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careful to steer his wife socially through these strange new surroundings as he should have been. The
Russians were self-impressed. The very word ”tsar” was derived from ”Caesar” and they
considered themselves descendents of gods, placing their crowns on their own heads at their
coronations, since they claimed to accept no human authority over their reigns, not even that of a
priest or a bishop.
Arrogant they were - arrogant and barbarous, a bad combination in a race of people. If they
had cherished Ella, that would have been one thing, but she had written that the tsar had greeted her as
“a minor princess from a minor German principality,” a phrase that made Victoria’s skin prickle. If
Alexander III did not deem Ella a fit consort for his brother, it was highly doubtful he would consider
Alix good enough for his son. Victoria’s head reeled at the thought that there was somewhere on earth
a man presumptuous enough to mock the lineage of the British throne, a man who honestly believed
his boys were too fine to marry her girls, a country where even the highest English princess would be
expected to curtsy to the lowest Russian empress.
Of course Ella wanted her sister at her side, an ally and a friend. And it was easy enough to
understand Alix’s attachment to Nicky. Any sixteen year old boy could manage to dazzle any twelve
year old girl, and besides, even the Queen had to admit that Nicky was a remarkably handsome young
man. Everyone agreed that he was furthermore kind and gentle, with the Princess of Wales, his
maternal aunt, going so far as to confide to the Queen that the young tsesarevich was “sweet.”
Sweet. A strange term for a man who would shortly rule one-sixth of the globe.
So the boy was handsome and sweet and wealthy beyond imaging and he and Alix had now
indulged their special friendship for nearly a quarter of their lives. This would not be an easy
courtship to disrupt. But the Queen knew she had a powerful ally, for the tsar did not want this match
any more than she did. And while the nickname “Sunny” no longer suited Alix, the tsar’s nickname of
“the bear” most certainly captured the essence of Alexander III. The man was a clumsy beast, but
Victoria was certain that if the Queen of England and the Tsar of Russia aligned forces they could
manage to thwart a half-imagined romance between two over-sheltered children. Someone had to
save Alix and Nicky from themselves.
Alix had now closed her book and pushed to her feet. She was slowly walking up the lawn in
the direction where her grandmother waited and Victoria beckoned to the girl to approach.
“We shall go to St. Petersburg,” she told her.
A wave of pure joy washed across the Alix’s face, lighting her large grey-blue eyes and