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*** Rudolf ***
December 19th. Five days left till Christmas – and I have a huge problem.
It was just a blink of an eye, and all my Christmas dreams had been shattered.
And I had plenty of them, trust me. Most of them centering around Death. For our first real Christmas together, I had had so many plans. A visit to the Christmas market, a romantic sleigh ride through the snowy woods, a glass of mulled wine by the fireplace…
Well, none of that is going to happen now, thank you so much, destiny – I think as I gaze out of the train window, chin resting on my palm, a pouting reflection of myself faintly staring back at me in the glass.
The landscape rushing by the window is certainly nothing short of breathtaking: A vast plain expanding before me, thickly covered underneath the purest snow blanket you could imagine, glittering white in the icy sunshine, with dark pines framing the hillside of the mountains rising up in the distance.
Beautiful Russia. Fairytale Russia. But oh so far away from Vienna.
Instead of taking me back, of bringing me home, this train is taking me further away from the place I yearn to be. With every mile the distance keeps growing, the distance between me and the Christmas time I want, between me and my loved one.
It hurts – but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Saint Petersburg is the destination of this train, not Vienna, as I’d originally planned. I’ve been on a diplomatic mission in Budapest for the past days, when all of a sudden, an invitation from Tsar Alexander had reached me, requesting my presence in a conference to explore possible ways to revive the “League of the Three Emperors”, the long-lasting alliance between Austria-Hungary, Germany and Russia that had unfortunately been canceled over… let’s call it conflicting interests in the Balkans (which is code for Russia’s stubbornness).
Needless to say, if there’s at least the tiniest chance of changing Alexander’s stance on this and maybe even reviving the League, I just have to take it.
And of course a matter like that is so much more important than cuddling with my lover by the Christmas tree… And yet, it’s an unfortunate situation, since because of my unexpected change of travel plans, not only will we miss our chance to spend the final days before Christmas together and enjoy the special magic of this time of year with each other before I’ll be occupied for the holidays with Stephanie and Erzsi visiting and December 24th being my mother’s birthday – but Death will also have no way of knowing why.
We hadn’t seen each other in Budapest since the trip had only been supposed to last for a few days. I would have returned to Vienna today and then, it would have truly been Christmas.
Now, I’m on the train to Saint Petersburg and I have no way of contacting Death to even just let him know about this change of plans or my whereabouts for the next couple of days. It’s not like there’s a landline to the Netherworld yet and since I hadn’t known about this before, he won’t find any hints on it in my schedule.
Certainly, sooner or later he’ll figure out what must have happened, so I don’t expect him to spend the rest of the week worrying for me. But even so…
Five days left till Christmas – and no matter how you look at it, we’ll spend them apart.
***
It’s half past nine when the train finally arrives at Saint Petersburg. I’m tired and exhausted from the long trip, so I’m quick to look for one of the coaches to take me to the hotel that was booked for me: Not the shabbiest, I have to admit, the Tsar sure is no skinflint towards his guests.
It’s located right opposite the Tsar’s impressive castle, the Winter Palace, on the other side of the large Palace Square with the famous Alexander Column in its center, depicting one of the current tsar’s namesake ancestors.
At this time of year, there’s a huge Christmas market occupying the square, it’s shimmering lights coming into sight as soon as the coach turns the next corner. The scent of sweet delicacies and savory snacks immediately fills my nose and since I haven’t eaten all day, I can’t resist hurrying there for a quick moment in order to grab some food once I’ve paid the coachman.
It’s late, so most of the merchants have already closed their booths, shutting the blinds of the displays, but I manage to find a last one offering freshly baked bread and smoke-dried meat. It’s heavenly, really, and for a moment I’m even letting myself enjoy the dying down noises of the closing market, with only very few people passing me before leaving to head home.
Maybe I’m putting myself under too much stress, really. This won’t be the final Christmas. Maybe I should just accept things the way they are and not keep dwelling on what’s off the table now anyway.
Once I’m done eating, I make my way back to the hotel and check in, softly sighing as I eventually close the door to my room behind me.
So here I am. Saint Petersburg. Merry Christmas.
It’s a narrow room. Containing little more than my bed, a tiny desk and a small fireplace. Unlit, but judging by the comfortable temperature in the room, it must have been burning until a few minutes ago.
Ironically, from my room I have an amazing view on the Winter Palace with the Christmas market shining in front of it, warm lights dying down one by one as the market closes, but still illuminate the square and the large Christmas tree in a golden glow.
Saint Petersburg sure is a sight to see, no kidding. A city so beautiful it could have been taken right from a fairytale book. It’s ironic, really. I’m here in the most stunning, romantic winter city and I have no way of getting my lover to join me.
If only he was here with me… I wish I could enjoy all of this with him…
For a few moments, I keep standing by the window, gazing down at it from my dark room pensively, before suddenly turning around and sitting down at the small desk next to the bed.
Face buried in my hands, my mind suddenly keeps circling around that one question: How can I just get him here?
I could murder someone, I think sarcastically. Then he would show up here in Saint Petersburg in no time.
God, I must be really desperate…
The idea that eventually gets stuck in my head luckily involves less gruesome measures – its success however is written in the stars.
The only way of getting a message to Death is to send a letter. Not to him personally, obviously, but to myself. A letter, that would reliably end up on my desk in the Turkish Parlor. For better or worse, it’s not like Death would ever read my mail, so the trick would be to add something to the envelope, something visible on the outside to catch his attention but general enough to not raise any suspicion with the Imperial Postmaster (so a straightforward note “Death, please read” unfortunately is out of question).
Eventually I decide on “Lord Frederick” as the sender’s name, the alias I dubbed Death with during our date at restaurant Sacher. I’m sure he remembers.
In the letter, “Lord Frederick” tells Prince Rudolf about his latest trip to Saint Petersburg, especially praising the lodging he stayed at (Wawelberg Hotel, Palace Square 6, 191168 Saint Petersburg, room number 344).
I know it’s a long shot, but for now, this is the best I can do. I can only hope he’ll successfully take the hint. Because if he does, we’d be able to get our Christmas magic after all. Not in Vienna, but in a place maybe even more magical than home. Right here, in Saint Petersburg.
All I can do is hope – and hope is what I do as I head back outside to put the letter in the mailbox. Hoping for a Christmas miracle.
***
Speaking of success. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to take this as an omen, but at least as far as the conference with the Russian Tsar and his advisors goes, the trip ends up one huge failure.
December 20th is a cloudy, cold December day. The morning sky above me is grey, the clouds heavy with snow as I head over to the Winter Palace to meet with the tsar and his advisors.
As it turns out, what Alexander meant when he said re-negotiation wasn’t him overthinking his stance or willing to figure out a compromise. He invited me here solely to change Austria-Hungary’s viewpoint.
As you can imagine, the morning and afternoon in the Winter Palace end up quite exhausting, with five men going on and on to me on how important the League is for all of Europe and how I could pave the path to its glorious revival with just a few words.
“I’ll have to discuss this with the Emperor”, is what I keep replying – as if I’d ever even talk to my father. I don’t have any authority in this matter – or any other matter for that matter –, but even if I had, I wouldn’t agree to Alexander’s ideas in regards to the Balkan. It’s obvious he’s just thinking of his own interest in regards to that region, and that’s certainly nothing Europe as a whole would benefit from, despite his claim.
So I inwardly sigh in relief once the it’s finally five o’clock and the Tsar has to end today’s discussion to head to another appointment.
The air outside the Winter Palace is chilly, but somehow the soft cool breeze feels rather refreshing. As unlikely as it is that my letter would have arrived in Vienna already and Death had already spotted it, read it and headed to Saint Petersburg right away, I still can’t resist to check my hotel room first.
As was to be expected, when I open the door… it’s empty. There’s no one around, no one waiting for me, eager to pull me into a heartfelt embrace, whispering to my ear how worried he’d been, how much he’d missed me.
Just four days left till Christmas. The chances of my happy ending are growing smaller by the minute.
December 21st is a striking déjà vu of the day before. Still no sign of Death as I roll out of bed in the morning. I wonder where that letter I sent is right now. Has it even left Russia yet? How long does it take for a letter to travel all the way to Austria from here? Well, if they put it on the train in a mailbag yesterday, it should be near its destination by now.
Maybe tonight, I think to myself as I leave the hotel once more for the next part of our conference. Maybe tonight, Death will be waiting for me. And it’s that thought that gets me through another day of “You have a point there. Let me just check with the Emperor”.
Spoiler alert: He isn’t. When I hurry back to my room in the evening, eyes shining with anticipation, it’s once again just me in the room.
What a bummer, I think, slouching my shoulders as I close the door behind me. The letter should have arrived in Austria and most likely been delivered to the Palace by now.
I just hope it isn’t lying there in broad daylight on my desk, with Death pacing around the room, wondering about my whereabouts, not paying the mail any attention. That would be just cruel…
The bright side of all of this, however, is: If the letter somehow hasn’t arrived in Vienna yet, it’s bound to be there tomorrow. And then I’ll get my Christmas miracle after all.
***
And so December 22nd has come, the final day of the conference – and for the record, also my final full day here in Saint Petersburg. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be taking the train back, so I’m home in time for Christmas Eve.
It’s a bit of a shame. Even if Death will make it here today, we’ll only have one night left in this city for our romantic Christmas time together. So much less than I’d wished for. But hey, I won’t complain. As long as I can wrap my arms around him tonight, I’ll take any time I can get.
In the Winter Palace, Tsar Alexander is giving it his all for the final hours with his guest, but I’m proud of my fortitude. Even as he’s basically holding a pen ready for signature right in my face, I keep my composure and decline with a polite smile (“Thanks for your hospitality. I’m sure we’ll figure something out. Why don’t you do us the honor of visiting Vienna in spring? The Emperor would love to discuss all those intriguing ideas with you in person!”).
Strangely, that rather vague prospect seems to satisfy the Tsar. He shakes my hand with a slight bow – one which I immediately mirror –, thanking me for my time and effort to work on a new version of the League.
Who knows. Maybe by spring, both Emperor’s might be more willing to come to an accommodation. You should never give up hope, after all.
Just like I didn’t, wishing for my last-minute happy ending with Death. The one that’s about to take place right now, as I walk along the hotel’s corridor towards my room one final time.
And this time, really…!! I catch myself holding my breath as I actually hear noises from the inside of my room. Footsteps. Rustling. It can’t be, he’s really here! My plan actually worked! I’m going to have my Christmas miracle after all!
Heart pounding in my ears, I grab the door handle and tear open the door. “Death!” I call frantically, as I stumble inside, and really, there he is, the blond head of hair, the dark coat…
The shriek of a woman makes me freeze in my tracks. The chambermaid, making my bed ready for the night, presses her hand to her face.
Shocked, I stare back at her, her terrified face, her dark dress that for the tiniest of seconds I mistook for Death’s coat.
“Izviníte,“ I mumble, slouching my shoulders as she hurries past me and out of the room. Let’s just hope she doesn’t understand any German, otherwise she must have taken me for a serial killer or worse just now.
The shock of the moment only fades gradually as silence returns to the room and with it – aside from the embarrassment of scaring that woman like that – the huge disappointment that my lover isn’t here after all.
It had been my final straw, the final chance for us to meet. But as things turned out, my far-fetched plan to get Death to Saint Petersburg didn’t work. Whether it’s the letter still being underway or collecting dust on my desk, Death never got my note, the hint about my whereabouts, the invitation to meet me for at least a few blissful moments of Christmas together.
So be it then, I think with a wistful sigh. No holiday magic for us this year. Tomorrow, I’ll spend the day on the train, the day after tomorrow is Christmas Eve and the Empress’s birthday. There will be no opportunity for him and me to spend much time together until the new year.
That only leaves tonight. My last night of real spare time, the last night to enjoy at least a little bit of Christmas peace. I have to make the best of it, with or without him.
I’m still wearing my gray coat and the warm scarf, so I don’t waste any more time and head back outside into the cold winter’s evening, to explore the Christmas market on the Palace Square on my own.
I tell myself to be chipper, remind me that this isn’t the end of the world, but my smile as I soak in the scent of sweets and Christmas spices feels hollow somehow, false.
A lot of people are frequenting the market at this time of night, couples strolling by the glittering displays of the booths holding hands, cozily kept warm by their thick coats and fluffy gloves.
I take a look at the many different goods as well, beautiful nutcrackers, skillfully carved nativity figures, delicious smelling food, manually weaved baskets, hand-blown Christmas balls.
And yet, the shimmering lights of the booths seem a little less bright tonight, a little less magical, and I find my mind increasingly trailing off as nothing truly seems to catch my attention.
It’s no use. I just don’t feel like getting into the holiday spirit tonight. I tried, I really did. And hey, at least I spent a bit of time here at the Christmas market of Saint Petersburg.
But let’s just call it a night for today and this Christmas season. Alexander’s jabbering is still resounding in my head anyway. I’m beat and tired. There will be other Christmases, and those I’ll definitely spend with Death, come what may.
“Good evening,” I greet the hotel’s concierge as I step into the entrance hall once more, a tiny bell jiggling brightly.
“Good evening, Sir.” The young man with the dark brown sideburns quickly looks up from his work and smiles at me, then turns his attention back to the list he’s checking.
I head for the stairs, suddenly craving for some sleep – when unexpectedly, the concierge comes running after me.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I almost forgot,” he calls as I turn around. He stops and holds something out to me. “This letter has just been left here for you.”
***
Can it really be? Do some Christmas miracles really become true?
I’m almost inclined to believe it as I push through the crowd on the narrow streets of the Christmas market, my cheeks nearly a bit rosy from the cold and my anxiousness. There is only one destination I have in mind now and it towers over the Palace Square even higher than Alexander Column, drawing me closer like a beacon in the night: The shimmering Christmas tree in the center of the market, decorated brightly with shining red baubles and bows, and illuminated by dozens of garlands of golden lights.
The place seems more crowded than before, but maybe this is just fate trying to keep me away from the one I love a little longer. With one hand, I try to cut my way towards the tree, the other one firmly holding onto the crumpled-up letter in the pocket of my coat, the one that almost took my breath away once I’ve read the sender’s name.
From Lord Frederick to Crown Prince Rudolf.
My dearest friend – In my sheer excitement about my phenomenal room number 344, I totally forgot to mention the Christmas tree on the market just underneath my window. It’s truly breathtaking and you should definitely stop by sometime.
Not sometime. Right now. Because I cannot wait any longer to find out what – or rather who – will be waiting for me by the tree.
With a pounding heart I hurry on as the crowd eventually parts and reveals the large Christmas tree in all its glory right before my eyes. And in front of it – a silhouette against the glowing light – a tall man, a black coat, blond hair under the matching hat.
Abruptly I stop, inwardly pinching myself to make sure this is not a dream. No. This time, I’m not mistaken. It is him. It really is.
“Death!” I call, panting, my breath materializing in white puffs in the chilly winter air.
The bell of the palace chapel starts striking eight right the moment he turns around, it’s powerful chime mixing in with the festive Christmas melodies all around us.
His eyes meet mine and his face lights up. I can’t help holding my breath. Illuminated by the golden lights of the market, he looks as beautiful as an angel. So handsome, so perfect, I can’t help but marvel.
It really is him! He’s really here. He’s got my letter and he’s come here for me. My Christmas wish has truly been fulfilled.
Still stunned, all I can do is stare, as he takes an overly elaborated bow, raising his hat. “Lord Frederick, your Highness,” he chimes. “As requested, at your service.”
He shoots me the warmest of smiles as he puts his hat back on, but instead of playing along, of joining in with the joking, I find myself rushing towards him, flinging my arms around his neck and pulling him into a heartfelt embrace.
“Hey, hey, easy there,” I hear his voice close to my ear, suddenly soft and warm and pleasant like honey, and I close my eyes as I feel his arms wrapping around me.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, my voice unexpectedly raspy with emotion.
I wanted this so much. I wished for this so much, and now, he’s really here.
For a few moments, I let myself indulge in the familiarity and coziness of his embrace, the warmth of his body against mine, despite being wrapped in a coat as thick as mine.
“You came,” I whisper.
He eventually lets go of me to look at me. It’s so hard to resist the urge to kiss him here and now, but the embrace just now already was the highest degree of affection the public would tolerate between two men.
“I would have come sooner if I’d known where you were,” he replies, then shoots me a sheepish grin. “I have to admit, it took a while until my level of desperation rose high enough to even just look at the envelopes on your desk.”
“I can imagine,” I reply quietly. “I’m just so glad you did at all.” Softly taking his hand into mine. A loving smile. “I’m just so glad you’re here.”
I’m still overflowing with joy as I lean on the fence of the small ice rink on the other side of the Christmas, watching children skate merrily amidst all those love-struck couples holding hands and enjoying their company at a magical place like this.
I smile to myself softly, feeling their joy inside my own heart, as I, too, have been granted this night with the one I love.
Finally happy and at peace, I take in the atmosphere of Saint Petersburg, the spirit of Christmas and try to treasure it inside my heart as I observe the skaters. For a moment, they make me think of Mary. With her passion for ice skating, I’m sure she would love this place as well.
“Here you go.” It’s Death’s voice that’s waking me from my thoughts, bringing me back to reality.
I turn around to look at him, gratefully accepting the mug of mulled wine he’s handing me.
“Thanks,” I say with a smile, leaning back against the fence. “You’re an angel.”
“Well, sometimes I am,” he replies, now without giving me a coy wink, at which I can’t help snickering.
I raise my mug. “To us, this night and the magic of Christmas.”
We clink mugs and each try a small sip, but the steaming wine is just too hot to drink.
“So tell me,” I say eventually, gazing at him over the brim of my mug. “When exactly did your level of desperation rise high enough you decided to take a peek at my mail?” Raising my eyebrows. “Did you miss me so badly?”
“Well, you were gone without saying a word,” Death shrugs, leaning back against the fence of the ice rink next to me, shooting me a glance from the side. “It sure was a bit odd when you didn’t return as planned.”
“Odd?” I repeat. “Weren’t you worried? Weren’t you afraid your lover had been abducted or shot on the streets of Budapest?”
“Nah, not really,” Death replies nonchalantly. “In the latter case, I would have known.”
“Oh, great,” I just murmur, snorting in mock-hurt. “So regardless of my fate aside from that, you were totally relaxed.”
“In all fairness,” he says, taking another careful sip from the mulled wine, “I overheard some of the servants discussing that you’ve been invited to a little extra stay in Saint Petersburg.”
I can see in his face that he’s proud of his detective skills, but hearing those words, I can’t help but from. “Wait, so you’ve known all along that I was in Saint Petersburg? And you didn’t think of coming here to meet me? We had agreed to spend the days before Christmas together!”
Probably, with that little pout in my voice, I ended up sounding more childish than reproachful. Death, for one, eyes me with amusement. “Well, how was I supposed to find you? I had no idea which hotel you were staying at, and I didn’t consider the success rate too high randomly encountering you on the streets.”
Okay, he does have a point there, but I’m still not willing to let him off the hook that easily. “So you didn’t even try.”
“Well,” he says, a suave smile forming on his lips, “I simply trusted in my lover’s genius to find a way to let me know about his whereabouts.” Leaning in closely to me, until our faces almost touch.
Oh well, he just knows how to get me… “Fine,” I eventually murmur. “You’re forgiven. Because it’s Christmas.”
He starts laughing merrily at that, a wonderful sound that warms my heart from the inside.
Lovingly, I join in with a little snicker, as right at that moment, a group of carol singers starts striking up an old, traditional Christmas song, a Russian version of the famous hymn “Adeste Fideles”.
We stop our conversation to look at them, listen to their soft, beautifully interpreted tune.
O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant!
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem;
Come and behold him born, the King of Angels:
O come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.
Enchanted, I take a gulp from my mug, the hot wine sweet and spicy and delicious, softly warming me from the inside.
And just as the singers start intoning the second verse, a snowflake, dancing in the chilly winter air. A second, a third.
I shoot Death a joyful look, but even though he doesn’t return it, I know he’s feeling the magic of this moment as much as I do.
Wordlessly, our gloved hands find each other, safely hidden from everyone’s eyes, a tender gesture, affectionate and caring, as the choir repeats the refrain, a myriad of snowflakes swirling above us, dancing in the winter’s night.
Later that night, Death and I are sitting on the carpet by the fireplace in my hotel room, number 344, cozily snuggling in each other’s arms as the warm fire crackles soothingly under the chimney.
The snowfall has intensified by now, covering the streets of Saint Peterburg under thick layers of white.
We’ve brought a cone of chocolate dipped fruit from the Christmas market, enjoying the sweet morsels in the flickering orange glow of the fire.
“I wish we could stay like this forever,” I whisper eventually, leaning back into his arms, as he buries his face in my hair, a gentle kiss against my head.
“We can,” he whispers, before resting his chin on my shoulder.
I can’t help chuckling, holding onto his arm wrapped around me. “It will be a pretty short forever, then, I fear,” I murmur quietly. “Seven hours from now, I’ll be on my train to Vienna. You know, to be back in time for Christmas, for the holidays with the entire family.”
“But you don’t,” he replies quietly. “Not anymore.”
I pause, thinking about what he just said.
“I can take you back to Vienna,” he explains, “anytime you want. There’s no need to spent all day tomorrow on the train. We can stay here. Enjoy the city. Enjoy each other. Enjoy Christmas.”
He’s right. I’d been so caught up in my self-pity that this obvious possibility hadn’t even crossed my mind. But it’s true! Thanks to him, I’ve gained an entire day of spare time, an entire day of enjoying the magic of Christmas with my lover, just like I’ve wanted to for so long.
I feel a blissful smile curving my lips, as a fit of euphoria warms my heart. “An entire day, just you and me, in the snow-covered city of Saint Petersburg… My Christmas wish has already come true.”
At that, he smiles at me, taking another piece of chocolate fruit from the cone.
But before he can put it in his mouth, I’m quick to snatch it from his fingers, grinning at him merrily with the chocolate cherry between my teeth like a trophy.
“Hey,” he protests, but instead of complaining, he smirks and leans into me, kisses me, biting off half of the cherry in the process.
I let myself indulge in the sensation of his lips against mine, tasting a wonderful mix of cocoa, cinnamon and cherry.
Snickering, I slowly let him lead me down on the soft carpet, our kisses intensifying, conveying all the affection, love and passion we feel for each other.
The crackling fire warms us cozily as the snowflakes outside keep whirling down.
December 23rd. One day left till Christmas – according to the calendar at least. For me, Christmas is already here.