The Gathering Storm by Robin Bridges Read Free Book Online

greet the next noble family waiting to speak with her. The tsarevitch remained with his mother, greeting Miechen’s guests, while the younger two grand dukes strolled out to the floor, immediately choosing partners. George Alexandrovich’s eyes met mine, briefly, and then he took Dariya’s hand and swept her across the ballroom.
    “Your Imperial Highness, will you do me the honor of this dance?” I turned to see Miechen’s twelve-year-old son, Boris Vladimirovich, looking at me solemnly.
    “Of course,” I said with a polite curtsy.
Angels and ministers of grace, defend me
.
    Many of my distant relatives, and even my closer cousins, whom I only saw on occasions like this, were present. I glanced around the room as Boris and I danced. Uncle George’s son Alexander Georgevich looked uncomfortable, unable to excuse himself from chatting with the elderly princess Cantacuzene.
    “I hope we get to eat soon,” Boris murmured as he stepped on my foot a third time. “Aren’t you hungry?”
    “Katiya!” Dariya rushed up to me, out of breath, as the dance concluded. Boris bowed, thanking me graciously, then skipped off to find something sweet to eat. The servants had just laid out a tray of iced pastries and sugar-frosted fruits. Dariya was dressed in a white silk dress embroidered with tiny pearls. She wore large ostrich feathers in her hair and in the bustle of her skirt. My cousin was so much more beautiful than I was. Her long dark blond hair was a tumble of curls down the back of her head. All the young men flocked around her.
    Dariya and I made our way out of the overheated ballroom and walked through one of Miechen’s elegant parlors. Here several small tables were heavy with canapés and caviar. We helped ourselves to cups of punch and sat on the damask-covered settee to catch up.
    “I am so glad you did not have to go to Cetinje,” Dariya said. “I don’t see how Elena could possibly think the crown prince is the man of your dreams.”
    I shrugged. “Please do not mention him again. Or Cetinje. It is all Maman talks of.”
    “I’d rather go to Paris,” my cousin said. “I hear it is a beautiful city.”
    We’d both been to visit our grandmother’s villa in Biarritz, a resort town on the Atlantic coast, but neither of us had seen the capital of France. Dariya and I used to play French Revolution when we were little. We’d take turns being Marie Antoinette. Our grandmamma caught us once and had us whipped for revolutionary sentiments. We were six years old at the time and had no idea even what revolutionary sentiments were.
    I tried to avoid the imperial family during the ball, but Grand Duchess Xenia was getting punch in the grand rotunda and spotted us. She gave us a knowing smile. “If the two of you are together, there is mischief in progress,” she said. “Are Auntie Miechen’s dogs safe?”
    During a children’s ball Maman had thrown many summers earlier, Dariya and I found a kitten that had wandered upstairs and we tried to get it to dance a mazurka with Maman’s French bulldog, Lola. The kitten wanted nothing to do with the mazurka or Lola and scampered up Maman’s silk curtains. Lola ran downstairs, in the opposite direction, then straight through the orchestra and under the violinist’s legs. Fortunately, Dariya and I did not get punished, but we were not allowed to play with Lola anymore. The curtains, alas, were never the same.
    Xenia was still laughing at us when her brother walked over. “Georgi, do you remember when Katerina Alexandrovna and Dariya Yevgenievna brought the kitten to a ball?”
    I hadn’t noticed the grand duke approaching. Dariyacurtsied prettily. “Katiya’s mother wouldn’t let us play together anymore after that,” my cousin said.
    “I thought
your
mother disallowed it,” I said, surprised.
    “Both mothers were very wise,” George Alexandrovich said, his lips pressed tightly together, almost as if he was trying not to smile. “You two are an extremely