There was one conversation, shortly after the birth of her daughter, that the Empress remembered as clearly as if it had happened the day prior.
It was one of the few she had with her mother, but just as brief and stilted as they usually went. Her breasts were sore and her face haggard from labor. When the mousy woman who had birthed Katya suddenly arrived at the palace without warning, she could not spare her mother a good look.
Motherhood.
How she hated it, yet needed it so desperately to maintain her position.
Her own mother's sleepy-looking eyes had gazed down at the slumbering Julia. "Poor thing," she'd sighed.
"Why are you here?" Katya motioned to the nursemaid to take away the sleeping infant so that she and her mother could speak alone.
Her mother's placid gaze watched Julia leave the room. "Did you have to go about it this way?" she asked once they were alone.
