The streets of St. Petersburg were alive with the hum of the night—an orchestra of sounds that played beneath the soft moonlight. Carriages rumbled over cobblestones, their wheels creaking like old bones, while distant voices, some raised in laughter and others muffled in anger, echoed down narrow alleyways. The city was a living, breathing creature, pulsing with secrets and desires, its heart hidden in the dark places where few dared to venture.
Andrei moved through the crowd with the ease of someone who had long mastered the art of disappearing. His cloak, dark as midnight, billowed around him as he strode, his gloved hands tucked in the folds of his coat. His face was shadowed by the wide brim of a black hat, the only visible hint of his identity the gleam of his pale eyes, which reflected the light of the city like two slivers of ice. The prince had grown accustomed to these moments of escape—these nights where he could pretend to be someone else, a man not bound by the chains of royalty.
He had long since learned to navigate this world, to slip past guards and palace walls, to move undetected in the underbelly of the city. The weight of his title was nowhere to be felt here, in these streets where wealth and power meant nothing. Andrei was simply another man, as invisible as the countless others who lived and died without a name, their stories erased by time.
But tonight, the city seemed different. The familiar thrill of his secret excursions had dimmed, replaced by a quiet restlessness he couldn't shake. It was the thought of her—the woman who had lingered in his mind since the moment their eyes had met. Yelena. Her name was like a whisper in his ear, a soft murmur in the midst of the noise around him. He couldn't quite explain why he felt so drawn to her, why her presence haunted him more than any other.
He had seen her once, in a tavern hidden deep within the labyrinth of St. Petersburg's poorest districts. The place reeked of stale beer, sweat, and smoke, the air thick with the pungent stench of desperation. The men there were rough, their faces hardened by years of toil and hardship, their voices loud and crude as they brawled or traded stories of their miserable lives. But Yelena stood apart from them, as if she belonged to a different world—one where beauty was not traded for coin, and dignity was not a currency to be spent.
Her face had been like an enigma, a blend of defiance and vulnerability. Her eyes, dark and haunted, had met his across the crowded room with an intensity that made Andrei's heart skip a beat. She had been standing by the bar, her back straight, her posture regal despite the grime that stained her clothing. Her lips, red as the setting sun, had curled into a knowing smile—a smile that held no illusions, no romantic fantasies. She was a woman who had seen the worst of the world and had survived it. Yet there was something in her—a flicker of something more—that had stirred something deep inside Andrei.
For a moment, it had felt as if the entire world had paused, as if all the noise and chaos of the tavern had faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of perfect, suspended silence. He had wanted to approach her, to speak to her, but something had held him back. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a prostitute, a woman who sold her body to survive. He was a prince, a man bound by a world of expectations and constraints. Such a connection was impossible, absurd even.
But even as Andrei turned away, his mind refused to let go of her. He had spent the rest of that night unable to shake the image of her face—of the quiet power in her gaze, the strength in her posture, the fragile beauty that clung to her despite the hard life she led. He had tried to dismiss it as a fleeting moment, a passing curiosity. But the next day, he found himself unable to resist the pull of the tavern again.
Now, walking the same streets, the air seemed heavier, pregnant with the weight of his thoughts. He had not come here just to lose himself in the anonymity of the city. He had come here for a purpose.
He had come for her.
Andrei's steps quickened as he neared the familiar alley, the one that led to the tavern. The building was tucked between two larger structures, its windows blacked out, save for a dim flicker of light coming from inside. As he approached, he hesitated for a moment, the thought of what he was about to do stirring a mix of excitement and dread in his chest. He had never sought out a woman like this—one who was so far removed from the world he inhabited. And yet, something about her had called to him in a way that he couldn't ignore.
Taking a deep breath, Andrei pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside.
The tavern was just as he remembered—dim, smoky, and filled with the noise of men talking, laughing, and fighting. The air was thick with the smell of liquor, and the walls seemed to close in on him as soon as he entered. The patrons barely noticed him; to them, he was just another man, another face in the crowd. But Andrei's eyes immediately scanned the room, searching for her.
And there she was.
Yelena stood by the far corner of the bar, a tall glass of vodka in her hand, her head tilted slightly as she listened to a man's drunken ramblings. Her expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way she held herself—something in the way her eyes flickered to him for a split second before returning to the man at the bar—that made Andrei's heart race.
He moved toward her, each step deliberate, each movement measured. This time, he would speak to her. This time, he would not allow her to slip away.
As he reached her side, she glanced up at him, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as if she had been expecting him. Andrei's breath caught in his throat, the sight of her so close, so real, sending a jolt through his chest.
"Good evening," he said, his voice smooth, though his heart thudded loudly in his ears.
Yelena didn't smile, didn't seem surprised, but there was a subtle change in her posture. She straightened, her lips curling into that same knowing, almost mocking smile. "Your Highness," she said, her tone dripping with a mixture of sarcasm and amusement. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Andrei's heart skipped a beat. She knew who he was. Of course, she knew—how could she not? But the way she said it, with such ease, such nonchalance, made him feel like an ordinary man in her presence.
"I prefer to come here when I need to be… anonymous," he said, stepping closer, not entirely sure of the words that were coming out of his mouth.
Yelena raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose you think you'll find anonymity in a place like this?"
Andrei chuckled softly, the sound unexpected even to him. "Perhaps not. But it's a start."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of the tavern swirled around them, but in that small space, time seemed to stretch, thick with the electricity of something unspoken, something dangerous.
Yelena set her glass down on the bar and turned to face him fully. "So, what brings you to a place like this?" she asked, her voice low, almost purring.
Andrei's pulse quickened as he met her gaze. There was no turning back now.
"I came to see you," he said simply.