The Crown's Game (The Crown's Game, #1)(90)
Then another guard entered the room. He cleared his throat and announced, “The Tsesarevich Pavel Alexandrovich Romanov, and the Grand Princess Yuliana Alexandrovna Romanova.”
As they all bowed and curtsied, Pasha marched in and stood behind the desk. He did not sit, and he didn’t command them to sit either. The grand princess followed, although she halted on the side of the room and hovered by the window. Then a young guard appeared carrying a chest, the same one from the ceremony at Bolshebnoie Duplo. He set it down heavily on top of the desk. Their stiff formality would have suited an official throne room after all.
“You may all leave,” Pasha said to the guards stationed around the room. He sounded less like himself and more like . . . his father. Vika shivered. The guards obeyed silently and closed the doors behind them. No doubt they positioned themselves immediately outside.
“I believe we all know why we’re here.” Pasha glanced at his sister, then pressed his fingers to the chest and lifted the lid. As he did so, the Russe Quill and Scroll floated out.
Vika noticed that Pasha did not look at her. It was as if he didn’t know her either. Had she imagined the past two months? The dancing at the masquerade, the near kiss in the maple grove, the carriage ride after her father’s death? Everyone had forsaken her.
“The Scroll is where the tsar declares a winner,” Pasha continued. “Although I am not officially tsar, I will be soon, and I will need an Imperial Enchanter. But I would rather not have to choose between you. Therefore, I would like you to conclude the Game.” He paused, as if waiting to see if anyone would interrupt him. As if testing out his new power. Vika had interrupted the tsar once upon a time, during the oath that seemed so long ago. But the sternness on Pasha’s face frightened her more than the tsar ever had, perhaps because the austerity was so foreign to Pasha that Vika didn’t know what it meant or what to expect. So she kept still and very quiet.
“I propose a classic duel to determine the winner,” Pasha said.
“What do you mean, a classic duel?” Nikolai’s eyes narrowed.
“A fight à l’outrance, to the death.” Icicles hung off Pasha’s voice. “A display of your skills in what this Game was supposed to be: a demonstration of which of you is better fit for the position of Imperial Enchanter. Who will help me strategize against the Ottomans? Who can put down the uprisings on the steppe? Who is not afraid to risk life to protect the empire?”
“You don’t have to be a warmonger,” Nikolai said.
“I am going to be tsar.”
“The title doesn’t matter.” Nikolai took a step toward him. “It’s what you do that defines you, Pasha.”
The grand princess cleared her throat.
“You will address me as Your Imperial Highness,” Pasha said to Nikolai. “And I will remind you that you are not my adviser yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself, enchanter.”
Vika gaped and looked from Pasha to Nikolai. She had thought they were best friends. Even Nikolai appeared stunned. What had happened between them? What had happened to everyone?
“What if we refuse to duel?” Vika asked, for now the world had gone completely upside down, and she could not resist speaking up any longer.
Pasha looked down at the empty chest. The Quill and Scroll still hovered next to him. The grand princess crossed her arms and nodded, as if encouraging her brother to carry through with something they had previously decided.
“My Guard has taken custody of your loved ones,” Pasha said. “Ludmila Fanina and Renata Galygina have been placed under lock and key in an undisclosed location. They will be comfortable during the remainder of the Game, but should you not carry out my wishes, there shall be consequences. Your duel shall take place on the new island, beginning at dawn tomorrow.”
“Pasha, no!” Vika said. “This isn’t you!”
Pasha dragged his hand through his hair, catching himself only after he’d already mussed up half of his blond locks. He dropped his arms to his sides and stood with military rigidity.
“Perhaps it’s not the Pasha of the past, but I have no choice. I am to be tsar. This is me now.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Galina braced herself. She had a feeling the Game’s whirlwind would come for her again soon. The magic had only summoned her back to Saint Petersburg for the transition of the Game, but she would likely be exiled again shortly, for the same rules as before applied: she would not be permitted to assist her student.
The tsesarevich locked away the Russe Quill and Scroll and marched out of the room with the grand princess. Nikolai and Vika stood gawking after them, both immobile, as if the tsesarevich had confiscated their ability to move.
Galina whacked Nikolai on the back of his head. “Do not forget the gift I gave you.”
He startled, then turned to her and huffed. “That is what you are thinking of, at a moment like this?”
“What else ought I be thinking of? The tsesarevich has made it clear that you are to execute a proper duel.”
Nikolai scowled and looked away.
Galina shrugged. “And you, Vika. I hope you’re happy with the choices you made for all your previous plays. My brother gave his life to you through that bracelet.” Any kindness Galina had felt toward the girl following Sergei’s death had vanished. It was Vika’s fault that Sergei had died. She should suffer some consequence.