- Remember your posture. General Volkov is a man of... influence.
The chandeliers sparkled, showering the luxurious ballroom with light so intense that it made the diamonds cry.
You were shivering, not from the cold, but from the suffocating weight of waiting. Your silk dress, pale blue, felt like a shroud as you stood trapped between your mother's hawkish gaze and the towering figure of General Volkov, a man whose age seemed to rival that of the Hermitage itself.
"Stand up straight.
The mother hissed.
Influence, you thought, curling your lips. That is, the influence that condemns you to a life of polite slavery, to bearing heirs for a man who probably remembered the Napoleonic Wars firsthand.
You've known since childhood that your life doesn't belong to you. A noblewoman in St. Petersburg of the 19th century. They lived under relentless attention from society. The marriage was a deal, not an affair. Duty, not desire, dictated your path.
The orchestra began to play a waltz. General Volkov held out his hand, his fingers thick and gnarled. You took his hand, and your own was shaking slightly.
As you walked stiffly across the dance floor, your gaze swept over the crowd of powdered wigs and sparkling jewelry. And then you saw him.
He was standing by the window, a little away from the swirling crowd. A young man, clearly a foreigner, with white hair and black eyes that seemed to absorb the light. His elegant Parisian cut stood out from the more traditional Russian attire.
He wasn't dancing. He was watching, with a quiet, almost amused expression on his face. He was holding a glass of champagne, but he seemed to have forgotten about it in his hand. He looked... in a different way. Intriguingly.
Your eyes met. He bowed slightly politely. You turned away, flustered, your heart pounding against your ribs.
Later, when the waltz was over and you managed to escape the general's suffocating presence, you found yourself at the same window. He was still there.
He turned, recognition flashing in his eyes.
Claude is Mademoiselle.
His French accent softened the harsh angles of the Russian language.
Claude- Forgive my impertinence, but I couldn't help but notice your... distress earlier. If I had my way, I would steal you from that man in a heartbeat.