| Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen |
Chapter One
Royal screamed a blood curdling cry as Ivan held her down. His large hands were strategically placed on
her naked, wounded body. Viciously, he choked her with one hand and fondled her with the other.
Spit spilled out of the side of her mouth onto his tattooed hands, and she could smell old cigarette residue
on his rigid fingers. She gasped for breath and tried to fight him, but he ignored her feeble attempts and
violently snatched her legs open, scratching her inner thigh with his jagged nails. His cold blue eyes
stared directly into her own as he penetrated her. There was a look of complete satisfaction on his face as
he did.
Exhausted and defeated, she turned her head to see the sharp, gleaming Glock knife beside her on the
bed. The blade was so sharp until it snagged the comforter with its serrated edge due only to the
friction. She swallowed hard as she looked at it, posing as a reminding her of what he would do if she
were not completely obedient. Quickly, she said a prayer, mumbling the words under her breath as her
body involuntarily pushed against the bed under his long muscular frame. He groaned and licked her
bloody face.
The polarized sexual experiences stung through her as much as the pain. Dmitry loved her. Ivan loathed
her. She had given her all to Dmitry. She had given nothing Ivan, yet he took everything. Dmitry had
been gentle and loving always every time that he touched her. Ivan’s angry thrusts seemed to be for the
purpose of impalement with deeper and painful stabbings.
Pulling her face toward him, he forced her to open her mouth. His tongue slid into hers, fleshy and wet.
She tried to bit his tongue, but felt the knife against her throat as he threatened. “Kiss me back like a
good girl,” he ordered. Cringing, she screamed out as his monstrous grip loosened around her bruised
neck just enough for her to breath. She was forced to kiss him, forced to taste him. Tears flowed freely
down her face onto their skin. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her into his hungry
erection.
“Damn, Royal,” he said, hissing hot breath on her skin. “I wish Dmitry could see what I am doing to you.
Not just because it would kill him.” He grunted and shifted deeper. “But also because maybe he could
finally see how it is done.”
Screaming frantically, Royal sat up in her king-sized bed and realized that she was having yet another
nightmare about Dmitry’s dead brother, Ivan Medlov. Damn him. Damn him to a fiery hell, he had been
dead three years now, and yet he frequently visited her in the same taunting ways.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead and ran her fingers over her neck. Her heart beat raced against
her hand. Panting, she closed her eyes and cringed as she felt the old knife mark from his blade. It had
left a horrible scar that would always cause questions if she didn’t cover it. However, vanity was the last
issue she had. She was grateful for the scar, only because her healed wound meant that she had
survived.
Pulling the many of layers of thick, plush crimson cover from her legs, she crawled out of bed and went
to her bathroom. Hitting the lights, she tiptoed across the cold ceramic tile over to the sink and turned on
the faucet. The sound of water filled the room, interrupting thoughts of her ghost. She ran her hands
through the cold stream and washed her burning cheeks. The water soothed her soiled thoughts, cleaned
her sweaty skin.
“Are you alright,” a deep voice asked behind her.
She looked up startled and saw her husband, Dmitry, standing in the over-sized arched doorway. His blue
eyes pierced through her, a frown darkened his fair, beautiful features.
Royal sighed. “I had another bad dream,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Where were you, anyway?”
Stilling her shaking hands, she turned towards him and leaned against the vanity.
“Anya woke up and came to sleep with us. I know that you’ve been trying to get her to stay in room all
night, so I took her back to bed.”
Turning away from him, she reached into the medicine cabinet.
“Was it Ivan again? The nightmare?” Dmitry asked softly, his baritone voice pained.
“Who else would it be?” she asked irritated.
Towering over her in on a pair of silk pajama bottoms, he walked up behind her. His bare, clean shaven
chest hovered above her. Tanned to a golden bronzed and covered in old world tattoos, it pulsated with
concrete muscles that came from too much time in the gym and not enough time in his own bed.
Dmitry watched her fumble with the medicine bottle and finally drop two pills into her hand. Royal had
been on valium for over two years. At first, it had helped her to deal with the post-partum depression
after Anya was born. Then, it helped with the depression that had come after her therapy started to get
over the rape. Now, it was just because. Plus, it didn’t help that he owned the pharmaceutical company
that produced her legal heroine; she had it sent to their home by the bulk.
Running his large hands down her sweaty back, he tried to sooth her.
“Come now, I put you back to bed,” his Russian accent cut through the silence.
“I don’t want to go back to bed,” she snapped. Tears ran down her face. She wiped them quickly. “I
want it to stop. Can you pay someone to make that happen?” She watched his face. “No? I didn’t think
so. Just leave me alone, alright. Like I said, I’ll be fine.”
Dmitry’s guilt consumed him again for the millionth time as he watched her swallow the hand full of pills
and dip her head to the faucet to drink the running water. Her long black hair fell over the sink and into
the water. She ignored it, letting it whip against her gown with water marks as she stood back up.
“I wish there was something I could do,” his voice sounded desperate.
“Just leave me alone.” She held on to the sides of the water basin and looked down into the sink.
Besides the fact that she had a screeching headache and if she had to look up nearly two feet to eye him
she would probably pass out, she also did not want him to see her cry anymore. She was tired of the
constant pity and the constant reminder of what had happened to her. She wanted desperately for it to all
go away.
“Are you sure?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t send him away.
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Alright. Goodnight.” He let his hand trail off of her body.
Turning away with a defeated sigh, he left her in the bathroom and wondered back down the long corridor
to his daughter’s room.
Opening the door slowly, he looked on as Anya slept peacefully in her twin canopy bed, under soft pink
linen. He went into the bedroom, closed the door behind him and lay on the floor beside her bed.
Taking one of her over-sized teddy bears from the corner, he stuck it under his head and looked up at the
painted ceiling, glowing under pink night lights. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said curiously, hoping it was Royal. He sat up.
“Master Medlov, I heard screaming. Is everything alright?” the muscular butler asked with loaded guns in
the holsters under his large arms.
“Dah dah. We’re fine, Stepan,” Dmitry laid back down. “Royal was just having another nightmare.”
“Yes, sir,” Stepan closed the door.
In the darkness of his daughter’s room, Dmitry allowed his thoughts to consume him. Royal had been a
real handful for over the last six months, but she had been stricken with spells of depression since Anya’s
birth three years ago.
His beautiful daughter had been both a blessing and a curse at ten pounds of natural birth.
Understandably, Royal had passed out only minutes after seeing her baby, a black-haired, blue-eyed doll
that looked like the spitting image of his brother Ivan.
At first sight, Dmitry had been taken back by Anya’s striking beauty, but Royal had been taken back by her
resemblance the devil she had known. Post-partum had immediately set in with Royal refusing to breast
feed and spending days at time locked in her room. Finally, the doctors were called. Dr. Finlen
suggested therapy after he was told of the rape, along with time to heal the wounds and valium for the
edge.
Overall, the remedy had helped, but the days that it didn’t were nearly unbearable. She would have
sweaty fits in her sleep and scream his brother’s name in a horrible, heart-stopping cry that would send
Dmitry running for her whenever he heard it. It was like Ivan would come to rape her again and again,
every time that she dared close her eyes. This lead to Royal spending many nights awake, staring blankly
into the television or tossing and turning the bed, which lead to dark circles under her eyes and constant
irritability.
But however torturous the nightmares of Ivan were, they had not been the only thing to torment their
rocky marriage. They also hadn’t been intimate in four months. The last time had been horrible for both
of them. Unknowing of the wretched words that his brother had said to her during her assault, Dmitry
had whispered something that sent Royal into a frenzy. Beating his chest and crying, she had begged him
to stop, to get it out of her. He did so immediately, withdrawing ashamed and alarmed.
Like a crazed woman, Royal jumped up and literally ran out of the room, locking herself in the bathroom,
where she spent the remainder of the night. He had slept on the floor beside the door that night, hoping
that she might come out and talk to him. She did not.
Since that horrible event, Dmitry had barely slept in their bedroom. While her passion for him had fizzled
into something repugnant, he still desired every inch of her. To keep himself from being tempted and to
continue to be cognizant of Royal’s fragile state, he normally stayed in his son’s bedroom when Anatoly
wasn’t visiting or in one of the guest bedrooms on the second level of the chateau. He tried to never be
too far from his wife that he could not be there if she needed him, but never too close – because he knew
that she found him unbearable.
For the most part, he roamed the hallways at night, bored out of his mind, working out in his gym, reading
volumes of classic works, and most of all waiting for a call from his son about news of the Vory.
To add insult to his injured ego, Royal also never showed him affection out of the bedroom. She was still
a very gracious woman, reminding herself to always play the kind, courteous wife, but when he looked
very closely, he could see the icy, angry and potentially violent woman that she had come to be.
In response to her depression, Dmitry had doubled her gifts, flying diamonds and furs in by the bus loads,
just to see them pile up in her dressing rooms unopened and unworn. He had flown their family around
the world on trips to exotic locales, but Royal had spent the entire time in her room, curled up in bed,
crying and shaking or drugged and drinking.
When he tried to make love to her, she fled. If he saw her naked, she covered herself. The sexual
frustration had nearly made him mad. He had gone to confession only weeks ago to beg God for his
forgiveness for his desire at times to take from her what was rightfully his. He had not, of course taken
it. He would never hurt her. And he had not been unfaithful. How could he?
His only desire was to be with his beautiful young wife. Even in her callous nature, she had only gotten
more beautiful and refined in age. Her rich, dark caramel skin, her wide cat-like eyes, her inky mane of
curly black hair with untimely streaks of grey and her voluptuous body were all exotically combined to
make him livid with lust. And in a way, her razor sharp tongue provided him with a sense of humility that
only she could bring.
But how he wished that the peak of her young womanhood could be spent happy and in love with him.
Only, Royal was not in love. She preferred to be alone, wasting away in her bedroom with valium and
scotch while her child and her husband suffered.
“Daddy, can I get in the floor with you?” Anya asked, leaning over the side of her bed. The little soft
voice sounded like bells jingling.
“Of course, Angel,” he said, pulling her down from her bed onto his chest.
With a doll in her hand, the small girl nestled her head down on his chest to listen to his massive
heartbeat and closed her eyes. There was an unspoken and spoken love between the two. Father and
Daughter. Even with the drama of a broken home, he sheltered her and gave her materialistically and
emotionally all that he could in the world. However unlike most children who would have spoiled
because of attention, Anya was not. She was wise for her age with a cool disposition that made most
people nervous when they met her. Kissing the crown of her head, Dmitry wrapped his arms around his
daughter and sighed. At least he had her.
***
Morning came early for Royal. She was met by a door knock and her dutiful young maid, who brought in
her breakfast and set it on the nightstand beside her. The French woman greeted her mistress only to
receive a groan in response but that was typical. Dutifully, she then went to the large windows to pull the
drapes open to receive the foggy, half-sunny day and raised the mechanical blinds that unveiled the
breathtaking view of acres and acres of unspoiled, mountainous green land.
Wrapped in sweat-stained Egyptian cotton sheets, Royal rose from her slumber in a daze. Vision blurred
and hair wild, she rested her feet on the side of the bed and stared blankly at the oversized fireplace in
front of her. If she had any balls at all, she would simply jump into the large fire pit and meet her
miserable end, but she didn’t have balls at all so she settled for grabbing the remote and turning on the
42” flat screen hoisted above the mantle.
“Madam, would you like for me to run your bath?” the young maid asked in a thick French accent, picking
up dirty clothes off the bedroom floor.
“No,” Royal said absently. “And put those clothes back. I’ll clean up my own mess.” She looked at the
woman with a stern glare.
“Yes, Madame,” she said, dropping the clothes. “Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?”
Royal sighed. “Where’s my daughter?” She scratched her head.
“Having breakfast downstairs with Master Medlov.”
“Of course, she is,” Royal stood up. “Tell me, Brigitte, how’s your mom these days?”
“I’m afraid that she is not doing so well, Madame.”
“The treatments didn’t help, huh?”
“No, not enough to make it go away,” the woman lamented.
“You have…bags under your eyes,” Royal observed lazily. “You look like shit.” She yawned and
stretched.
“Forgive my presentation, Madame. I have acquired another job at night to help with the bills. Keeping it
all together has been most difficult.”
“Another job?” Royal shook her head. “Does Dmitry not pay you enough?”
“It’s the best paying job I’ve ever had, Madam. I am very grateful for your family and your gracious…”
“Save it. Dmitry could pay you more. He knows your situation,” Royal grabbed her bottle of valium by
the bed. “But I’m afraid you’d have to give him something in return.” She smirked. “You’re a pretty girl,
so it’s probably something you don’t even have anymore.”
“Excuse me, Mistress Medlov?”
“Nothing. I’m being hateful, Brigitte. Do you know this term, hateful?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me for it.” Popping pills in her hand, she put them in her mouth quickly and
drank the last of the scotch sitting in the glass by her nightstand. “You didn’t see that,” she snapped at
Brigitte. “I know Dmitry will ask you questions as soon as you leave out of here. He always does.
Makes you spy for him.” She cut her eyes at the woman.
“He is just concerned,” Brigitte explained.
“Concerned my overpriced ass. He’s just bored.”
Royal walked into her large, adjoining dressing room, with her long satin gown trailing behind her.
Quickly, she turned on the lights and sat down at her hand-carved wooden vanity. Pulling out a small
drawer, she flipped open the velvet Velcro box and pulled out a new necklace from Tiffany’s that Dmitry
had recently purchased for her.
“Money is so hard to come by these days,” she said, running her finger over the diamonds. “Had it not
been for my cursed womb, I might be cleaning rooms just like you. Don’t ever be ashamed of what you
do. It’s a respectable job.”
“Yes, Madame,” the maid said, standing up straighter.
Brigitte walked curiously to the door opening and waited with her hand clasped together in front of her.
Mistress Medlov was a strange woman. Her eyes were cold, her stare blank, her words laced with vicious
meaning. One never knew what to expect from her. She was mostly tongue and cheek with all her
statements, but if one were to look very, very carefully, they could see that once she had to have been a
good woman. Why else with a man as gracious as Master Medlov had married her, besides her stunning
beauty and her exotic caramel features? In Prague, her beauty stuck out everywhere that she went. She
was the “la belle femme de couleur”.
The mistress dressed in very expensive clothes and jewelry and stomped around town chauffeured in the
most luxurious cars. She had a strange American accent. Southern is what Dmitry had once called it.
And all of the officials, politicians and businessmen who visited the Medlov chateau, swooned over her,
even though she treated them callously also.
But there was something else. All the help talked about it. Royal had presence, not stage presence, a
dark, mischievous presence like she was capable of just about anything. She was far from helpless, very
quick and too observant. Some said she was even more dangerous than Master Medlov.
She stared at the back of her lady’s wild hair now as Royal fumbled around, probably looking for more
valium.
“Oui, it is very hard for everyone, but…” she finally continued.
“Not everyone,” Royal corrected. A smile curved her pensive lips. Standing up with the necklace she
walked over to the Brigitte and grabbed her hand. “You are lucky to have a mother to care for, whether
she is dying of cancer or not. You’ll always have those memories.”
“Oui,” the maid agreed. “I am very blessed.”
“Take this home with you today. Pawn it and pay for whatever your mother needs. Quit your other job
and go home to spend more time with her before she’s dead, because she will die and if the treatments
aren’t working there’s not a damned thing that you can do about it. Meanwhile, I’ll talk to your gracious
boss, Dmitry, about giving you meaningful raise.”
“But Madame…I can’t. This necklace costs more than I make in a year.”
Royal gripped the woman’s hand firmly. “Then be smart, Briggy. Don’t tell anyone that I’ve given it to
you unless you have to.”
Brigitte fought tears. She was moved by the icy woman’s kind gesture. Mistress Medlov was like that
though. Completely unreadable.
“If you have a problem at the local jeweler’s, call me. No one will believe that you didn’t steal it,” Royal
looked away from Brigitte, who wiped her tears quickly.
“Merci,” the woman said softly.
“Don’t mention it,” Royal said curtly.
Like wind chimes on a gusty spring afternoon, Anya’s voice carried as she called for her mother. Royal
looked away from Brigitte to her beautiful daughter wide-eyed and smiling from ear to ear as she came
running as fast as she could through the bedroom doors. Suddenly, Royal lit up.
“Ahh, there she is.”
Royal caught her in her arms and picked her up to hold her close to her bosom. Rubbing through her
long, black silky hair, she kissed her daughter’s forehead and sighed.
“Mommy, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, baby. What are you up to?”
“I had breakfast with Daddy.”
“You slept in your room last night. I’m very proud of you, princess.”
“I cheated, Mommy. Daddy slept with me.”
Royal smiled and nodded to Brigitte to leave her alone to spend time with her one and only purpose, Anya.
“Anatoly is here,” Anya tattled. “He and Daddy are downstairs in the…the…study. They told me I had to
leave.”
“Really,” Royal said curiously. “What were they talking about? Can you remember?” She pulled the girl
closer.
“Anatoly said that he had a problem that only Daddy could fix.”
“Did he?” Royal placed her daughter on the disheveled bed. “And what did Daddy say?”
“He said I had to run along. Then he closed the big doors and locked me out.” Anya pouted. “Why did
he lock me out, Mommy?”
“Because he’s up to something, baby,” Royal took off her nightgown and threw it on the bed. She was
going to get down to the bottom of this right now.
“Let mommy get dressed, and I’ll come downstairs with you so we can say hello to your long lost
brother.”
Royal screamed a blood curdling cry as Ivan held her down. His large hands were strategically placed on
her naked, wounded body. Viciously, he choked her with one hand and fondled her with the other.
Spit spilled out of the side of her mouth onto his tattooed hands, and she could smell old cigarette residue
on his rigid fingers. She gasped for breath and tried to fight him, but he ignored her feeble attempts and
violently snatched her legs open, scratching her inner thigh with his jagged nails. His cold blue eyes
stared directly into her own as he penetrated her. There was a look of complete satisfaction on his face as
he did.
Exhausted and defeated, she turned her head to see the sharp, gleaming Glock knife beside her on the
bed. The blade was so sharp until it snagged the comforter with its serrated edge due only to the
friction. She swallowed hard as she looked at it, posing as a reminding her of what he would do if she
were not completely obedient. Quickly, she said a prayer, mumbling the words under her breath as her
body involuntarily pushed against the bed under his long muscular frame. He groaned and licked her
bloody face.
The polarized sexual experiences stung through her as much as the pain. Dmitry loved her. Ivan loathed
her. She had given her all to Dmitry. She had given nothing Ivan, yet he took everything. Dmitry had
been gentle and loving always every time that he touched her. Ivan’s angry thrusts seemed to be for the
purpose of impalement with deeper and painful stabbings.
Pulling her face toward him, he forced her to open her mouth. His tongue slid into hers, fleshy and wet.
She tried to bit his tongue, but felt the knife against her throat as he threatened. “Kiss me back like a
good girl,” he ordered. Cringing, she screamed out as his monstrous grip loosened around her bruised
neck just enough for her to breath. She was forced to kiss him, forced to taste him. Tears flowed freely
down her face onto their skin. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her into his hungry
erection.
“Damn, Royal,” he said, hissing hot breath on her skin. “I wish Dmitry could see what I am doing to you.
Not just because it would kill him.” He grunted and shifted deeper. “But also because maybe he could
finally see how it is done.”
Screaming frantically, Royal sat up in her king-sized bed and realized that she was having yet another
nightmare about Dmitry’s dead brother, Ivan Medlov. Damn him. Damn him to a fiery hell, he had been
dead three years now, and yet he frequently visited her in the same taunting ways.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead and ran her fingers over her neck. Her heart beat raced against
her hand. Panting, she closed her eyes and cringed as she felt the old knife mark from his blade. It had
left a horrible scar that would always cause questions if she didn’t cover it. However, vanity was the last
issue she had. She was grateful for the scar, only because her healed wound meant that she had
survived.
Pulling the many of layers of thick, plush crimson cover from her legs, she crawled out of bed and went
to her bathroom. Hitting the lights, she tiptoed across the cold ceramic tile over to the sink and turned on
the faucet. The sound of water filled the room, interrupting thoughts of her ghost. She ran her hands
through the cold stream and washed her burning cheeks. The water soothed her soiled thoughts, cleaned
her sweaty skin.
“Are you alright,” a deep voice asked behind her.
She looked up startled and saw her husband, Dmitry, standing in the over-sized arched doorway. His blue
eyes pierced through her, a frown darkened his fair, beautiful features.
Royal sighed. “I had another bad dream,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Where were you, anyway?”
Stilling her shaking hands, she turned towards him and leaned against the vanity.
“Anya woke up and came to sleep with us. I know that you’ve been trying to get her to stay in room all
night, so I took her back to bed.”
Turning away from him, she reached into the medicine cabinet.
“Was it Ivan again? The nightmare?” Dmitry asked softly, his baritone voice pained.
“Who else would it be?” she asked irritated.
Towering over her in on a pair of silk pajama bottoms, he walked up behind her. His bare, clean shaven
chest hovered above her. Tanned to a golden bronzed and covered in old world tattoos, it pulsated with
concrete muscles that came from too much time in the gym and not enough time in his own bed.
Dmitry watched her fumble with the medicine bottle and finally drop two pills into her hand. Royal had
been on valium for over two years. At first, it had helped her to deal with the post-partum depression
after Anya was born. Then, it helped with the depression that had come after her therapy started to get
over the rape. Now, it was just because. Plus, it didn’t help that he owned the pharmaceutical company
that produced her legal heroine; she had it sent to their home by the bulk.
Running his large hands down her sweaty back, he tried to sooth her.
“Come now, I put you back to bed,” his Russian accent cut through the silence.
“I don’t want to go back to bed,” she snapped. Tears ran down her face. She wiped them quickly. “I
want it to stop. Can you pay someone to make that happen?” She watched his face. “No? I didn’t think
so. Just leave me alone, alright. Like I said, I’ll be fine.”
Dmitry’s guilt consumed him again for the millionth time as he watched her swallow the hand full of pills
and dip her head to the faucet to drink the running water. Her long black hair fell over the sink and into
the water. She ignored it, letting it whip against her gown with water marks as she stood back up.
“I wish there was something I could do,” his voice sounded desperate.
“Just leave me alone.” She held on to the sides of the water basin and looked down into the sink.
Besides the fact that she had a screeching headache and if she had to look up nearly two feet to eye him
she would probably pass out, she also did not want him to see her cry anymore. She was tired of the
constant pity and the constant reminder of what had happened to her. She wanted desperately for it to all
go away.
“Are you sure?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t send him away.
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Alright. Goodnight.” He let his hand trail off of her body.
Turning away with a defeated sigh, he left her in the bathroom and wondered back down the long corridor
to his daughter’s room.
Opening the door slowly, he looked on as Anya slept peacefully in her twin canopy bed, under soft pink
linen. He went into the bedroom, closed the door behind him and lay on the floor beside her bed.
Taking one of her over-sized teddy bears from the corner, he stuck it under his head and looked up at the
painted ceiling, glowing under pink night lights. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said curiously, hoping it was Royal. He sat up.
“Master Medlov, I heard screaming. Is everything alright?” the muscular butler asked with loaded guns in
the holsters under his large arms.
“Dah dah. We’re fine, Stepan,” Dmitry laid back down. “Royal was just having another nightmare.”
“Yes, sir,” Stepan closed the door.
In the darkness of his daughter’s room, Dmitry allowed his thoughts to consume him. Royal had been a
real handful for over the last six months, but she had been stricken with spells of depression since Anya’s
birth three years ago.
His beautiful daughter had been both a blessing and a curse at ten pounds of natural birth.
Understandably, Royal had passed out only minutes after seeing her baby, a black-haired, blue-eyed doll
that looked like the spitting image of his brother Ivan.
At first sight, Dmitry had been taken back by Anya’s striking beauty, but Royal had been taken back by her
resemblance the devil she had known. Post-partum had immediately set in with Royal refusing to breast
feed and spending days at time locked in her room. Finally, the doctors were called. Dr. Finlen
suggested therapy after he was told of the rape, along with time to heal the wounds and valium for the
edge.
Overall, the remedy had helped, but the days that it didn’t were nearly unbearable. She would have
sweaty fits in her sleep and scream his brother’s name in a horrible, heart-stopping cry that would send
Dmitry running for her whenever he heard it. It was like Ivan would come to rape her again and again,
every time that she dared close her eyes. This lead to Royal spending many nights awake, staring blankly
into the television or tossing and turning the bed, which lead to dark circles under her eyes and constant
irritability.
But however torturous the nightmares of Ivan were, they had not been the only thing to torment their
rocky marriage. They also hadn’t been intimate in four months. The last time had been horrible for both
of them. Unknowing of the wretched words that his brother had said to her during her assault, Dmitry
had whispered something that sent Royal into a frenzy. Beating his chest and crying, she had begged him
to stop, to get it out of her. He did so immediately, withdrawing ashamed and alarmed.
Like a crazed woman, Royal jumped up and literally ran out of the room, locking herself in the bathroom,
where she spent the remainder of the night. He had slept on the floor beside the door that night, hoping
that she might come out and talk to him. She did not.
Since that horrible event, Dmitry had barely slept in their bedroom. While her passion for him had fizzled
into something repugnant, he still desired every inch of her. To keep himself from being tempted and to
continue to be cognizant of Royal’s fragile state, he normally stayed in his son’s bedroom when Anatoly
wasn’t visiting or in one of the guest bedrooms on the second level of the chateau. He tried to never be
too far from his wife that he could not be there if she needed him, but never too close – because he knew
that she found him unbearable.
For the most part, he roamed the hallways at night, bored out of his mind, working out in his gym, reading
volumes of classic works, and most of all waiting for a call from his son about news of the Vory.
To add insult to his injured ego, Royal also never showed him affection out of the bedroom. She was still
a very gracious woman, reminding herself to always play the kind, courteous wife, but when he looked
very closely, he could see the icy, angry and potentially violent woman that she had come to be.
In response to her depression, Dmitry had doubled her gifts, flying diamonds and furs in by the bus loads,
just to see them pile up in her dressing rooms unopened and unworn. He had flown their family around
the world on trips to exotic locales, but Royal had spent the entire time in her room, curled up in bed,
crying and shaking or drugged and drinking.
When he tried to make love to her, she fled. If he saw her naked, she covered herself. The sexual
frustration had nearly made him mad. He had gone to confession only weeks ago to beg God for his
forgiveness for his desire at times to take from her what was rightfully his. He had not, of course taken
it. He would never hurt her. And he had not been unfaithful. How could he?
His only desire was to be with his beautiful young wife. Even in her callous nature, she had only gotten
more beautiful and refined in age. Her rich, dark caramel skin, her wide cat-like eyes, her inky mane of
curly black hair with untimely streaks of grey and her voluptuous body were all exotically combined to
make him livid with lust. And in a way, her razor sharp tongue provided him with a sense of humility that
only she could bring.
But how he wished that the peak of her young womanhood could be spent happy and in love with him.
Only, Royal was not in love. She preferred to be alone, wasting away in her bedroom with valium and
scotch while her child and her husband suffered.
“Daddy, can I get in the floor with you?” Anya asked, leaning over the side of her bed. The little soft
voice sounded like bells jingling.
“Of course, Angel,” he said, pulling her down from her bed onto his chest.
With a doll in her hand, the small girl nestled her head down on his chest to listen to his massive
heartbeat and closed her eyes. There was an unspoken and spoken love between the two. Father and
Daughter. Even with the drama of a broken home, he sheltered her and gave her materialistically and
emotionally all that he could in the world. However unlike most children who would have spoiled
because of attention, Anya was not. She was wise for her age with a cool disposition that made most
people nervous when they met her. Kissing the crown of her head, Dmitry wrapped his arms around his
daughter and sighed. At least he had her.
***
Morning came early for Royal. She was met by a door knock and her dutiful young maid, who brought in
her breakfast and set it on the nightstand beside her. The French woman greeted her mistress only to
receive a groan in response but that was typical. Dutifully, she then went to the large windows to pull the
drapes open to receive the foggy, half-sunny day and raised the mechanical blinds that unveiled the
breathtaking view of acres and acres of unspoiled, mountainous green land.
Wrapped in sweat-stained Egyptian cotton sheets, Royal rose from her slumber in a daze. Vision blurred
and hair wild, she rested her feet on the side of the bed and stared blankly at the oversized fireplace in
front of her. If she had any balls at all, she would simply jump into the large fire pit and meet her
miserable end, but she didn’t have balls at all so she settled for grabbing the remote and turning on the
42” flat screen hoisted above the mantle.
“Madam, would you like for me to run your bath?” the young maid asked in a thick French accent, picking
up dirty clothes off the bedroom floor.
“No,” Royal said absently. “And put those clothes back. I’ll clean up my own mess.” She looked at the
woman with a stern glare.
“Yes, Madame,” she said, dropping the clothes. “Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?”
Royal sighed. “Where’s my daughter?” She scratched her head.
“Having breakfast downstairs with Master Medlov.”
“Of course, she is,” Royal stood up. “Tell me, Brigitte, how’s your mom these days?”
“I’m afraid that she is not doing so well, Madame.”
“The treatments didn’t help, huh?”
“No, not enough to make it go away,” the woman lamented.
“You have…bags under your eyes,” Royal observed lazily. “You look like shit.” She yawned and
stretched.
“Forgive my presentation, Madame. I have acquired another job at night to help with the bills. Keeping it
all together has been most difficult.”
“Another job?” Royal shook her head. “Does Dmitry not pay you enough?”
“It’s the best paying job I’ve ever had, Madam. I am very grateful for your family and your gracious…”
“Save it. Dmitry could pay you more. He knows your situation,” Royal grabbed her bottle of valium by
the bed. “But I’m afraid you’d have to give him something in return.” She smirked. “You’re a pretty girl,
so it’s probably something you don’t even have anymore.”
“Excuse me, Mistress Medlov?”
“Nothing. I’m being hateful, Brigitte. Do you know this term, hateful?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me for it.” Popping pills in her hand, she put them in her mouth quickly and
drank the last of the scotch sitting in the glass by her nightstand. “You didn’t see that,” she snapped at
Brigitte. “I know Dmitry will ask you questions as soon as you leave out of here. He always does.
Makes you spy for him.” She cut her eyes at the woman.
“He is just concerned,” Brigitte explained.
“Concerned my overpriced ass. He’s just bored.”
Royal walked into her large, adjoining dressing room, with her long satin gown trailing behind her.
Quickly, she turned on the lights and sat down at her hand-carved wooden vanity. Pulling out a small
drawer, she flipped open the velvet Velcro box and pulled out a new necklace from Tiffany’s that Dmitry
had recently purchased for her.
“Money is so hard to come by these days,” she said, running her finger over the diamonds. “Had it not
been for my cursed womb, I might be cleaning rooms just like you. Don’t ever be ashamed of what you
do. It’s a respectable job.”
“Yes, Madame,” the maid said, standing up straighter.
Brigitte walked curiously to the door opening and waited with her hand clasped together in front of her.
Mistress Medlov was a strange woman. Her eyes were cold, her stare blank, her words laced with vicious
meaning. One never knew what to expect from her. She was mostly tongue and cheek with all her
statements, but if one were to look very, very carefully, they could see that once she had to have been a
good woman. Why else with a man as gracious as Master Medlov had married her, besides her stunning
beauty and her exotic caramel features? In Prague, her beauty stuck out everywhere that she went. She
was the “la belle femme de couleur”.
The mistress dressed in very expensive clothes and jewelry and stomped around town chauffeured in the
most luxurious cars. She had a strange American accent. Southern is what Dmitry had once called it.
And all of the officials, politicians and businessmen who visited the Medlov chateau, swooned over her,
even though she treated them callously also.
But there was something else. All the help talked about it. Royal had presence, not stage presence, a
dark, mischievous presence like she was capable of just about anything. She was far from helpless, very
quick and too observant. Some said she was even more dangerous than Master Medlov.
She stared at the back of her lady’s wild hair now as Royal fumbled around, probably looking for more
valium.
“Oui, it is very hard for everyone, but…” she finally continued.
“Not everyone,” Royal corrected. A smile curved her pensive lips. Standing up with the necklace she
walked over to the Brigitte and grabbed her hand. “You are lucky to have a mother to care for, whether
she is dying of cancer or not. You’ll always have those memories.”
“Oui,” the maid agreed. “I am very blessed.”
“Take this home with you today. Pawn it and pay for whatever your mother needs. Quit your other job
and go home to spend more time with her before she’s dead, because she will die and if the treatments
aren’t working there’s not a damned thing that you can do about it. Meanwhile, I’ll talk to your gracious
boss, Dmitry, about giving you meaningful raise.”
“But Madame…I can’t. This necklace costs more than I make in a year.”
Royal gripped the woman’s hand firmly. “Then be smart, Briggy. Don’t tell anyone that I’ve given it to
you unless you have to.”
Brigitte fought tears. She was moved by the icy woman’s kind gesture. Mistress Medlov was like that
though. Completely unreadable.
“If you have a problem at the local jeweler’s, call me. No one will believe that you didn’t steal it,” Royal
looked away from Brigitte, who wiped her tears quickly.
“Merci,” the woman said softly.
“Don’t mention it,” Royal said curtly.
Like wind chimes on a gusty spring afternoon, Anya’s voice carried as she called for her mother. Royal
looked away from Brigitte to her beautiful daughter wide-eyed and smiling from ear to ear as she came
running as fast as she could through the bedroom doors. Suddenly, Royal lit up.
“Ahh, there she is.”
Royal caught her in her arms and picked her up to hold her close to her bosom. Rubbing through her
long, black silky hair, she kissed her daughter’s forehead and sighed.
“Mommy, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, baby. What are you up to?”
“I had breakfast with Daddy.”
“You slept in your room last night. I’m very proud of you, princess.”
“I cheated, Mommy. Daddy slept with me.”
Royal smiled and nodded to Brigitte to leave her alone to spend time with her one and only purpose, Anya.
“Anatoly is here,” Anya tattled. “He and Daddy are downstairs in the…the…study. They told me I had to
leave.”
“Really,” Royal said curiously. “What were they talking about? Can you remember?” She pulled the girl
closer.
“Anatoly said that he had a problem that only Daddy could fix.”
“Did he?” Royal placed her daughter on the disheveled bed. “And what did Daddy say?”
“He said I had to run along. Then he closed the big doors and locked me out.” Anya pouted. “Why did
he lock me out, Mommy?”
“Because he’s up to something, baby,” Royal took off her nightgown and threw it on the bed. She was
going to get down to the bottom of this right now.
“Let mommy get dressed, and I’ll come downstairs with you so we can say hello to your long lost
brother.”
Copyright 2010 : Latrivia S. Nelson