11. A Strangers Body

Chapter eleven

A Stranger's Body

Mila

I could sense disapproval radiating from Han as we walked back to our room in silence. As soon as he closed the door behind us, I rounded on him.

"What was that about?"

"What do you mean?" He tried to take my hand, but I shook him off.

"You weren't going to let me go." As though he had any right to let me do anything. As though he were my master, my lord.

"I never said that."

His voice was quiet, collected. By the Blood, couldn't he ever show his anger? He made me feel like a shrew. I crossed my arms and glared at him, unspeaking.

"You've barely recovered," he said. "This is no time for you to travel across the country."

"It's been nearly two months! I'm recovered. You can't keep treating me like I'm made of porcelain!"

"We're a family, Mila. That means we stay together." He sounded so sure of himself. So calm.

"We don't have a family!" He flinched back, but I didn't stop. "Miroslav took that away from us when he let his soldiers run rampant over the country. He deserves to pay for what he's done, and I have as much right as you to make him."

"I didn't swear loyalty to the tsar for a chance at revenge!" he shouted.

Good. I'd finally broken through that mask of calm. I stared him down, daring him to fight.

He took a deep breath and continued, quieter. "I did it because Borislav is the best leader for the country. Miroslav is a danger to the tsardom, and to our family." He nodded as I opened my mouth to speak. "Yes, Mila, we're a family. The two of us, even without a child. Killing Miroslav won't bring our son back, and getting yourself killed in some senseless attempt at revenge just gives him more opportunity to hurt us."

"This isn't about me!" I hissed. "The tsar believes I can best serve him at court. I agree with him."

He took a seat on the bed, rubbing his neck. "I don't want you to leave me, Milochka."

How dare he make me feel guilty? "You mean like during the last uprising, when you left me for months? And while you're following the tsar across the country, what am I supposed to do? Sit at home and pray? It's not like we have children for me to care for."

"I'm worried." He sighed. "I'd feel better if you were at home, where I know you're safe."

"You mean safe at home like I was when those men attacked me?"

He closed his eyes, a gasp of breath escaping his lips, and I felt a rush of regret. I'd lied to him about the attack so he didn't have to bear the blame for what had happened. It wasn't fair for me to throw it in his face like that.

I sighed and forced my voice to soften. "I'd feel better if you were at home, too. Will you stay?" He wouldn't. That wasn't who he was.

He gathered me into his arms and leaned in to kiss me, but when I tensed, he pulled back.

"I don't want to lose you."

"It's just a few months," I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "You'll be so busy with the tsar that you won't have time to miss me."

"Just…be careful."

His task would be the more dangerous one, raising an army, fighting a war. Shouldn't I be the one worrying? I slipped out of his grasp. "The tsar's waiting." Before he could stop me, I left him alone.

The door to the tsar's room was open. He sat in an armchair at the window, facing away from me. I knocked on the doorframe, and he turned, smiling warmly.

"Mila! I didn't expect you so soon. Please, have a seat. May I offer you a drink?"

"No, thank you, your majesty." I took the chair opposite him and looked around the room. It was well furnished, but far from ornate. A writing desk, a table, and a few chairs and stools made up all the furniture. Through an open door on the far wall, I saw a simple four-poster bed. Not exactly a fitting dwelling for a tsar.

He followed my gaze. "You must be wondering why, in the baron's castle, I would be living such a simple life."

"I wouldn't dare to presume to ask."

He poured himself a drink. "Nevertheless, you were wondering."

I gave a small smile of assent.

"You know the events of Barbezht, of course. As my brother's reinforcements arrived, I was prepared to call a retreat. My commanders, however, predicted that even with a retreat, we would be followed and slaughtered by the overwhelming number of fresh troops at Miroslav's disposal. They sent a man to pull me from my horse and see me to safety, willing or no." His face darkened. "They were right. Once I was safely off the battlefield, they called for a retreat, but they were run down and killed almost to a man. None of my advisors survived. I escaped to Andinor, where Ilya Sergeyevich was serving as the Inzhrian ambassador.

"I waited there in hiding. Finally, Ilya was able to get news to me. My cause was defeated, all my men dead, and I was rumored to have fallen on the field." His gaze grew distant. "That was a dark time for me. The death of my father, followed so closely by estrangement from my mother and brother—not that we'd ever been close—and the destruction of all I held dear…" He shook his head. "I vowed to Otets that I wouldn't live a life of luxury while my people suffer under my brother's rule. I asked Him for a second chance to defeat my brother and give new glory to the Blood."

"And you will," I said softly, moved by his story. I could imagine how the tsar had felt, cut off from all his friends and family, trapped in a foreign land with no companions.

"Otets judges rightly. He's granted me the opportunity I sought. I spent the following years traveling from country to country, trying to raise support to return to Inzhria as word of my brother's misrule spread. No one would join me, and at last I realized that I would have to return without allies. As the true Heir of the Sanctioned, I had to trust that Otets would guide me, and so here I am, ready to take my rightful place. The people will rally to me; you yourself are proof of that. With your help, the help of my people, together we'll take what I am owed."

"Otets willing." I touched my forehead in a gesture of reverence.

"Otets willing." He set down his drink, still full. "And with that in mind, Ilya's wife, my cousin Heli, will prepare you for your time at court. Her intentions are good, so I'll ask you to forgive her aggressive exterior. She's merely trying to protect me." He smiled wryly, as one would at the mention of an overprotective sibling. "She'll teach you your role and anything you'll need to know in the capital."

The tsar stood and walked across the room, taking something from a small basket on the desk. He returned with a glass bottle and a small leather pouch. "You need two things from me. First," he held up the bottle, "this is for emergencies. I pray you have no need to use it, but I would be remiss not to send it with you." He looked earnestly into my eyes. "You must not allow yourself to be captured. I cannot over-represent the importance of this. You must not allow yourself to be captured. My brother will torture you and make you reveal all you know about me and my cause. This is a matter of life and death, not just for you, but for the entire tsardom."

I was glad I hadn't eaten much at dinner as my stomach did flips.

"It will cause instantaneous, painless death. If you believe someone has discovered you, you must find a way to get them to consume it. And if you are captured…"

"I'm to drink it myself." I swallowed nervously. I was willing to take the risk of going to court, but if Han found out the tsar had asked me to kill myself rather than risk capture, he would do anything to stop me. He'd probably lock me in the house until the war was over, with Anna and Yakov as jailers. "I understand."

"Only use it if there are no other options, but keep it with you at all times. You may wish to sew it into your clothing to keep it hidden."

I took the bottle and placed it in my apron pocket. The tsar picked up a long white staff from behind his chair and opened the leather pouch. He took out several long black hairs.

"Second," he said, "there is the matter of your appearance."

"My appearance?" I looked down at my clothes, and my hand went to my headscarf. Surely a change in wardrobe would be addressed by the baroness or someone less important. The tsar himself didn't need to concern himself with such trivial matters.

"While unlikely, we wouldn't want you to be recognized at court. Sofia Stepanova, your new identity, is from Tsebol. The baroness will ensure you can answer for your background—that is, Sofia's background—but you must have Sofia's appearance as well as her knowledge." He wrapped the hairs around the head of his staff. "You should remain seated. The effect can be slightly disconcerting, I'm told."

"Is…" My voice cracked. I swallowed and began again. "Is Sofia Stepanova a real woman?"

"She was. She died in the recent outbreak of Moon Fever." At my look of distress, he waved a hand. "Fear not. She was a private woman, with few connections. Taking her identity will harm no one and help many."

I bit my lip to quell the nerves and nodded. The tsar touched the staff to my forehead. A tingling sensation ran through my body, and I doubled over with nausea. My vision blackened.

After a moment, my eyes cleared, and the tingling stopped. The tsar stood before me, a cup in his hand. "Apologies. I should have given you more time to prepare. Drink this; it will help."

I took a large drink. It was medovukha, and the taste of honey and the burn of alcohol in my throat washed away the lingering nausea. Once I regained my bearings, the tsar handed me a small silver mirror.

I stared at the stranger looking back at me from inside the glass. Long eyelashes framed teardrop-shaped eyes, and my skin had darkened several shades. I nervously licked my new, full lips and ran a hand over my cheek.

How had the tsar done this? I knew he had magic—as descendants of Otets, all the Sanctioned had incredible powers—but I'd never imagined something like this.

What was Han going to say?

Most importantly… "Is this permanent?"

"In a sense." The tsar removed the hairs from the staff and placed them back in their pouch. "I can undo it, easily, upon your return. And of course, my death would undo any of my active spells, this included. But it requires no maintenance, so it is permanent until I remove the spell or I die."

I bit my lip. The old habit felt strange in my new mouth. "How…?"

"How is it done?" He gave me a crooked smile. "That's a question for the philosophers, Mila Dmitrievna. The simplest explanation is that by the powers of Otets' Blood, which flows in my veins, I can sense the essence of something, what makes it what it is. I use my conduit," he gestured with the staff, "to grasp that essence and manipulate it. When I touched you with my staff, I transferred that essence, drawn from Sofia's hairs, onto you."

"Oh." That explained precisely nothing, but it wasn't my place to question the tsar. I'd been too presumptuous already.

"You'll be eager to spend your final night with your husband, I'm sure. I'll have supper brought to your room this evening. I won't see you again until your return, so I wish you success. Go with Otets, and return safely and soon."

My head was still reeling as I bowed. "I will strive to do you honor."

***

Han

Mila had been gone for hours. At first, I had busied myself reading, trying not to dwell on our argument, but as the afternoon lengthened, I grew anxious. She couldn't have been with the tsar all afternoon.

It wasn't uncommon for her to ignore me after a fight. Normally I would wait until she was calm enough to approach me, but with so little time left together, I didn't want to wait to seek her out. Who knew how long it would be until she returned from court and me from traveling with the tsar?

I made my way through the empty halls of the baron's wing of the castle, hoping to see Mila or someone who might know where she was. I peered into an open door and saw a dark-skinned young woman reading a book. She looked up, and her eyes widened at the sight of me.

"Apologies. I didn't realize this room was occupied. I was looking for my wife."

She bit her lip, looking almost guilty. Had I seen her somewhere before? Maybe she'd been at the market last time I was in Tsebol.

I gave a small bow. "I'll leave you to your reading." I turned to go, but she called after me.

"Han."

Had we met before? I frowned at her. "I'm sorry…?"

"It's me." She stood, biting her lip again.

That expression. It was just like— "Mila?"

Words rushed out of her in a tumble. "I didn't know he was going to do it. I went to see him, and he said we needed to do something about my appearance, and then he pulled out these hairs and put them on his staff, and the next thing I knew I was a different person. He said he can change me back as soon as I return."

I leaned against the doorframe for support. Opening my mouth, I closed it again without speaking.

"It won't be permanent," the woman in front of me repeated.

"Mila?"

"I…think so." She raised a hand to the cloud of tight curls on her head, and I noticed Mila's headscarf on the chair where she'd been sitting. "Strictly speaking, I suppose I'm Sofia Stepanova now. At least, my body is." As I stumbled to a chair, she twisted her hands together. "You could say something, you know."

"What do you want me to say?" I ran my hand over my face. "A little warning would have been nice."

"It's not like I knew it was coming," she snapped. Yes, that was definitely Mila. "If the tsar had told me he was going to do it, I would have told you."

"I'm sorry. It just surprised me, is all."

"Do you—do you like it, though?" She stepped back, watching my face.

I looked her up and down, but stopped short when I saw her pursed lips. "Of course," I said quickly.

"Hm." She sat down and picked up her book again, obviously disappointed with my reaction. "Well, you won't have to see me like this for long. The tsar will change me back when I return."

"No, really, Mila, I do. It's just…" I fumbled for the right word. "Different. I mean, of course I prefer you to this stranger. But I'll always love you, no matter whose body you wear." I grabbed her hand and pulled her to me for a kiss. It felt different, like kissing a stranger, but she didn't pull away.

"Will you come back to the room?" I asked as we broke apart.

She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, a gesture of uncertainty and desire that I hadn't seen from her in years. "Yes," she whispered.

I led her by the hand back to our room, racing from one emotion to the next. Anger at the tsar for changing her and at her for letting him. Pride that she would do what she felt was right no matter the consequences. Guilt that I couldn't protect her, and an aching need to be close to her.

We reached the suite, and she pulled me through the sitting room into the bedroom. She closed the door and locked it behind us, then threw her arms around me and kissed me fiercely.

I staggered at the weight of her embrace, wrapping my arms around her. What was happening? She hadn't let me touch her in weeks, had pulled away from even the most chaste of kisses. I pulled back, looking into her stranger's eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "If I'd known…"

"It's not your fault." Not her fault she'd changed. Not her fault those men had beat her so brutally that she couldn't stand to be touched. None of it was her fault.

She leaned in to kiss me again, and I pulled back. "Mila, what are you doing?"

She slid a hand underneath my shirt. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

I grabbed her hand, but she slid the other down my chest instead.

"This isn't you. You don't want this."

"Yes, I do." She looked up at me through heavy-lidded eyes.

Fuck, I wanted her. It had been so long, and that passionate look on her face, on that stranger's face, was so familiar, so like Mila.

I shook myself. No. It would be like being with a stranger. "You haven't let me touch you in weeks, Mila. You've hardly even let me kiss you. You can't expect everything to change just because you're…" I gestured to her new body.

She huffed and took a seat on the bed. "I just feel different, Han. In my body, as me, every touch reminded me of how they hurt me. But in this body, it's like all of that was erased. I feel like me again." Her voice, already deeper in the new body, turned husky. "And I want you."

The words sent a thrill of forbidden desire through me, followed by guilt and pain. My touch had hurt her, made her feel like those bastards were touching her all over again?

Something niggled at the back of my mind. It didn't make sense that a simple beating, however brutal, would make her respond like that. Did it?

What else could they have done? They couldn't have ra— I couldn't even finish the thought. She wouldn't have lied to me. They hadn't touched her like that.

She rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around my neck, twisting her fingers in my hair. "It could be months before we get to be with each other again. I don't want to leave things like they have been. Please."

I'd have to be a saint to resist her. With a groan, I let her pull the shirt over my head and run a hand down my muscled chest. Even her hands felt different, softer than Mila's garden-callused hands. She tugged my pants off, leaving me naked before her.

"Help me out of these clothes?"

I moved slowly, hesitatingly as I untied her apron and let it fall to the floor, followed by her skirt. Her shift clung tight to the new body, which was shorter and rounder than her own. I found myself looking away in discomfort.

She touched my cheek. "Look at me, Han." I did. "Please. Don't leave me like this."

I traced her new face. The eyes were different, but the expressions, the person behind them, were the same. "You'll come back to me, won't you?"

She pulled me down onto the bed next to her. "Give me something to come back to."

She kissed me again, then. Her plump lips tasted like honey. My hand roamed her body, reveling in the strange new sensations. Mila fit perfectly in my arms, but this stranger's body was soft, molding against me. Pleasure and shame warred within me. This wasn't my wife. How could I be finding enjoyment in a stranger's body? But it had been so long since we'd been together. She moaned as my fingers found a nipple.

I needed her. Desperately. I straddled her, deepening our kiss, pinning her to the bed.

She froze. Every muscle in her body went taut, and her breath came in short gasps.

I scrambled off the bed. Had I hurt her? Her eyes were wild and unfocused.

"Mila?"

She let out a whimper, but her gaze focused on me. She reached out, chin quivering.

Thank Otets. I'd expected her to push me away again. I gathered her onto my lap and pressed a gentle kiss to the small, textured curls on her head. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, breaths still short but growing more even. "I'm sorry. I just need a minute."

"You're safe." I rubbed circles on her back. "You're safe."

We lay there for a few minutes in silence. Gradually, the tension in her body eased and her breathing became normal. I leaned down to brush my lips against hers.

The moment our mouths touched, she pulled me in closer, deepening the kiss. Her tongue flicked out, and she wrapped her arms around my neck.

"What are you doing?"

"Continuing where we left off." She trailed a finger down my chest. Lower.

I bit back a gasp as she palmed my length. "You just panicked. We can't keep going."

"Says who?"

I gingerly removed her hand. "Mila, no. I'm not doing this. You're not okay."

"I am." She knelt next to me and kissed a trail along my shoulder. I shivered as her breasts brushed my arm. "I need this."

"If you need this, why did you panic?" I forced myself to focus on the words, even as all the blood in my body rushed to my cock. I had to be firm. Hold onto my resolve. Someone had to protect her from herself.

"I'm fine." She pushed me onto my back, straddling my waist.

"Mila…" I groaned as she kissed down my body. "We can't do this."

"Han." She positioned herself over me. "I'm fine."

I needed her so badly it hurt, but I couldn't do this. I rolled her onto the bed next to me and reached for my pants. "You're not fine, and I'm not going to pretend you are. You can't even have sex with your husband without growing hysterical. How do you expect to survive at court like this?"

"I don't expect to be having sex at court," she hissed.

"No, just risking your life." I pulled my pants up and tied them. Feeling less vulnerable now that I was partially clothed, I turned back to her. "It's only been two months since you were hurt, and you can still hardly bear to be touched. What do you think it's going to be like, spending weeks, maybe even months in the court of that monster, constantly at risk of being exposed? The only thing you're going to achieve is getting yourself killed. I won't allow it."

"Won't allow it?" Her voice rose, and she stood, gathering her own clothes. "I wasn't asking your permission. The tsar has work for me, and I have every intention of doing it. Just because you think I'm not strong enough doesn't mean I'm not."

"It's not that I don't think you're strong enough, Milochka." I reached for her, but she stepped away. "You're the strongest woman I know. But you're not ready for this, and I can't risk letting you go. I can't risk losing you."

"You don't get to decide what I'm ready for. You don't get to decide where I can go or what I can do." She threw her clothing on, the movements stiff with anger. "It's my choice, and I choose to take the risk."

With that, she threw the door open and stormed out, leaving me alone in the bedroom with my heart in pieces.