Stolen Empire #3
Sherry D. Ficklin
YA Historical
Clean Teen Publishing
September 15, 2015
Amazon | B&N | Goodreads
LONG LIVE THE QUEEN
If her time at court has taught Catherine anything, it’s that there is no room for weakness in Imperial Russia. With the Empress’ health failing and rumors of a change in the line of succession, her place in the royal line is once more in jeopardy. Tormented by her sadistic husband and his venomous mistress, Catherine must once more walk the fine line between pleasure and politics—between scandal and survival.
When her young son becomes the target of those rebelling against Peter’s reign, Catherine will have to rise up to protect herself, her child, and her nation from his unstable and potentially catastrophic rule. This means putting herself at odds with the most dangerous man she’s ever known, trusting those who once proved to be her enemies, and turning a nation against its sovereign. In the ultimate battle for the crown, new alliances will be forged, loyalties will be tested, and blood will be shed.
Don’t miss this breathtaking conclusion to the Stolen Empire series!
Queen of Always is a YA historical fiction based on the life of young Catherine the Great. Fans of the hit TV show REIGN will devour this scandalous glimpse into the life of one of the most dynamic women in history.
Excerpt
Once everyone has filed in, Peter
stands.
“I have gathered you together to
witness a momentous occasion.” The crowd hushes. “This week, my son and heir
was taken by those who would seek to destabilize our beloved country. Those men
have been executed. But before their deaths, it was discovered that one of them
had ties to Danish court.”
I watch on in horror as his eyes
lock on to Alexander in the crowd. “While I cannot prove he was acting on
orders from Danish court, I have decided that a show of force is necessary. And
so this week, I am dispatching troops to Demark. We will take the country and
any who oppose us will be razed to the ground.” He lifts a glass as if to
toast, but the room is silent. I stand, leaning over and whispering.
“Peter, you can’t declare war on
Denmark with no evidence. They are our ally, if you attack them unprovoked—“
I don’t get to finish my thought.
His hand shoots out, slapping me in the face so hard I pitch forward and roll
down the small staircase.
My ears are still ringing when he
slowly climbs down and takes a handful of my hair in his fist, lifting me to my
feet.
“There may be some of you who
question my decisions. But I am sovereign Russia. This country, and everyone in
it, belong to me. I decide who we will be at war with and I will decide who to
call my wife.”
He’s shouting, spittle flying
from his mouth as he takes two steps forward, dragging me with him. When he
finally releases me, I stumble but manage to keep my feet under me.
“George, take her to the cells!”
I blink, steeling myself to be
taken into custody. But to my surprise, George doesn’t move. He simply lowers
his head.
“Mikahil!” Peter yells, looking
for support from his oldest friend. Mikhail rushes to Peter’s side and whispers
furiously. Peter waves him off in an angry fit.
“Guards, take her!” he orders.
Two guards near the rear door move, only to be met with a line of Nobles
blocking their path. My own guards rush in, swords drawn, and circle me.
I can feel the rage radiating off
Peter in waves. Straightening myself I hold up my hands.
“No, please. Let them through.”
Then to Grigori, “Let them take me, that is my command.”
Reluctantly the Nobles step
aside, and my guards retreat. But before his guards can touch me Peter screams
and they freeze.
“No! You will not obey her. You
will obey me!”
For a long moment no one moves.
Battle lines have been drawn and it’s as if the entire assembly might erupt
into a bloody massacre right here in open court. My breath is coming too fast,
I realize, forcing myself to still against the rising panic. Unsure what else
to do to defuse the situation I turn to Peter and curtsey deeply.
“Yes, we will obey our king!” I
say, my voice as steady as I can make it. Around me, others do the same, some
even dropping to one knee.
Finally, Peter takes a deep
breath, seeming to calm. But it’s a menacing sound, one I know all too well,
and goosebumps break out across my skin. It’s the sound the wind makes before
it blows, the sound of waves an instant before they crash to the shore. The
sound of inevitability. While I realize that nothing can stop him now, I know I
must try anyway, I must try to contain the damage.
“Punish me, if you will, but
leave the others. It was only their deep sense of chivalry that drove them to
defend me, nothing more,” I plead.
The side of his mouth curls up as
Peter nods.
“Yes, you must be punished. You
publicly challenged my authority and your punishment will be equally public.”
I swallow hard. A flogging, if
I’m lucky. Or perhaps simply a few days in the stockade. He will punish me, but
he will not kill me, not even for this. I sag, a moment of relief washing over
me, but he sees it, and in his eyes, I see something change.
Moving slowly across the room he
grabs a crystal flask of liquid, each step, each gesture exaggerated like a
court fool might. When he moves back to me, he holds it close enough for me to
smell, swirling the clear liquid inside. Vodka? My confusion lasts only a
moment.
Slowly he begins pouring it down
my shoulders, into my hair, and down my white feathered gown. The liquid is
cold against my hot flesh, soaking into my heavy damask gown. The heavy odor
fills my lungs, making each breath sting. Around me people watch, looks of
shock and horror etched onto their faces. I find Sergei in the crowd and hold
his gaze. His blue-green eyes are narrow, his hand hovering inches above the
long knife attached to his waistcoat. I shake my head, imperceptibly, and he
blinks, still not relaxing. He’s trying to decide if he’s going to come to my
rescue, but I know that if he does, Peter will kill us both. His jaw clenches,
but finally, he drops his hand. I feel myself relax, just a bit, as Peter
begins speaking again, drawing my attention to his face. He’s excited, like a
child about to play his favorite game. It’s then that the real fear hits me.
“My Aunt didn’t believe in
executing her enemies. She understood that death was a privilege, that there
were far worse things.” He pauses, sweeping the room with a glance. “Let me be
very clear. I will not tolerate any disloyalty.” He replaces the now empty
flask on the tray and picks a lit candle from the nearby candelabra. I hold his
gaze as he walks slowly toward me, each footstep echoing in the deathly still
room. The pulse beats in my ears so loudly it drowns out all other sounds, my
heart flutters in my ribcage like a hummingbird. I will not let him see me
afraid, I decide, steeling myself. I will not give him the pleasure. I would
rather die in flames right now than to let him break me again. I lift my chin,
refusing to falter.
Once he’s close enough he leans
in close, whispering into my ear.
“I have wanted to do this for a
very long time, wife.”
He touches the flame to my gown.
All I can do is scream as chaos erupts around me.
Sherry
D. Ficklin is a full time writer from Colorado. She can often be found
browsing her local bookstore with a large white hot chocolate in one hand
and a towering stack of books in the other. That is, unless she's on
deadline at which time she, like the Loch Ness monster, is only seen in
blurry photographs. She is the author of over a dozen novels ranging
from contemporary romance to science fiction. In her spare time she co-hosts
the Pop Lit Divas radio show and is a contributor for Fangirlish.com.You can see more about Sherry and her books at her official website, sherryficklin.com
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