Chapter Text
“With all due respect, Your Majesty-.”
“I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve already made my decision. My son shall marry the Tsar of West Russia, I’ll pass down the crown to him and Mother Russia will once again become whole instead of its two halves.”
Otabek, tutor and servant to Tsarevich Yuri of East Russia, watched as the blonde Tsarina turned away from him to face the balcony as tears began to form in her eyes. His heart pained in his chest to see her like this; she had become a second mother to him through the years he, and his family, had served her and her son. Despite his own, personal, feelings on the situation at hand, he could see her side. While many in their half Russia loved her with every fibre of their being, to many she was a disgrace before she was even crowned. Be it that she was a lone, female ruler or that her son’s father had never been revealed to the people for he had been born to her as a sixteen-year-old out of wedlock, the bigots of their country would always find some way to discredit her good nature.
Many would blame her now too, that the gold in the Imperial mines had run out and by this point she was seriously risking assassination. Otabek knew that one day she would be forced to marry her son off to a neighbouring ruler in order to stop East Russia from going into depression but he’d always hoped that Yuri would be at least twenty-five, not nineteen! He knew that his Yuri was going to hate it too, but Tsarevich Yuri would allow it to happen as he was bound by his duty.
It was almost laughable really, that Yuri’s face had been hidden from the public-eye since his birth for his own protection, but that a mere servant-boy had been allowed to see him as his sole source of human interaction. Otabek, one of only two people who had ever knowingly seen Yuri’s face, had seen far more of the nineteen-year-old than Yuri’s own fiancé had.
“I don’t want to do this, you know,” the Tsarina spoke softly to him, “You know I’d rather have you as a son-in-law any day.” She reached up to squeeze his cheek lightly as her restraints broke and she left out several loud sobs. His cheeks flushed red at her comment as she allowed herself to forget her Imperial appearance and flung her arms around his neck.
Otabek allowed a small, sad smile to adorn his usually emotionless features as he whispered, “In another life I’d give anything to be able to call you my mother-in-law, Natalia, but we only have this life and Yuri can never know my deepest feelings for him.” He truly loved his best-friend but the circumstances of their country, along their social standings, would never let them be together. And that wasn’t even touching on those that still saw marriage between two men to be sinful.
More sobs erupted from the blonde woman’s throat as she tried to form a sentence in response.
“I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t care what my title is, or how much older I am than you, and to call me Natasha, but I guess Natalia is a step up from Your Majesty,” she attempted to joke, “But I guess we’ve got to leave something for the next life in which you are my son-in-law.”
She leant away from his shoulder for moment to smile up at him before then leaning in close again to whisper in his ear, “Thank you for loving my son despite his duty; you will always be my real son-in-law in my heart.”
“Your Highness, would you please hold still-.”
“FOR THE LAST TIME BEKA, IF WE’RE GOING TO DO THIS WE’RE DOING IT ON MY TERMS!”
“I don’t think that’s a necessary way to react to your fitting-.”
“TO HELL WITH THE DAMN FITTING, I LOOK LIKE A BLOODY PRIEST IN THESE ROBES!”
Otabek sighed as he attempted to calm his student down. The Tsarevich had refused to wear his facial veil for the fitting and so the twenty-one-year-old had been left with the job of trying to adjust his friend’s wedding robes alone; something that he’d learnt to do after years of repeating similar situations.
Yuri sat down on the footstool and sighed before glancing up at the older man and mumbling, “At least it’s only you I have to deal with for now, Beka. Later I’ll have to wear that stupid, itchy veil again for the Imperial meeting... Do you know how much I want to rip that off sometimes and scream ‘I’M THE TSAREVICH MOTHER-FUCKERS!’?”
Along with the innocent face, the language that came out of the nineteen-year-old’s mouth would’ve made other Imperials and Royals swoon in disbelief. On occasion, Otabek and the Tsarina were almost glad that they couldn’t unleash the young man on the world.
Otabek chuckled lightly at the blond’s outburst before coughing firmly to gain his attention.
“My deepest apologies, Your Highness, but I’m afraid that tonight you won’t have the chance to do that.”
Yuri almost stood up in surprise.
“What?”
“The Tsar of West Russia has asked for permission to see your face when you meet.”
The teenager groaned loudly before replying, “Well, at least I won’t be tempted to pull it off then...”
“Now that we’ve made that clear, can we continue with the pinning, please?” Otabek said bluntly in an attempt to finish his job; they’d been going over the same part of the robes for almost two hours by this point.
“Beka, why do I even have to wear robes in the first place? Why can’t I just wear a suit like any other sane individual?”
The twenty-one-year-old chuckled once again as the smaller boy made his protests clear.
“Because, by tradition, when two men are married in an Imperial service, it is seen as unacceptable for them both to wear the same thing,” he said in response to the blond’s question. It may have been a rhetorical question but Otabek wasn’t going to waste his pinning time to find out.
“Ugh, why can’t I just wear a dress then? They can throw all that ‘manly’ crap at me but, bitch, I would wear that princess gown any day over these converted swaddling-cloths and I would look fucking fabulous!”
Almost as if she’d heard her son’s outburst, the Tsarina chose that moment to enter the room. She smiled at the pair and waltzed over to inspect the pinning and stitching.
Seeming to be happy with Otabek’s work she rested a hand on Yuri’s shoulder and said softly, “You look lovely, darling.”
Her smile turned somewhat nostalgic as she stared into his emerald eyes, exact copies of her own, with what looked like no intention to look away any time soon. Their resemblance was uncanny, Otabek was once again realising, and you’d have to be blind not to know that they were related. From the Tsarina’s green eyes to her son’s green eyes, and from Yuri’s blond hair to his mother’s blonde hair, he was like a male Natalia 2.0 (although Otabek tried to refrain from using that analogy since Yuri was already deprived of his individuality enough as it is).
“By the way, the Tsar is no longer coming tonight,” she whispered.
Yuri looked at her in shock.
“Really, why?” he whispered back, albeit a little louder than his mother.
She nodded lightly before replying, “An emergency came up in Saint Petersburg and he called in to tell me that he was sorry for not being able to make it.”
“Mummy?” he whispered.
“Yes, sweetheart?” she whispered back.
“Why are we whispering?”
The Tsarina almost snorted and within a few seconds they were erupting with giggles. Otabek found himself holding his breath involuntarily when he heard Yuri’s laughter; precious was the only way he could describe it.
She turned to Otabek, speaking up this time so he could hear her more clearly.
“Beka, I’ve finally managed to get that plan underway, you can take him there now.”
Otabek knew the exact plan she was talking about as they’d been trying to do it for years. That night was finally going to give the young Tsarevich the taste of freedom he’d wanted before his impending marriage and Otabek was going to make it count.