Chapter 3: Call Me Father

The promise to let me see the Tsar apparently hadn’t been empty talk, for just two days later, a party of guards arrived at Mathilde’s mansion.

“Madame Mathilde Kschessinska, we have come to escort you.”

“…Huh? Um?”

“His Majesty has ordered us to fetch the person staying with you, Madame Kschessinska.”

So that must be the Cossack Guard, the ones said to serve as the Emperor’s personal escort.

Their uniforms alone were extravagant beyond measure, an imposing sight fit to overwhelm anyone who looked at them.

Even Auntie Mathilde seemed a little cowed; worthy of the Emperor’s guardsmen indeed, I supposed.

-No, you idiot. That’s not why she’s shocked. She’s staring because she can’t believe the Emperor would send his own personal guard, and in those eye-catching uniforms, no less.

I wondered what the problem was, and after turning it over in my head, it really was strange.

Nicholas II, they say, was a man with nothing to boast of except being a Tsar devoted to his family and to Christian principles like no one else.

So when meeting an illegitimate son like me, wouldn’t the normal thing be to do it in the utmost secrecy?

…It hit me all over again how absurd this was.

Even granting the 21st-century knowledge that had been poured into me, this was something even a child like me understood, and the Tsar himself had overlooked it.

“His Majesty is with His Imperial Highness Grand Duke Sergei Mikhailovich. We will escort you to the New Michael Palace.”

“…That is hardly a suitable place for a secret rendezvous.”

Suppressing my disbelief, I let the Guard usher me up into the carriage, and Mathilde took my hand firmly and whispered.

“It will all turn out fine, so don’t worry too much.”

I wasn’t particularly worried, but this was, after all, my first meeting with my birth father, and I couldn’t help feeling a little tense.

-Birth father, my ass. Our goal is to grab the money and run. When we get there, pull out all the acting stops like last time. Look pitiful, look pathetic, and if you can get your eyes to well up, even better.

While I was drawing up strategy in my head, the carriage arrived at the Michael Palace before I knew it.

The moment we stepped down, Mathilde bowed her head to the Guard officer as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I will wait here at the entrance. Please take good care of the child.”

It was the perfectly sensible, obvious thing to do.

The Emperor and his former lover sitting in the same room would be an enormous scandal in and of itself.

But an odd discomfort crept over the officer’s face.

“…The thing is, Madame Kschessinska. His Majesty has instructed us to bring you inside as well.”

For a brief instant, every trace of expression vanished from Mathilde’s face.

“…What did you just say?”

“The order was to bring you and the child in together, Madame.”

“Officer, there seems to be some mistake. Would you kindly confirm it once more? I am not someone who may be received by His Majesty.”

“Madame Kschessinska. His Majesty spoke both of your names himself. There is no mistake.”

I stole a glance at the officer’s face.

He was Cossack Guard too. Not a single soul serving here could be ignorant of what Mathilde and Nicholas had once been to each other.

The bewilderment rising in the officer’s eyes was proof enough.

It meant that even he knew how preposterous this order was.

But the Emperor’s word was absolute law.

-Tsk. Hey, something’s off here. Is our dad genuinely brainless?

…How should I know.

Mathilde drew one deep breath and composed her face.

A woman who had survived more than 20 years in Russian high society was certainly made of different stuff.

“Very well. If His Majesty summons me, then I must go. Come, Misha.”

I took her hand and walked into the palace with my head held high.

When the door at the end of the corridor opened, I saw two men standing in the study.

One was a solidly built man in his early thirties with a luxuriant mustache.

Grand Duke Sergei Mikhailovich.

And the man standing beside him.

A neatly trimmed brown beard, calm blue eyes, a plain officer’s uniform.

A face I would only have seen in photographs was standing right there.

The Tsar of the Russian Empire, Nicholas II.

The moment he slowly turned his head toward me, the weight of emotion in his eyes briefly took my breath away.

Guilt. Sorrow. Regret. And a longing of some kind I couldn’t name.

-Don’t tense up just because it’s the Emperor. Stick to what we rehearsed and it’ll land, guaranteed. Don’t choke.

Grand Duke Sergei, standing beside the Tsar, broke the ice first with an awkward chuckle.

“Ah, here you are at last. And you must be Misha. Malya has told me so much about you. Quite the clever boy, I hear.”

Anyone could see it was forced enthusiasm, but hey, at least someone was trying to set a mood.

“…It is an honor to meet you, Your Imperial Highness.”

“Haha, listen to him talk. Is he really only seven?”

The Grand Duke’s gaze turned to the Tsar.

“Your Maj… no, Niki. Say a word yourself, won’t you? The boy seems nervous.”

Calling him by the pet name instead of the title of Majesty was a way of subtly signaling that this was not an official occasion.

Even so, the Tsar could not answer for a long while.

After staring at me for what felt like an age, all that came from his lips was a single sentence.

“…Come closer, child.”

There was the faintest crack in his voice.

When I carefully stepped forward, the Tsar lowered himself and peered into my face.

What traces he was searching for was all too obvious.

He wanted to see whether the seed he had sown, the mark of the Romanovs, still remained.

“…You have Natalya’s eyes. And my mother’s forehead.”

The moment the bloodline-confirmation line came out, it was safe to say we were already more than halfway home.

For now, push on according to plan.

I bit my lip lightly, then calmly delivered the lines Seong-jun and I had rehearsed.

“Your Majesty. I have not come to be a burden to you.”

“…Misha.”

“Mother always told me. You are the son of a very special man, but no one must ever learn of it. It could bring harm to his family and to the whole of the Russian Empire, so you must bury that truth in your heart and carry it for the rest of your life.”

The Tsar’s eyes wavered.

“Mother said she had meant to send me abroad once I was a little older. But she passed away before she could….”

I broke off on purpose and glanced around; the mood had sunk, unmistakably.

If Seong-jun’s memory served, this was usually where one finishing blow ended the whole affair.

“…It was Mother’s dying wish. That if Your Majesty would grant me but a little compassion, I would leave for a continent far away, not even Europe, and live my whole life without ever bringing shame upon the Romanov name.”

“…A far continent, you say.”

“I wish to go to America. I have heard it is a land with no nobles and no Tsar. The best place in the world for a child like me to live with his name hidden.”

“…How does a child of seven come to think such thoughts?”

“Mother told me so.”

Beside us, Grand Duke Sergei let out a low sound of admiration.

“Well now. Malya wasn’t exaggerating after all.”

“And how do you mean to live in America?”

The Tsar’s voice had grown gentler still.

-Go with the wholesome route. Too flashy and they’ll get suspicious.

I know that, thanks.

“I wish to settle in New York. I have heard there is a parish of Russian immigrants there. I would be placed in the care of an Orthodox Father, attend an ordinary school, and when I am grown, learn a trade or study law. To own one small shop of my own; that is my dream.”

“…….”

“I do not need much of Your Majesty’s money. Enough to keep me in school until I turn twenty, and a single letter of introduction entrusting me to the Father; that will suffice.”

For a long while, the Tsar only looked at me in silence.

Mathilde and Grand Duke Sergei held their breath, watching his lips.

“…Very well.”

The moment that one phrase finally left the Tsar’s mouth, a glow of emotion rose in Mathilde’s eyes.

-We’re in! What did I tell you? All that’s left now is shooting the Romanov, American Generalissimo movie, or becoming the Chairman of Megacorp with every corporation in America under our feet. Just keep listening to me and….

“However.”

The Tsar’s mouth opened again.

“Misha. I will not send you to America. I shall take you into the palace myself.”

The air in the drawing room froze solid in an instant.

Mathilde, watching from the side, let her mouth fall open.

“Your… Your Majesty? What did you just say?”

“Exactly what you heard, Malya.”

“Your Majesty. I say this in all sincerity, that is….”

“I have already decided.”

The Tsar rose to his feet.

A light that anyone could see was distinctly not right began to kindle in his blue eyes.

“Would it be right for me, the Tsar whom God has set over Russia, to turn my eyes from the mistakes of my past? The Romanov blood that flows in my veins will not allow it.”

…Uh.

Something seemed to be going very wrong.

“This child, who lost his mother at seven and survived alone in the slums, stands before me and says he will go far away for fear of being a burden. All of this has come to pass because of my sin. This is a trial God has set before me, and a chance for repentance.”

Mathilde barely gathered her wits and cut in.

“Y-Your Majesty. Then what will you tell Her Majesty the Empress?”

“Tomorrow I shall kneel before my wife and confess every sin. She will be angry, of course; she will reproach me. But! If she is the wife I love, she will love all the more a husband who faces his sin and carries it with him.”

-I’m losing my mind.

No kidding. I really was about to lose mine too.

Even at a glance, the man was completely drunk on the epic of Nicholas II’s atonement he was composing in real time.

I turned my head slightly toward Mathilde and saw her exchange a look with Grand Duke Sergei.

The Grand Duke only shook his head once, silently, and said nothing.

‘No use trying to stop him’, it must have meant.

No, no, come on, at least try a little harder. I need to get to America, remember?

-Nicholas II may be the absolute pinnacle of indecisiveness, but once he does make a decision, he stubbornly refuses to listen to a single soul. Those two probably know it too.

The Tsar was already pacing the study, murmuring as if to himself.

“But bringing an illegitimate son into the palace would not look well. So, Misha, we shall change your identity to that of a relative of Sergei’s, and enter you into the records as having come to the palace to study abroad. Sergei, will you take charge of this?”

By now, anyone could see this was no longer a private meeting but an official one.

The Grand Duke hesitated a moment, then bowed his head.

“…As you command, Your Majesty.”

“When you turn twenty-five, I shall formally reveal the truth that you are a child of my blood, and marry you into a noble family worthy of the Romanov imperial house.”

“Y-Your Majesty! I am to go to America…!”

“Misha.”

The Tsar came back before me and knelt.

His large hand settled carefully on my shoulder.

“How deeply must you have been wounded, to say such things. This too is Our karmic debt. I am the very author of your pain; how could I drive you away to a distant land once more?”

But that IS my wish, I wanted to say, though nothing would reach the ears of a Tsar already drunk on himself.

“Of course, I cannot give you the right of succession. But everything else, I shall. You will receive an education second to no child of the Romanov imperial house, and until you are twenty-five you will train as an officer under my protection. And after that, I shall personally find you the finest marriage match there is to suit you.”

Mathilde’s mouth fell open once more, and even Grand Duke Sergei’s eyes wavered.

Treatment nearly on par with the imperial family itself. A noble marriage match chosen by the Tsar in person.

By any measure, it was an extraordinary break with convention.

But to me, it was nothing short of a death sentence.

I’d planned to bolt the moment I came of age, and now what was this nonsense about being stuck in the palace training as an officer until twenty-five?

Hey, what happens if I’m holed up in the palace until I’m 25?

-What do you think happens… You die. That’d be after the October Revolution breaks out.

You said if I just trusted you and did as I was told, everything would work out, you con-artist ghost bastard.

-That’s weird… This is way off from what I expected?

In fairness, just as the damned ghost had said, Nicholas II really was a pushover.

It was just….

“Grand Duke Mikhailovich and Kschessinska here stand as witnesses. I shall see you enjoy, to your heart’s content, everything you have gone without until now. Hahahaha!”

He was a mega-pushover far, far beyond anything we’d predicted.

My dream of becoming America’s Generalissimo… my dream of becoming Chairman of Megacorp had fallen completely apart before it even began.

* * *

The day before I entered the palace.

Standing before the mirror in Mathilde’s mansion, I was dressed in a way that bore no resemblance to before.

A tidy overcoat fit for a noble family’s child, gleaming new shoes, a silk ribbon tied neatly at my throat.

“My, doesn’t that suit you.”

Mathilde smiled as she straightened my clothes from behind.

Over the past few days she had summoned the finest tailors in Petersburg and had several sets of clothes prepared to fit me.

“Dressed up like this, you truly look like some noble house’s young master.”

She met my eyes through the mirror.

“Misha. You must live happily, do you hear? Forget all the unhappiness of the past. From now on you will live amid the finest luxury this world can offer. So you must, must be happy.”

She hugged me tight from behind.

The scent of her perfume brushed my nose once again.

“And if anything troubles you, tell Auntie anytime. Auntie probably can’t do anything for you, but she can always be on your side.”

The kindness felt so sincere that it only made me sadder.

Couldn’t she just sneak me out and ship me abroad instead? That would honestly be the best thing for me.

“Oh, sweetheart. Why that face on such a happy day? Are you sad to part with Auntie? What am I to do with such a tenderhearted boy, honestly?”

She cupped my cheeks in both hands.

Sure enough, looking in the mirror, I did seem on the verge of tears.

“It’s all right, Misha. Auntie isn’t going anywhere far. Call for me and I’ll come running, anytime. All right?”

Right. Even in the tiger’s jaws, keep your wits about you and you’ll live, as the saying goes.

Once I was inside the palace, I could surely come up with some new plan from inside the palace.

As I was steadying myself, the sound of a carriage came from outside the mansion and a servant came running in.

“Madame Kschessinska! His Majesty has arrived!”

“…What?”

Mathilde’s face froze solid.

“His Majesty came here himself?”

With disbelief written all over her face, Mathilde rushed to the window.

Astonishingly, the Cossack Guard really was drawn up in the front courtyard, and in their midst, Nicholas II himself was stepping down from the Tsar’s carriage.

“…The man has truly lost his mind.”

Only realizing it now? Seems Auntie has no eye for people either.

By the time I came down to the entrance hall, the Tsar was already inside the mansion.

The moment he saw me, he beamed.

“Ohh, there’s our Misha! Dressed up like this, do you not look every inch the heir of a great noble house?”

Grand Duke Sergei, following behind, could only nod with a pained expression.

“There was surely no need to come collect him in person, Your Majesty.”

“Nonsense. Is this not the day the child first enters the palace under my protection? Of course I must welcome him myself.”

He came before me and knelt on one knee once again.

“Misha. While you are at the palace, no one must know what you and I are to each other. So before others, you must always call me Your Majesty. Do you understand?”

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Very good. Sharp as a tack; you take after me, of course.”

The Tsar stroked my hair gently, grinning like an overgrown child, and then.

“But when it’s just the two of us….”

He went and said the most ridiculous thing.

“You may call me Father.”

No, I don’t WANT to be Your Majesty’s son.

The life of a boy unable to call his father Father, unable to call his little sister sister!

THAT’S the life I’m asking for.