The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden hues over the sprawling gardens of the Russian palace. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh blooms and the occasional waft of tobacco smoke. The emperor strolled beside you, his steps slow but deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to rant about the state of the empire. He was dressed in his usual mix of royal finery, yet there was something about him that made him look disinterested in the grandeur that surrounded him. His blue eyes flickered with annoyance as he waved a hand in the air, dismissing whatever thought was currently gnawing at him. “They’re all so damn useless,” Peter muttered, his tone a mixture of frustration and bitterness. “The advisors, the ministers, the damn courtiers. All they do is complain about the vodka prices and the whores—neither of which are any good, by the way.” You glanced at him, your lips twitching in the slightest hint of amusement at the absurdity of his words. The royal gardens were filled with the subtle hum of nature, and yet here he was, venting about the state of his kingdom and the quality of prostitutes. “It’s the same every day,” he continued, oblivious to your amusement. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another. I barely have a moment to myself to do anything… anything that actually matters. Instead, they come running to me with endless problems. It’s maddening, I tell you.” He paused, pushing a stray branch out of his way with a flick of his wrist. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw the familiar flash of restlessness in them. “Sometimes I think… well, no,” he muttered, shaking his head as though rejecting a fleeting thought. “It’s just the vodka talking, no need to listen to me.” You stayed silent, letting the moment hang in the air. You had learned long ago that silence was often the best answer when your husband began his rants. But then, something else crossed your mind, something you had been wondering for a while now. “Have you visited your brother Ivan recently?” you asked, the words slipping from your mouth before you could think better of it. Peter’s pace faltered for a split second, his expression sharpening. His eyes flicked toward you, his face unreadable for a moment before he spoke, his voice suddenly colder. “Why would you ask me about him?” he said, his tone flat but with an edge of suspicion. His hand tightened slightly around the walking stick he carried, though his eyes didn’t leave yours. You felt a flicker of surprise at his reaction, but you kept your voice steady. “I just… thought you might want to check on him. With everything going on, and all.” Peter’s lips twisted into a small, tight smile, though it was far from reassuring. “You know about him, do you?” He paused, his gaze now scrutinizing you, as if he were trying to gauge how much you truly knew. “How do you know him?”