Page 1 of Poisoned Roses

PROLOGUE

TITUS

There is a heady sense of expectation in the air as the crowd takes their place inside the impressive home of the Bolshoi Ballet.

Red opulence mixed with gold reminds me of centuries of decadence in a place that is a harsh protector. It traps its stars in a universe of damnation and as the theater swells with hungry vultures, all eyes are trained on the stage curtain.

I shift in my seat in the royal box, courtesy of the invitation from the head of state security, Boris Fedorov, who is beside me with his latest companion sitting unwillingly beside him.

He likes them young, barely reaching their twenties, and the agonized expression of his latest victim is no different to the ones who sat there before her.

He presses a possessive hand on her knee and if she moves, he tightens his grip, causing her to still and stare frozen at the stage.

Surrounding us are various government officials and their plus ones, not to mention our esteemed president, Denislav Orlov and his wife.

I stare straight ahead, curious but with no nerves because this is the night I offer the state my service. I am here for a reason and the woman I’m meeting is the one starring in the production of Romeo and Juliet. Its irony is not lost on me and as the lights dim, I watch with personal fascination as the show begins.

The music starts as a soft whisper on a fresh breeze and the curtain rustles as it’s given life, rising majestically against a beautifully lit stage, revealing a marketplace, the actors already in their positions. My sight is set on only one figure as I wait in anticipation for her entrance. I am rewarded when the scene cuts to her parent’s house and she is introduced to the man her parents wish her to marry. I lean closer and train my eyes on the woman herself and watch eagerly as she dances like an angel. I have seen pictures of her before and it’s surprising that our paths haven’t crossed until now because she is an important celebrity in Russia. She is alwaysinvited to many glorious occasions, but I have never sought her company.

Until now.

Tatiana Pavlov. The darling of Russia. A woman many idolize and want to be. Men desire her and women worship her and sheis reported to be a beautiful woman inside and out. A Russian princess if you like and closely guarded by the institution who made her star rise. A great beauty and incredible talent and my interest in her is only increasing as I stare at the elegant figure on the stage.

Even from this distance, I am star-struck. She has an aura of being the only one on the stage in a crowd. Her devoted fans all over the world create hysteria wherever she goes and as an example of everything that is great about Russia, she has no equal.

The haunting music is accompanied by the most beautiful dancing. It is a visual treat unsurpassed by any other. The emotion of the story is acted with skill and precision and I simply cannot tear my eyes away from her.

For the first time since I learned what my duty would mean, a seed of interest has been planted and is slowly growing.

Tonight we will meet for the first time.

Tonight she will learn of the most important role of her life.

As my wife.

TATIANA

I wish this was over. Sickness is consuming me as my world pirouettes along with my feet. It’s as if everything is spinning around me and I have no idea where it will land. I could fall—Iamfalling and I have nobody to confide in. Nowhere to run.

As I head into the wings, they are waiting with my costume change, tearing my outfit from my shivering body and replacing it with another. An assistant holds a bottle of water to my lips and I sip thirstily, conscious to only take in the required amount.

My feet throb but not as much as my heart because, as always, just before the curtain lifted,theyarrived.

I try not to think about them when I’m dancing. I attempt to lose myself in the music and the brilliance of Shakespeare’s words. It is the only time I am free. Nobody can touch me on the stage, unless you count the wandering hands of my leading man, Leo.

He makes my skin crawl, he always has, but his interest in me is very different. He has made no secret of how much he desires me and a misplaced hand under my skirt when he lifts me, a grope to my breast as he prepares my body to fly, reminds me how creepy he is and how sickened I am by his attention.

Then there’s the stalker. The person—a man most definitely, who always commands my attention when I least require it.

Tonight followed the same pattern as the other ones. A bouquet waiting in my dressing room. Ten white roses with a single black one in the center. The card always saying the same thing.

I’m waiting, Tatiana.

The assistant pushes me back toward the stage as the opening bars of the next dance signals my entry. I have no time to consider what is waiting for me in the wings, possibly in the theater itself. I must focus on dance because it’s the only thing that gets me through the madness.

As Leo ‘dies’ on stage, I perform my tragic dance and, seizing the dagger, I pirouette around the stage, dramatically raising it in the air and apparently stabbing myself in grief. As my body falls onto his, the music takes over and as the curtain falls, we hold the position until we get the all clear.

I swear Leo grasps my breast and I pull away sharply, pretending nothing ever happened. I’ve learned that the hard way.

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