The Ice Swan

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The night burned red with the flames of revolution.

Shots ringing out. Cannons exploding. People screaming. The Bolsheviks came intent on death with anarchy in their iron fists.

Her Serenity the Princess Svetlana Dalsky hurried down the corridor of the Blue Palace carrying a travel case that had been packed for weeks should this very scenario arise, not daring to use a single candle lest it draw attention. The dozens of windows reflected the red sky, turning the drapes and carpets and ancestral portraits to stains of blood. The rebels would soon be at their front door, and not even her father’s protection unit of White Guards could hold them back. The time for that was over.

She slipped into her younger sister’s chamber still cloaked in darkness and moved to the bed. A weak candle on the bedside table illuminated Marina’s sweet face relaxed in worriless sleep.

Svetlana set her case down and shook her sister’s shoulder. “Get up, Marina.” Marina moaned and flipped over, her hair like dark honey across the lacey pillow. “Get up!”

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