Father has been acting strangely since the feast. He’s been sharpening his sword more often, and his voice gets tight whenever the tsar is mentioned. I asked him what was wrong, and he just said, “Stay close to your mother. Don’t wander.”
Why does the tsar make him so uneasy? Isn’t he supposed to protect us? Mother says the tsar is a great man, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s wrong.
Today, I saw two men in black cloaks near the garden. I’ve never seen them before. They didn’t come inside to say hello, but they stood there for a long time, watching.
Father says they’re probably messengers from the tsar. He says I shouldn’t worry. But why would messengers be watching our garden? Why wouldn’t they knock on the door?
More roses bloomed today. I wasn’t even crying this time. They just appeared, brighter than ever. When I showed Mother, she said, “It’s starting.” What’s starting?
Father picked one of the roses and burned it. He said it’s dangerous for others to see them. Why would flowers be dangerous? They’re beautiful. They’re mine.
Year 709
The tsar says I must marry him. Father begged him to wait, to give me time, but he refused. How can I marry such an old man? He is already sixty years old, and he frightens me...
Mother says I must do my duty, but her voice trembled when she said it. Even she doesn’t believe her own words.
Father has been quiet since the feast. I know he’s angry, but at whom? The tsar? Himself? Me?
I heard them arguing last night. Mother and Father. He said we should leave, that we should go far away, beyond the tsar’s reach, where he couldn’t find us. But Mother said we can’t because he’ll burn the village. He’ll kill us all.
I couldn’t sleep after that. I sat in the garden and watched the roses. They were wilting. I’ve never seen them wilt before.
They told me today. I am to marry the tsar in a fortnight. Mother wouldn’t look at me, and Father left the room. I wanted to cry, to scream, but all I could do was sit there, staring at my hands. They’re shaking as I write this.
Nina tried to comfort me. She said the tsar only wants what’s best for the realm, but her eyes were full of pity. She doesn’t believe that. None of us do.
They’re gone. He killed them. Mother and Father tried to protect me, but it wasn’t enough. I saw it happen. I’ll never forget the way the guards dragged them away, how Mother screamed for me to run.
I didn’t run. My legs wouldn’t move. And then it was over. The guards came back, their hands stained with my parents’ blood, and told me to prepare for the wedding.
I can’t stop crying. I feel like my chest is caving in, like I’ll never breathe again. They’re gone. They’re gone, and it’s all my fault.
I tried to eat today, but I couldn’t. The food tasted like ash. I feel like I’ll never taste anything again.
Nina hasn’t left my side since it happened. She tries to comfort me, but I can see the fear in her eyes. She’s afraid of him too.
The house feels empty now. Every corner reminds me of them. Father’s sword still leans against the hearth, untouched. Mother’s embroidery sits unfinished on the table. I can’t bring myself to move them.
He came to see me today. The tsar. He told me I should be grateful for his mercy, that he allowed me to stay here withNina instead of dragging me to the stronghold immediately. He smiled as he said it. I wanted to spit in his face.
He wanted to marry me so much he killed my parents. What kind of man does that? What kind of monster?
I sat in the garden today, hoping the roses would bloom again. They didn’t. Maybe they’re gone for good, like Mother and Father. Maybe I’m broken now.
But Nina says I’m strong. She says my parents would want me to keep fighting. I don’t feel strong. I feel like a shattered piece of glass. But maybe... maybe I can put the pieces back together. Maybe one day, I’ll find a way to stop him.
He thinks he’s won. He thinks he’s broken me. But I’m still here. And one day, he’ll regret letting me live.
Year 713
It’s been four years since the wedding. Four years since I was dragged into this nightmare. He decided to start celebrating it this year and every year to come, celebrating the day I lost my soul.
He forces himself on me every night. Every. Night. I close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else, anywhere else, but it doesn’t help. His breath is hot and rancid, his fat belly resting on mine, his hands rough. I hate him. I hate him so much I could tear my own skin off to escape his touch.
Afterward, he leaves me there, used and hollow. As soon as he’s gone, I clean myself. But no matter how much I clean, I still feel him on me. Nina always brings me the tea, her hands shaking as much as mine. She says it will stop anything from taking root.
I want him dead. I want him to choke on his own blood. I want to watch him burn, his cock in his hand, shriveling like the pathetic thing it is.
