“Yes, it’s traditional. We will all be in traditional dress this evening.”
I ran to the window, hoping to see a chance for escape. The window was bolted shut, of course. And I was three stories up, with no balcony or other method of climbing down. I tried to stay calm. I would think of something. I hoped.
I dressed myself, without the help of any maid. I did not think anyone would mistake me for a Montenegrin, with my wheat-colored hair and pale eyes, but I did not look quite like myself either. And the dress did not flatter one’s waist. I’d noticed that when I had first seen the queen.
After one last glance in the mirror, I left my room and hurried downstairs.
Elena was in the hallway holding a little girl, who looked to be only two. “Katerina! This is my youngest sister, Vera! Maman is going to have another boy in the fall.”
“She is expecting?” No wonder her dresses fit her so. “How do you know it will be a boy?”
“Maman always knows.”
Princess Vera climbed out of her sister’s arms and held her arms up to me. I’d not picked up a child since my little brother’s death. Nervously, I lifted her, and she clasped her little hands around my neck.
“You have made a new friend!” Elena laughed. “Come, we must take Vera back to the nursery before dinner.”
The nanny had already put the three children of Princess Zorka to bed for the night. Princess Vera went quietly to her nanny’s arms. We tiptoed out of the nursery silently.
“You will meet Zorka and her husband, Prince Petar, at dinner.”
“A Serbian prince?” I asked.
“In exile, for the time being. But Maman is working on that.” Elena smiled to herself and pushed open the swinging doors to the dining room.
The vast room was heavy with the scent of roses. There were several large arrangements down the long heavy wood table. The crown prince came over and led me to the table. “Enchanté, my love,” he said, kissing my hand. “You look beautiful in my country’s native costume.”
I said nothing. He introduced me to his sister Zorka and her husband, Prince Petar Karađorđević. He was an unpleasant-looking man, much older than his wife. Princess Zorka looked a lot like her mother and sisters, dark-eyed and dark-haired, but not quite so deadly. There was a maternal softness to her smile. Perhaps she was not a witch like the others?
“Hurry! Hurry! To the table!” Queen Milena was rushing everyone to stand at their places for the entrance of King Nikola.
The king entered, sat at the head of the table, and signaled for everyone else to sit. A servant appeared at the king’s left side and began to pour the wine. It did not take him long to come around the table and fill everyone’s glass. Other servants stood waiting at the doorway, ready to bring in the first course.
King Nikola raised his wineglass. “Tonight we come together to celebrate the most important night of my firstborn son’s life. Tonight, he becomes a man. Tonight, he becomes more than a man.”
I glanced around the table. No one, not even Prince Petar, seemed to be taken aback by this announcement. Except me.
“And tonight we also celebrate the arrival of Danilo’s future bride, Katerina of Oldenburg.” His dark eyes twinkled like cold stars as he looked at me. “Welcome, Katerina. We have indeed been waiting a long time for you.”
I nodded stiffly and raised my glass with the rest of the dinner party. It was a local wine, a rich, sweet red. As soon as the toasts were over, the servants rushed in to serve the first course: a traditional soup with vegetables in a beef broth. This was followed by fresh trout, caught in the nearby Lake Skavda, a smoked ham, polenta, and local cheeses.
“Does your mother have a Russian cook or a French cook?” Queen Milena asked me.
“She has both, Your Majesty,” I answered, hoping I did not sound pretentious.
She nodded. “I do not care for French cuisine. It is too rich for my tastes.”
“I love French cooking,” Elena said. “But our cook’s smoked ham is the best.”
It was, overall, a pleasant dinner. There was no blood drinking in sight. No black-magic chanting. I glanced around the table at smiling, gay faces. Militza and Stana were laughing at something Zorka’s husband had said. Elena was whispering to her sister Anna. Anna and Elena could have been twins, instead of being a year apart.
Danilo was listening to his father discuss his latest work of poetry, which the national theater was staging as a ballet. His father was a great patron of the arts and enjoyed writing plays and poetry. I was not sure I wanted to know any of Queen Milena’s favorite pastimes. She gazed around at her children affectionately, and then her gaze rested on me with a wicked smile. I tried to smile back, to show her I was not afraid, but I didn’t think I was successful.
The servants began to clear away the table as soon as King Nikola rose from his chair. “Katerina Alexandrovna, I would like to show you the drawing room. Danilo, would you escort the young lady?” The king placed his wife’s hand on his own arm.
“My dear,” Danilo said smoothly, taking my hand. I would have believed the prince passionately in love with me if I hadn’t overheard Militza in the carriage. He behaved like a perfect gentleman. The devil.
We entered a grand room with silk-paneled walls, on which hung several large portraits. “These are my ancestors, Duchess,” King Nikola said. “These are the Vladiki of House Peidros-Njegos.”
Several black-eyed men stared down at me from their paintings. The earliest men wore the black robes and headpieces of the Orthodox clergy. The later bishop princes wore only the less formal princely jackets, with various medals on their chests. The last portrait on the wall was the one of King Nikola, in his own jacket. None of them wore crowns denoting their sovereign status.
The opposite wall held portraits of the king and queen’s children and a beautiful portrait of Queen Milena when she was younger. Her dark eyes flashed seductively in the painting. “How pretty!” I could not help saying.
“That was many years, and many pregnancies, ago,” the queen said with a sigh, one protective hand on her abdomen. She pulled me away from the others, and we walked along the grand hallway, looking at other portraits.
“There is something about your eyes that is so familiar,” I said. “I suppose it is just that your daughters favor you. But I could swear it is something more than that.”
The princess stared at me silently for a few seconds. “Perhaps it is my sister who you are thinking of?” she said finally.
I shook my head. “I do not think I have ever met your sister.”
“But of course you have, dear. Princess Cantacuzene.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“You seem very surprised,” Queen Milena said with a laugh that sounded almost like a cackle. “I don’t suppose my dear sister ever mentioned me?”
“Only that your son is about to become a blood drinker. And that your daughters are powerful sorceresses.” I hesitated before adding, “I take it you were never close.”
Queen Milena laughed some more. “In truth, we were only half sisters, sharing the same father.” She stared out the window into the black night. “My mother was the maid for the princess’s mother. She was turned out of the house when she found out she was with child. Our father, Prince Dragomir, married my mother off to one of his noblemen, Count Vujovic, and I carried his own name. But Mother never let me forget I carry the blood of Bessaraba in my veins.”
“And so do your children,” I muttered. Had the ghost at Vorontsov Palace been speaking of Princess Cantacuzene or Queen Milena that night? Or even her daughter Militza? Why must ghosts always be so ambiguous?
“She was truly an enemy of the tsar, you know,” Princess Militza said, joining us at the window. “She has been plotting to return her corrupted lover to the throne with her undead army.”