saved my life.’
Her answering smile was gentle. She cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.
‘We will meet again,’ she promised.
‘Yes,’ Andrey agreed. ‘In a month I will come to you in the North.’
Ekaterina sighed and kissed him one last time.
‘Stay out of her way. Stay safe.’
With that, she turned and hurried away, brushing away the tears that had collected at the corners of her eyes. Their farewell had been too brief, too rushed—but she knew that time was of the essence. She had to go, and she had to go now. Hopefully all would be well; hopefully.
‘Ekaterina!’
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at the sound of him calling her name. Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were grave, but his smile was wicked and brave.
‘I will build you as many secret passages as it pleases us to use.’
Ekaterina blew Andrey a cheeky kiss and winked, her heart swelling. Yes, they still had much to explore together...and she had many more games to play.
* * * * *
Elizabeth Rolls
For Michelle Styles, with grateful thanks for a wonderful few days exploring Northumberland
Award-winning author ELIZABETH ROLLS lives in the Adelaide Hills of South Australia in an old stone farmhouse surrounded by apple, pear and cherry orchards, with her husband, two sons, three dogs and two cats. She also has four alpacas and three incredibly fat sheep, all gainfully employed as environmentally sustainable lawnmowers. The kids are convinced that writing is a perfectly normal profession, and she’s working on her husband. Elizabeth has what most people would consider far too many books, and her tea and coffee habit is legendary. She enjoys reading, walking, cooking and her husband’s gardening. Elizabeth loves to hear from readers and invites you to contact her via e-mail at [email protected].
The dusty clock on the chimneypiece ticked inexorably as Madeleine Kirkby swallowed hard, gloved fingers tightened on her reticule. ‘The court won’t rule in my favour? You are quite, quite sure, sir?’ If Mr Blakiston was correct, then a little mental arithmetic would allow her to calculate the exact seconds left for the clock to count down before she lost her home.
The old lawyer, in his dusty black, sighed. ‘I am afraid not, Miss Maddy. You see, it is not considered wise to leave property, an estate, in the control of an unmarried woman. In your case, a young woman.’
‘But I have been running the estate for years!’ she said. ‘Even before my brother died.’ Fury lashed her. Stephen had left her to manage his inheritance while he disported himself in London. Yet she was considered unfit to own Haydon.
Mr Blakiston’s mouth was grim, but he reached over the desk and touched her hand gently. ‘I know, my dear, and I put all those arguments, but your grandfather’s will was hard to argue against, and your cousin—well.’
It didn’t need to be said. Edward, fifth Earl of Montfort, not content with his own much larger holdings, was determined to wrest Haydon from her hands. He and his father before him had bitterly resented that the third earl had dowered his daughter, Maddy’s mother, with the old manor house and its estate.
‘I suppose he’d have the judges in his pocket,’ she said bitterly.
Mr Blakiston, his ears a little pink, said carefully, ‘There was some talk that you are taking in women of...er...dubious reputation, and that, in short, there was some question as to your own...er...behaviour.’ By the end of this Mr Blakiston’s ears were glowing.
Outrage