Suspicion goes off in me. Alarms blazing in the back of my head. Did Tsarina ever fancy him? Fancy the boy who was mean to her while rejecting the one who wanted to give her everything? What if they met up behind my back, what if they wrote to each other while she was away before I put him up in here?
My upper lip pulls over my teeth from rage. “If you don’t hate him then maybe you love him.”
“What?” Her face screws up with genuine disgust. “No.”
“Tell me the truth,” I snarl as sudden jealousy tears in me. “Do you love him?”
“Let him go!” she screams, her eyes widening when they bore into mine.
“As you wish,” I rasp, opening up my fingers and Petrush drops. He screams as he falls to the ground and Tsarina’s features twist with fear as she runs over to the window.
“I hate you!” she yells. “Petrushia’s grandsonandhe had a family! How could you...” She trails off as she leans out the window and she notices that Petrush unfortunately slid down the ceiling before landing in the thick snow. Unharmed.
Sagging, Tsarina’s face floods with relief. I watch her coldly before rasping in her ear and my voice is full of heat, “Youhateme?” How the fuck dare she? How the fuck dare she evendislikeme?
Slowly turning toward me, she rasps, “We’re lucky he didn’t die. You could’ve killed him. The Balthazar I know would’ve never done something like that.”
I bore my eyes into hers. “The Tsarina I know would have wanted me to kill him.”
She flinches as if I slapped her. “B...but,” she stutters because she knows I’m right and I clasp my hand around her elbow, whirling her around. “Where are you taking me?”
“To your room,” I growl, taking the staircase to the second floor and I’m so furious with what just happened that I slam an angry fist through the wall. Tsarina gasps in shock but I’m too angry to care and yank her bedroom door open and shove her inside.
Nearly falling on her nose, she glances at me over her shoulder and scowls. I drag a ragged breath, waiting for her to start barking at me when the décor of the room catches her attention. Her jaw slacks as she looks around. When I slam the door behind me, she twitches but still can’t tear her gaze away from what she’s seeing.
“This room...it’s different from the rest of the house,” she breathes. “Who’s it for?”
Frowning, I say, “What do you mean?”
Cocking a brow, she replies, “Come on, it’s obviously meant for someone. You don’t go this extravagant on a simple guestroom.”
“Karthusian’s are hospitable, remember?”
“No, they’re not,” she mutters and she’s right. It’s not just a guestroom. I had it made for her in mind, spent ages looking for the right wallpaper, the right pillows and blankets and the right canopy bed. I even flew in a painter from Verona to create the gold leafed pattern in the stucco ceiling.
Stopping by a painting, Tsarina admired the pastels and it gives me a moment to admire her. I feel my breath returning to normal, the overwhelming anger I just felt draining from me and I inhale. She catches the inhale, glancing at me but she doesn’t say anything.
Throwing a look at the window, she asks, “How long do you think the snow will be going on for?”
“A while.” I cross my arms over my chest and I feel like growling. “Why? That eager to spread you wings and fly once more?” Wasn’t one time enough? Does she have to do it over and over, simply to torture me, to make me suffer some more because the last time didn’t kill me?
If she does it again, she will kill me. My heart will stop beating and I will die. I’ll be the Tsar, not defeated by an army or an assassin but by a woman. A woman who didn’t want him back.
She rolls her eyes as if everything is a game to her. “I like spending time with you, always have.” She grimaces. “Other than when you’re cranky or throwing men to their deaths.”
“Mention him again and I’ll hunt him down and kill him.”
Jerking, Tsarina stares at me, her gaze landing on my biceps and she quickly averts her gaze. “I won’t mention him again.” She squirms. “Sheesh, you’re tightly wound. Definitely not anything like the boy I used to know.”
That boy was useless. And he obviously wasn’t likable enough to get Tsarina to stay. Nobody could love him. On top of it, he was too young to stop her from leaving. But I’m not young anymore. This time will be different.
My eyes watch Tsarina closely as she roams around the room. She seems prickly about something, rubbing her arms and her eyes are concerned. I find out why when she says,
“If I could I’d change into something more comfortable but my suitcase was stolen.” She sighs. “By some of the kids probably. All my clothes were in it...and my passport.” She gives me a questioning smile. “I was thinking that maybe you could pull some strings.”
I could. Then she’d had the suitcase and her little passport back in no time. But I won’t.
“Yeah, I’ll pull some string,” I lie and she throws me a grateful smile.