"Sovereign Bastian…" The Tzar said from his seat on the throne, "What brings you to Viskogorny in such a state?"
"I've come to speak with you concerning the matters of the current state of my country."
The Tzar nodded and craned his neck to speak to his advisors. The Tsarina was nowhere in sight and Bastian knew that the Tzar would not be as relenting with her presence gone.
He glanced down once more and brushed a drying tendril of ebony hair from Hydrangea's face.
"I accept your presence here and will treat you as my guest." The Tzar said standing, and so the rest of the hall stood, "It appears as though your Queen has been affected by the cold." He looked to the back of the room and waved his hand for someone to come forward, "My servants will take her to the guest wing of the palace while you and I discuss the dilemma within your country."
Bastian looked at the servants who gestured that they wanted to take Hydrangea. His mind surged with something near panic; he couldn't let her go. What if she was to wake and he would not be there? He hoped that she would miss him, or not want to be without him, as he did not want to be without her.
"She will be in good hands, Sovereign." The Tzar said and Bastian met the wise ruler's steady eyes. He relented and passed his shivering wife to the servants.
As soon as they'd left behind a side door and it'd slammed behind them he turned to the Tzar and bowed, finally being able to. The Tzar nodded and sat down once more on his throne. "Just over two months ago at your Union," His eyes flicked to the door where Hydrangea had just disappeared through, "One of my sons told me that Lord Mercer Gaul was asking questions about you."
Bastian's eyes darkened but he said nothing.
"I eventually asked Lord Gaul and he admitted that a select group of Lords was planning a coup. Mathuba, as you can expect, fully supported them. Bobian was also in agreement with your overthrowall, Selva was lenient to it but would not share in bloodshed." Bastian fought the urge to scoff; Selva, not want to share in bloodshed? Preposterous.
"I stepped back." The Tzar finished, "I wanted no part in a broken country."
Bastian clenched the hilt of his sword, "You did not tell me, or try to warn me of what would occur." He tried to control his anger. The Tzar had known, all of the leaders had known, of the coup, and yet they'd stayed utterly silent.
"I'm sure you've heard of the strife within my own country." The Tzar said somewhat upset, but hiding it behind his blue eyes, "The Emissaries of Deliverance are sparing me no grief. If I had helped you in defeating your enemies my own country would've been lost to me."
Bastian nodded, but his jaw was still clenched. He recalled what the Premier had told him of the rebel band, and that they were attacking Cadarama for supplies.
"If you've come to ask for help in winning back your country, I'm afraid that I cannot."
Bastian's breath caught in his throat.
'He cannot help us. He can't help us.'
"May I ask the reason, Tzar?" He asked bitterly.
"If I left Domkorolei, or even my country, for one moment. The Emissaries would not hesitate to overtake this city. And I will not risk that."
Bastian nodded. All this way, and for nothing. He felt almost delirious with the shock. He wanted to scream and yell, he was even tempted to laugh.
He inhaled, his breath shaking from anger, "Then I simply request asylum."
The Tzar nodded, "And I grant it to you."
After voicing a few more pleasantries and necessary questions he found himself being escorted to a carriage that would bring him to the palace.
He looked outside the glass window at the passing streets, the people that were walking around were all bundled with furs.
He sighed. What would he tell Hydrangea? He groaned, she was cold and had probably caught an illness, and now he would be forced to tell her that Viskogorny did not want to help them. It was hopeless, really.
The carriage drove under the black, iron gates that separated the palace from the citizens. It rounded the grand building and halted once it had reached the back corner of the right wing. The guest wing.
His feet landed on gravel and he surveyed the palace with vague remembrance of his time here.
He walked up the stone steps that were indicated to him by a servant, then into the main doors. They opened without a sound and he saw a large, round foyer. The wallpaper was creme white with gold and red stripes running down it vertically. The floor was a polished stone of some sort. It's shiny surface was covered by a red rug. The chandelier that hung from the ceiling of the round room was level with four windows that let in copious amounts of light.
He was led up a flight of stairs of an imperial staircase, the wooden planks covered with a black and red runner. The hallways that led from the top of the stairs were small and covered in a large quantity of gold gilded things. He spun in a slow circle as he walked; the candlesticks, the candleholders, the tables, the wall sconces, the vases, even some of the flowers were covered in gold.
But the light red and warm brown wallpaper seemed to help cut the almost repulsive amounts of gold.
At the end of the hallway was a set of double doors. The servant knocked and then let himself in, saying, "The Sovereign is arrived."
In the next instant multiple maids came rushing out. A few of them even met his eyes then giggled. He squinted his eyes and frowned.
He walked into the room, a large fireplace was placed on the far left side of the rectangular room. A few spaces from that were two white couches that sat opposite other on a red carpet. In between them sat a polished coffee table with dried flowers on it.
Along the wall, across from where the door was, there were six thin windows, all at least a few metres tall and only a metre wide. In between each of these glass panes were tables, each had either placed on it a golden candle or a vase of gold flowers.
His eyes were not resting on any of these trivial objects, but on the pale figure that was asleep on the large poster bed.
He walked to it, his boots clacking on the wooden floor. A small fur carpet lay on the floor by the bedside and he stopped there and sat on the edge of the bed.
She had stopped shivering and was resting soundly. The yellow bruise on her face had been treated with an ointment. The bed was unusually warm, he lifted the heavy red, blue and brown blanket and immediately dropped it. His eyes wide.
She was wearing no clothes.