“Her weakness is the priest,” one of the men spoke up, “If she truly loves him.”
“She doesn’t,” the Tsar snapped in response, “She just thinks she does.”
“It works for us either way,” the man continued, chewing on the end of an old cigar. “If that is her weak point, then we must go after the priest.”
“No one knows who he is,” another one of the men agreed. “It will be easy to fabricate something and get the people talking. You know how everyone feels about religion these days. A false priest? They’ll demand his execution.”
“He’s right,” the finaldvorysvastospoke up, wanting to make sure that his voice was heard, “And a false priest setting up in the palace? With the family blessed by God to govern Russia? Why, they’ll label him as bad as Judas.”
“We still need Anastasia to cooperate,” the Tsar grumbled, sitting down at his desk. “Even if the public cries for the execution of a false priest, she’ll never believe it. She’s not pious. If we execute him anyway to satisfy the demands of the crowd, we’ll lose every chance of getting her to our cause.”
“We’ll have to ruin his reputation in more ways than one,” the second boyar shrugged. “Go at it from two sides. Drive a wedge between them while we find ways to make the people cry for his execution. When it becomes a fever pitch, strike where the iron is hot.”
“She’ll cave under pressure,” the first man agreed. “She claims to be for the people. If her heart is broken, Anastasia will turn to the only other thing that she says she loves… the people.”
“And if they’re crying for the execution of the man who broke her heart…,” the Tsar murmured in agreement, snapping his fingers. “She’ll have to agree.”
“Excellent,moi Tsar,” the third man nodded happily, “You have it all figured out.”
“A wonderful plan.”
“Truly, none of us could have thought of it.”
“I have just the idea,” the Tsar grinned lecherously, pulling out sheets of paper from his desk. “She thinks his love is true? I can’t imagine that she’ll feel very well discovering that he’s also in bed with her mother.”
Thedvorysvastosall chuckled delightfully like a perverted chorus. “How shall you do it?”
“It’s simple,” he shrugged. “Fetch my wife. Tell her I am in need of her penmanship.”
It only took twenty minutes for the Tsarina to appear at the door of the Tsar’s office. She had very seldom been invited in before and never when he was meeting with his council.
The Tsarina had always turned to her priests and acolytes to deal with the resounding truth that her husband had no need or want for her.
“Moi Tsar,” she curtsied appropriately, using the formal tone with her husband.
“Alexandra,” the Tsar’s smile was as charming as ever. “We need you to pen some letters for us.” The Tsarina’s face contorted in confusion as she looked around the room, seeing the grins of the three old men that sent chills down her spine. She had always hated the councilmen.
“Of course,” she nodded, sitting down at another table in the office. A lady-in-waiting behind her produced the stationery. “What do you need it for?”
“I need you…,” the Tsar’s voice was calculating, “… to fake sexually explicit letters to the priest Rasputin.”
The look of horror that spread over the Tsarina’s face was almost palpable. The councilmen sniggered like schoolboys. The Tsar shut them up with a singular look before turning back to his wife with a soft smile.
“It’s for the good of our family and reign, Alexandra,” he tilted his head to the side. “Certainly, you can understand that?”
Alexandra shook her head, pushing the papers away from her, “I will beruined!How do you expect this to be for the good of the family? My reputation will never recover!”
The Tsar’s attitude flipped immediately — for a man who had spent his entire life being told 'yes', the fact that thewomen in his familyhad started to disagree with him was too much.
“You have not been of value to this court or me since Alexei came of age, and I had no more need for an heir.” The Tsar’s voice was cutting, and Alexandra stifled a gasp. She was under no illusions that they had a loveless marriage.
The Tsar’s quest for power had always accommodated her; she had assumed that they had a sort of companionship, at the very least. At the end of the day, there was nothing that would stand between him and his quest for power.
“You will do it,” he said again, taking one step towards her. “You can ruin your reputation with these fake letters, or I willruin your reputation with a very real scenario.”
The Tsarina felt all of the blood rush from her face, the councilmen once again chuckling as the Tsar threatened his wife with assault.
“Alright,” she swallowed thickly, picking up the pen in front of her. “What will you have me say,moi Tsar?”
