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“Says who?”
I gingerly removed her hand. “Mila, no. I’m not doing this. You’re not okay.”
“I am.” She knelt next to me and kissed a trail along my shoulder. I shivered as her breasts brushed my arm. “I need this.”
“If you need this, why did you panic?” I forced myself to focus on the words, even as all the blood in my body rushed to my cock. I had to be firm. Hold onto my resolve. Someone had to protect her from herself.
“I’m fine.” She pushed me onto my back, straddling my waist.
“Mila…” I groaned as she kissed down my body. “We can’t do this.”
“Han.” She positioned herself over me. “I’m fine.”
I needed her so badly it hurt, but I couldn’t do this. I rolled her onto the bed next to me and reached for my pants. “You’re not fine, and I’m not going to pretend you are. You can’t even have sex with your husband without growing hysterical. How do you expect to survive at court like this?”
“I don’t expect to behaving sexat court,” she hissed.
“No, just risking your life.” I pulled my pants up and tied them. Feeling less vulnerable now that I was partially clothed, I turned back to her. “It’s only been two months since you were hurt, and you can still hardly bear to be touched. What do you think it’s going to be like, spending weeks, maybe even months in the court of that monster, constantly at risk of being exposed? The only thing you’re going to achieve is getting yourself killed. I won’t allow it.”
“Won’t allow it?” Her voice rose, and she stood, gathering her own clothes. “I wasn’t asking yourpermission.The tsar has work for me, and I have every intention of doing it. Just because you think I’m not strong enough doesn’t mean I’m not.”
“It’s not that I don’t think you’re strong enough, Milochka.” I reached for her, but she stepped away. “You’re the strongest woman I know. But you’re not ready for this, and I can’t risk letting you go. I can’t risk losing you.”
“You don’t get to decide what I’m ready for. You don’t get to decide where I can go or what I can do.” She threw her clothing on, the movements stiff with anger. “It’s my choice, and I choose to take the risk.”
With that, she threw the door open and stormed out, leaving me alone in the bedroom with my heart in pieces.
Chapter twelve
Becoming Sofia
Mila
Ididn’t go back to Han that night. I was too angry, my emotions raw. How dare he treat me like a child? Why was it acceptable for him to join the war, but not for me to do the same? I had just as much right as him to defend my tsar. I was just as strong as he was.
An obliging servant found me another guest room I could use for the night, as far from Han as possible. I spent the rest of the day pacing and fuming. A little after sunset, I finally fell asleep, lying clothed on the bed atop the quilts.
“Good morning, Sofia!”
A cheery voice woke me, and I bolted upright. A woman with pale white, almost grayish skin and coal-black hair stood smiling at me from the foot of the bed.
“Get up, sleepyhead.” She tossed a bundle of clothes at me and winked. “Izolda Vasilievna. I work here in the castle. We’ve known each other since childhood.”
I sat up, face burning. I was going to give myself away before I even got to court. Did she know who I was, or did she think I was the real Sofia Stepanova? “I’m sorry, Izolda—”
She cut me off. “You don’t have to pretend that you know me. I was the closest thing Sofia Stepanova had to a friend, and one of only a few people who know she died.” She grinned. “Don’t worry. The baroness sent me. I’m to help you get comfortable in your new life. Get dressed.”
I reached for the bundle of clothes. The long yellow sleeves of the shift were embroidered with red thread, and the thick fabric of the sarafan was a rich scarlet, embroidered with blue. A blue belt tumbled onto the bed as I unfolded the dress.
I slipped behind the privacy screen and changed quickly, coming out again fully dressed. Izolda hadn’t given me a headscarf, and my hair puffed out around my head in a cloud of tiny curls.
“Do you have a headscarf?” I asked, twisting a curl around my finger. “I’m not sure how to braid this.” The texture of Sofia’s hair was thicker and coarser than my own, and I had a feeling my usual three-strand plait wouldn’t keep all the tiny curls in place.
“No headscarf. Sofia isn’t married.” Izolda frowned. “I’ll have to braid it for you. Lady Heli is expecting us. I’ll teach you how to do it later.” She dug in her pocket and drew out a comb, a small jar, and a povyazka. She handed me the povyazka; the thick headband was blue, embroidered with red and yellow flowers to match the sarafan.
“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to a chair. I did, and she began attacking my new hair with the comb, separating it into sections. “It’s a good thing I was prepared, or we would have had to spend all morning searching the castle for oil and a comb.”
Unsure of how to respond, I remained silent.
