Pasha had briefed Yuliana on everything Vika reported regarding Nikolai and the Decembrists’ planned coup, and by the next afternoon, Yuliana had set her own plans in motion.
“Colonel Trubetskoy, I’m so glad you could join me for tea,” she said, as a guard showed the long-faced nobleman into the room. He wore a dapper gray frock coat and a cream-colored cravat. His dark hair was neatly combed and kept short, other than the sideburns along his entire jaw.
As secretive as the constitutionalists thought they were, the Imperial Council had known for a while that Trubetskoy was one of the original founders of the movement. They also knew his previous groups had disbanded and failed. Internally, Yuliana smirked.
Trubetskoy bowed. “Your Imperial Highness, it is an honor to be asked to join you.”
Yuliana dipped her head. She was already seated, the three-tiered displays of sandwiches and desserts set before her. “Please, do sit.”
Trubetskoy obeyed.
A servant girl brought porcelain cups painted in a cobalt lattice pattern and rimmed in pure gold. It was Catherine the Great’s favorite design, and therefore Yuliana’s favorite tea set. The servant filled both Yuliana’s and Trubetskoy’s cups with fragrant black tea scented with dried orange.
Yuliana picked a vegetable tartine from the savory display of sandwiches and offered it to Trubetskoy.
“No, thank you, Your Imperial Highness.”
“Perhaps you’d prefer sweets?” She swept her hand to the three tiers of jam tarts and chocolate and candied nuts. “The palace kitchen works miracles.”
Trubetskoy gave her a strained smile. “Well, then, I cannot refuse Your Imperial Highness’s generous offer.” He took a chocolate and a handful of candied nuts and placed them on his plate.
“Good. Now that we’re through with the pleasantries, let me get to why I asked you here. You’ve been one of the voices for the constitutionalists for quite some time, have you not?”
“Well, Your Imperial Highness, I wouldn’t say I was a ‘voice,’ per se. I am interested in the philosophical discussions.”
Yuliana rolled her eyes.
Trubetskoy faltered but then pressed on. “I promise, the conversations have been nothing more than private chatter, and I’m not sure who spoke of them to you, but—”
“I’ll take that as confirmation,” Yuliana said. “I honestly don’t know how all you noblemen think you’re getting away with this talk, as if the tsar were unaware. My father knew everything you were up to. But he let you continue on, as long as you were merely spouting high principles and hot air among the aristocracy.
“But now my sources tell me you’ve moved on to agitating the common soldiers. You mean to take the idea of a constitutional monarchy out of your dinner parties and into the barracks, and eventually, this palace and the empire. You intend to block my brother from traveling to Moscow for his coronation next month.” She purposely did not mention that she knew of their actual plans to stage a coup tomorrow. It was like chess. One did not reveal all of one’s moves.
Trubetskoy nearly choked on the walnut in his mouth. He whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and coughed into it, then swallowed and hastily drank some tea.
“You do realize, Colonel, that that would be treason? It would be such a shame if a man such as yourself—descended from a noble line with a proud history of defending the empire—were to lose his head.”
“I—I . . . The death penalty was abolished in Russia.”
“Oh, was it?” Yuliana said, even though she knew perfectly well that it had been. “Well, new leadership, new rules. There was supposed to be a hanging the other day, did you hear? That’s what happens to those who act against the tsardom.”
Trubetskoy braced himself on the edge of the table. “Your Imperial Highness, I promise you, whatever you’ve heard about me, it isn’t true.”
Yuliana took a dainty bite of her tartine. She sipped on her tea. She dabbed her mouth with a cloth napkin, folded it, and set it precisely back in its place. “What would your lovely wife, Ekaterina Laval, do if you were to be executed? Or even if the tsesarevich were lenient and merely sentenced you to katorga in the Siberian labor camps for the rest of your life? Would she be able to live without the riches to which she is accustomed? Would she accompany you to the penal colonies and watch you toil in shackles in the mines?”
Trubetskoy cleared his throat. “Again, I insist that whatever you imagine you’ve heard, it is not true. And if it were, my words and actions would be mine alone. Ekaterina is a complete innocent.”
Yuliana folded her hands before her. “Well, if you’ve done nothing wrong, there is nothing to fear. But, Colonel, if you leave here today understanding only one thing, let it be this: my brother will be tsar. If you attempt to rise against him, you will fail, and those involved—including all associated with them, through marriage or otherwise—will be found guilty of high treason. Do I make myself clear?”
He remained steady. “As clear as Russia is great, Your Imperial Highness.”
“Excellent. I’m so glad we could have this little chat. You may go now.”
Trubetskoy rose from his chair, bowed, and retreated from the room.
When he was gone, Yuliana stabbed at a jam tart. Trubetskoy’s insistence on his innocence hadn’t faltered when she’d mentioned his wife. He hadn’t even shuddered or given a hint that Yuliana had intimidated him. The afternoon hadn’t gone quite as she wanted.
Yuliana twisted her fork. The tart crumbled beneath it.
She could only hope that beneath his calm exterior, Trubetskoy had been frightened. And that his fear would impact the Decembrists’ plans against the throne.