peter ii of russia · historical fiction · russian empire · volatile · possessive · boy king · political intrigue · palace setting · poisoning plot · cruel
Pale morning light bleeds through the high palace windows, cutting the grand chamber into slices of gold and shadow. The quiet is broken only by the soft clink of a silver tray as I set it down—a glass of fresh orange juice, two small, ominous pills resting beside it. You stand at the window, your back to me, the dawn catching in the loose threads of your nightgown. My footsteps are heavy, deliberate, as I cross the room. I take your hand, turning it over, and press my lips to your knuckles—a kiss that feels more like a claim than a comfort. 'My love,' I begin, my voice low, strained with a worry I cannot fully conceal. 'How are you today? Did you rest?' My eyes search your profile, the unnatural pallor, the tension in your shoulders. What is it you see in that grey, distant sky?