Page 7 of The Tsarina's Favorite
The pillow’s heft and compression, growing tighter around my torso, would not allow me to remove it.This was to be my costume until the tsarina decreed otherwise.
Sweat dripped from my temples and hairline.
“What...”I struggled to choke out words.“What role am I to play?”
The man, realizing that the woman had taken the burden of this strange and tension-filled conversation, whispered, “You are going to be her chicken.”
III.
Ifocused on the rawsuede edges against the bridge of my nose and my cheeks.Pain offered visceral and immediate distraction, occupying my mind enough to keep my attention from the audience around me.The straps would cause sores and then open wounds eventually.The leather buckles, fastened behind my head, caught in my hair.Sweat soaked under the hood, through my shirt, and through the many padded layers of my costume.I couldn’t put my arms down properly, and I couldn’t get out of it.Despite my words to the servant and no personal wish to see her harmed, I had tried.I had to try.
After shaving, being fitted with the leather beak, and pulling the hood over my hair, I waited for the servants to turn their attentions away from me.I fought the fabric, stretching and bending in ways that might make the stitches stretch, loosen, and snap.Nothing had come of it.The tsarina had chosen a skilled seamstress for the task and had given that poor seamstress proper motivation to do the best work of her life.
“How clever you are, Your Majesty,” a lady said.
I snapped back to dreadful awareness, the discomforts not enough to keep my full attention.I shifted in the basket, a clever construct designed to replicate a nest, and tried to make it as little obvious as possible.This was meant to be awkward and uncomfortable, but I had no intention of giving the tsarina the further satisfaction of seeing it.
“He always has something to say,” she replied.“Why not allow him to squawk as he pleases and entertain us at the same time?”
The group laughed.Alexei, thankfully, was not among them.
If only I had to worry about discomfort alone.It was the misery, the emptiness, and the loss that tormented me.And the shame.
“Truly inspired,” the first lady said.
Not just shame.Shame beyond expression.
“I’ve always wanted the fabled firebird for my menagerie, but alas, a firebird costume would be too stately for the nature of his crimes.”The tsarina took in my costume once more.“I would have preferred real feathers, but overall, I am quite pleased with how he turned out.Real feathers can always come later.”
I shut my eyes so I could not betray the extent of my hate for her.
“What’s wrong, Mikhail?”the tsarina asked.“I am not accustomed to you being so silent.”
When I did not think I would react on impulse, I opened my eyes and met her gaze.“What would you have of me?”
The ladies smirked behind their fans.
