Page 88 of Queen’s Gambit

“Of course, Ms. Mikhailov.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room.

“I didn’t see that coming,” Frida whispered.

“Do any of the other staff feel the same way?” She nodded. “Good, gather them as well.”

“What are you planning, Yuli?”

Walking over to the window near the bed, I moved the sheers out of the way, running the material through my fingers.

“I’m not sure yet, but it starts with discovering where loyalties lie.”

I turned around and faced her, crossing my arms.

“What I do know is that I denounced my father in front of his guards and made him look weak. It’s time to build my army, and when the time is right, I’ll strike.”

This world had tried to paint me into a corner, but I was going to mold it into something else…a life worth living.

Nine Months Later

Yulianna

Using the back of my arm, I moved the hair falling into my face out of my way. The messy bun had been as temperamental and unruly as I’d been lately.

Dipping my brush into the paint I made bold strokes with the chalky-white color. This piece was my favorite. It was an abstract flare of a naked woman bursting from bold colors that had turned into flames and wings. The image had woken me up in the middle of the night, and I just had to paint her rising from the ashes like a phoenix. It was how I saw myself.

The sun’s bright rays poured through the window making the colors that much more vibrant, and my heart smiled. It was perfect.

I heard the commotion outside my door before it burst open, and Christov stormed in, closely followed by two of my guards. I was only mildly surprised that my father hadn’t taken this opportunity to storm up here with Christov, but he’d kept his distance like I’d ordered him to.

“Yes, you look very sick and bedridden,” he growled.

Ignoring his fury, I swirled some white and orange paint together for a softer highlight.

“Sorry, I should’ve waited and thrown up on your shoes. Next time, I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Do you want us to toss him out,” Vlad asked, earning a glare from Christov.

“No, it’s fine. Please give us some privacy, but leave the door open in case I change my mind,” I said.

Vlad and Mylo nodded and walked out. But when Christov tried to close the door, Vlad pushed it back open.

“Ms. Mikhailov has requested the door remain open. So, it will,” he said, crossing his arms.

Giving up, Christov walked toward me. His face was the picture of pure rage, especially since I continued painting and refused to acknowledge his temper tantrum.

“What do you want, Christov,” I asked, applying tiny details to the wings.

“What the hell do you think I want? We were supposed to be married as soon as possible. First, you wouldn’t set a date. When you finally chose one, it was months away. Now, here we are the day before, and I get a call from your mother claiming that you are ill and the wedding must be postponed. Do you have any idea how much of a headache and expense it is to move a wedding?”

“No, can’t say I do,” I drawled.

“It costs a fortune,” he snarled.

“I guess it’s a good thing my father is footing the bill then, isn’t it?”

I could hear his teeth grinding, and enjoyed every second of the frustrated sound.

“That’s not the point, and your mother says that the church’s next availability is February. That’s seven months from now.”