Rebel Princess Read Online Free Page A

he turned to her and remarked, pleasantly: “It is not far now, Highness, and do not be afraid. He is expecting you.”
    Dumbly she nodded in thanks, her mind busy with frantic thoughts. “He will not like me.… Oh, I know he will not … Please God, make him pleased with me. I must look awful, my hair is not even dressed properly and I am still bundled in these furs. I should not have come when this man said.… Oh, what shall I say to him, I have forgotten everything.…”
    Suddenly, faced with the reality of her future husband and the importance of this first crucial meeting, all her courage deserted her and in her desperate need for support she put out a trembling hand and clutched Elizabeth’s courtier by the arm.
    Instantly a warm hand patted her cold one with a friendly, comforting gesture. “I am Leo Narychkin,” he whispered. “Courage, little one, we are almost there.”
    As they approached a great archway, barred by a massive door, Augusta heard the muffled tread of marching feet, the yelling of commands in her own German tongue, and curses—foul, barrack-room language such as she had overheard in the military stables at Zerbst.
    Before she had time to ask a question the door was flung open and she stood on the threshold of a long, high room, which at first sight seemed to be filled with an army of marching men. The whole place shook with noise as three lines of uniformed giants paraded up and down with military precision.
    For a moment Augusta stood motionless, until, slowly, her gaze rested upon a figure standing at the head of the room nearest the doorway. A small, stunted, ill-shapen figure, dressed in a baggy green uniform, wearing an out-size wig on its large head, the face below contorted with rage. It was the figure of a youth, callow and undeveloped, but the expression in the staring eyes was the ageless glare of madness.
    She had no need of Leo Narychkin’s cautious whisper. This was Peter. She knew it. This was the Grand Duke.
    Like a person in a dream she allowed herself to be guided towards the future Emperor, and, as if it were from a great distance, heard Narychkin’s voice ring out above the din.
    In a moment the noise ceased, the sweating, gasping men stood at attention and there was an utter silence, through which her betrothed’s voice cut like a knife.
    â€œHow dare you halt them! They were just getting it right. Clumsy fools, I’ve been drilling them for hours, they’re so stupid.… But what can you expect from Russians! What? Who?” She saw the dilated blue eyes turn upon herself and automatically she dropped a trembling curtsy. When she raised her head, Peter stood before her.
    â€œYou’re Augusta Fredericka, the one whom my aunt says I’m to marry?”
    â€œYes,” she whispered.
    â€œWell, I bid you welcome,” he said rudely. “How was your journey, are you well? No, don’t answer, because I’ve not the least desire to hear. I only say what I’ve been bidden. And now, Princess, excuse me! These are my servants and I have to teach them military drill, the Godforsaken, Russian louts! One thing”—Peter looked at her narrowly for a moment—“you’re not as ugly as I expected anyway.” With that he turned his back, and, guided by Narychkin, Augusta stumbled from the room.
    As the door closed behind her, she heard a shrill voice raised in furious command, and the exhausted servants commenced their “military training” once more.
    Blinded by tears, she walked beside the silent Russian courtier till he stopped before the apartments the Empress had assigned her. He bent down and picked up something dark and soft. “You’ve dropped your muff, Highness,” he said gently.
    â€œThank you,” Augusta sobbed, and, thrusting past the lackey who opened the door, she ran into the room and fell into Johanna’s arms.
    The Princess of