Free The Tsarina's Legacy by Jennifer Laam

Michael’s gaze, the corners of his eyes creased with concern.
    â€œCharlotte never made that claim for herself,” Veronica said quickly, raising her voice above the chattering Russians. She caught herself clawing the armrests and tried to relax her hands. “We call her Grand Duchess because she was the fifth daughter of Nicholas and Alexandra. But she never used the title.”
    â€œThis is concern,” Dmitry said.
    â€œAccording to your society’s own bylaws and regulations, the claimant’s position vis-à-vis a previous claimant or lack thereof doesn’t matter,” Michael said. “Section three, article five. You have read the bylaws, right?”
    Dmitry remained calm. Even being squished into the middle seat didn’t seem to faze him. “Of course we attempt to contact Laurent Marchand since he would claim throne before you. But he has been … not cooperative.”
    â€œHe’s a hermit. At least that’s how I picture him.”
    â€œAlso, why would any Russian want American on throne?” Dmitry said.
    â€œI’m a Romanov,” Veronica said. “I happen to be American by birth.”
    â€œWhat did Romanovs ever do for Russia? The gap between rich and poor was so wide we could not bear it. Royal family did nothing. Is it any wonder they are all murdered?”
    The horrific images came rushing back to Veronica’s mind: the daughters of Nicholas and Alexandra bleeding to death in the basement, bayonets puncturing their chests when bullets wouldn’t work, gunpowder clinging to the stale air, feathers from their pillows drifting to the hard floor. The last violent moments of the family’s life had always been vivid and disturbing, almost like a personal memory. Now that she knew those girls had been her great-aunts, the thought of it was even more devastating.
    â€œIs this really necessary?” Michael asked.
    â€œIt’s okay.” Veronica repositioned herself in the narrow seat, hardly a throne, but she tried to project a regal air, even when a bump of turbulence made her stomach pitch.
    â€œIf the current Russian government made move to provoke Americans,” Dmitry asked her, “whose side would you take?”
    She opened her mouth to reply and then snapped it shut again. “Shit.”
    â€œWe struggle with how you answer question. Just consider.”
    Veronica raised her hand. “No. I can answer now. I am not a part of either the Russian government or the American government. When I’m in Russia, I follow their laws. When I’m in America, I follow theirs. But I won’t be the mouthpiece for either.”
    â€œSo you remain out of politics?” Dmitry said. “How so? Reb Volkov broke Russian law.”
    â€œHooliganism? That’s a ridiculous law. It could mean anything.”
    â€œWho are you to say this is ridiculous law? Is not your country.”
    â€œI … I just know because … it isn’t right.”
    Dmitry frowned. “My apologies, but you will need to do better when you discuss Reb. I think you should speak of Russia as adopted homeland. It will sound pleasing to Russian audience.”
    Michael turned a page in the magazine roughly, ripping it. “I think she did well enough with your trick questions.”
    Dmitry frowned. “Trick questions? What is this?”
    â€œYou were the one who asked her to come to Russia. You knew she was American.”
    â€œI only want her prepared for questions journalists will ask. We will ready to make strong case. Otherwise will anything matter?”
    Veronica felt as though her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach. All of this might come to nothing after all. Perhaps this had all been a mistake and she was meant to stay in a cubicle in Bakersfield her entire life. At least it had been a steady paycheck. Stop it. You are meant to be here.
    Dmitry leaned over to retrieve a canvas messenger bag