Page 61 of My Trojan Horse Majesty

He nods.

Henodsat me. My heart soars—he must’ve heard me, right?

But then boots come stomping around the corner of a house on the main road, and four men come into view. The first man’s wearing a very fine cloak with embroidered trim that glints even in the low light—Vasily, I assume. The other three men appear to be taking their orders from him.

“Well,” Vasily says. “Did you bring it? Or was it all just another sad, desperate lie?”

Leonid’s father springs to his feet. “I brought it. Indeed, I did. I’m most grateful of your help with the audience.” He bows his head and holds out his hands, palms up.

The man turns backward toward his three companions, and then he nods. One of them pulls out a club. One of them has strange straps buckled around his hands that look studded with metal, and the last one’s holding a knife. They all walk toward Leonid’s father.

“Not you,” Vasily says. “Sergei, you stay with me unless they need your help.”

Leonid’s father’s face darkens. “I don’t understand. You said?—”

But then the man with the wrapped hands punches him, and he flies sideways, slamming into the side of the empty fountain, his head rolling around on his neck like some kind of children’s bobble-head toy.

He finally stiffens and tries to stand up. “I brought the relics,” he says. “They weren’t lies—it’s all true. I can prove that I’m descended directly from the noble line of Rurik.”

“Like any of that matters anymore.” Vasily sneers. “As ifanyonewould ever consider you as a worthy replacement for a Romanov.”

The man with the club slams it into his side.

Leonid rushes toward his father. “No, please don’t hurt him.”

Sergei, the man with the knife, lunges for Leonid, and I realize he’s about to stab him, a little boy who’s already losing everything. Without a second thought, I leap forward, throwing myself between the blade and the boy. It doesn’t strike me, of course, but it inexplicably slows, and Sergei grimaces.

The little boy, Leonid, looks right at me, his eyes widening, and then he stumbles to the ground.

“What’s going on?” Vasily says. “Take them out and let’s go.”

Sergei, now towering over Leonid by several feet, sheathes his blade and starts to kick him. He doesn’t seem inclined to stop, and all my efforts to drag him away are utterly fruitless.

I’m stuck watching as three men brutalize both Leonid and his father. They don’t stop until his father looks dead—lifeless and unmoving—and Leonid has stopped making even the slightest sound. I worry that they mightbedead. Did my interference somehow make this worse? Was Sergei supposed to stab Leonid? I wish he’d said something about that.

I wish I’d left things alone.

I kneel in front of Leo’s tiny, bruised, and broken body, and I try to run my hand over his hair. He can’t feel it, or if he can, he can’t move or react. A moment later, though, he begins to raggedly wheeze, and then he forces himself to his feet. He stumbles his way over to his father, and he shakes him until he stirs.

“Father,” Leonid says. “Don’t be upset.”

His father grunts. I’m worried that’s all he can do.

“I know they stole your relics, but Father, I managed to cut that man’s coin purse.” He pulls it out from under his dirty tunic. “We have enough for a place to stay and some bread.”

He sounds so excited about it that it breaks my heart.

“We sure showed them, Father. You can’t mess with a Rurikid and come away unscathed.”

My heart, my poor, battered heart can’t take much more. Leonid tries again and again to rouse his father, but he can’t. He disappears then, and I’m not sure what to do. Do I stay with the father, unable to do a single thing to help? Or should I trail along behind Leonid, wherever he’s gone? By the time I decide to try to follow Leonid, he’s already disappeared, so I circle back to his father.

Moments later, little Leo appears, a ratty blanket in one hand, and he lays it flat on the ground beside his father. He slowly but carefully rolls his father onto the blanket, and then he gathers up the ends and drags his father out of the town square and underneath a tree just off the closest clearing. “It’s okay, Father,” Leonid whispers. “You’re hurting now, and you’re going to be upset when you finally do wake, but it’s all going to be okay.” He wraps the blanket around his father, curls up behind him, and closes his eyes. “The world may not love you, and Mother may never have understood. She may have left us, and she may not have believed you. The world may never acknowledge our birthright, but I’ll never abandon you, no matter what. I know you need me, and I promise I won’t fail you.”

I’m crying as I lay beside tiny Leonid, my arms wrapped uselessly around him. He doesn’t seem to notice my presence, not this time, but I’ll never forget this little glimpse into the life he so nonchalantly described as ‘hard.’

If I was wondering whether he was the villain, I have my answer.

He’s not.

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