I peered out of the windowsill to look at the chickens wandering around in their coops in the palace's farms. I marvelled at how they haven't tried to escape… yet. Or perhaps they have before? I couldn't even bear to stay in my room for a whole day, but I was grounded, for the umpteenth time this Jahr, for two whole weeks, in a room that wasn't mine. Understandable, with all the… illegal running around that I have been doing.
As I watched the chickens strut around in their own tiny little plot of land, I heard a soft rap at my door. I spun, my dull grey dress spinning along with me. I strode towards the door and waited. The stainless steel door inched open and a tray with delicacies and a teapot holding Jasmine tea was slid through the gap. I ignored the tray and stared down the servant who had brought the tray to me.
"News, Peter?"
"His Majesty saId he misses you, and he'll… let you go soon. Please be patient, good Tsarevna-"
"If he misses me, he'd have visited me at least once, but I haven't seen his face through the crack nor his feet step through the door, as of yet."
"Ah… I…" Peter stuttered, at a loss for words.
I breathed Out through my nose in frustration. "Enough. Be gone, and do your duties well, Peter." I waved him away.
"Yes, your Highness, I will." Peter bowed, locked the door once more, and his footsteps faded away. I let out a breath I didn't even know I had been holding. What was it Mamochka always said? To have faith and believe in the Slyevskaya, the Holy Book? That book sure wasn't helping much now.
I grabbed the tray and placed it on the bed, grabbing a cake from the tray and pouring tea into my mouth right after, dutifully ignoring the cup on the tray. I sat on the edge of my bed and sighed sadly. Did anyone care about me? No one, except good Peter, my manservant, came to visit. I didn't even get to see my ladies-in-waiting at all whilst I was 'grounded', though I had to pretty much do everything myself the moment I knew how to speak and write, so this wasn't particularly painful. I just… missed having them by my side. I finished the delicacies within minutes and left the tea on the bedside table to cool, as I continued to stand at the window.
The sky darkened and two bright blue moons gradually rose into the sky in place of the sun, and yet I still stood at the window. A cold gust of wind blew into the room through the window and I was jolted out of my reverie. I huffed and trudged to my desk to grab a piece of parchment, my quill and inkbottle. On it, I wrote:
The unfaithful find not what they seek,
Because the faithful hold it all
In their grip of faith.
I kept my quill and closed my inkbottle. Holding my parchment up against the moonlight, I admired the words. My handwriting was getting much better. I was sure that with gradual practice, my blocky letters would gradually straighten out into nice, elegant cursive letters. I sighed with satisfaction, placed the parchment on the table, and climbed into bed under the soft satin sheets.