This was not the first time James had done this. He’d been married before to the princess of England a few years back that resulted in his beautiful four year old daughter but he needed a legitimate and proper male heir. When his wife died two years ago, he’d expected to be married off already, but then the war with Russia broke out and James could not find the time to marry a suitable wife.
The defeat against Russia was along and hard one, almost all the resources of France had been depleted but the king was dead and when his son surrendered, he propositioned that James marry his sister, Princess Nina. He’d never met the woman before but he knew that she was quite young, much younger than he was and unmarried.
His people were angry and displeased. How could he marry a woman whose family caused such problems in France now? France may have had the military power Russia didn’t have but they have the food and resources France needed. There was no other way and James knew that he had to marry the woman.
So here he was, dressed in his regal military outfit, waiting for his bride-to-be to make her way down aisle towards him. Casting a glance at his brother who stood beside him, James nodded his head and when the piano started to play, James stood straighter and waited. He was admittedly nervous as he wondered what his future wife was going to look like.
The sky, dark and gloomy, seemed indicative of the mood as Princess Nina Ilyinichna Rostova stood basking in her reflection. Her stomach wretched a little as she thought of the day ahead, sinking into her shoes at the thought of leaving everything she knew and loved behind. As Tsar Alexei’s only daughter, she had been educated in such things as finding a suitable match, prepared herself for the inevitability of securing strong foundations between her country’s allies yet that was before everything had fallen apart.
Her gender had played an intrinsic part in her ignorance, as her father and brother would say ‘little girls didn’t get to go war’ so she remained safe inside her castle walls, free from the pain and anguish of battle. Although, when she was younger, their advice had remained unheeded especially as far as the midnight bouts with her fencing master were concerned, hidden away under the guise of her lessons on diplomacy. As the war with France didn’t seem to be drawing to a natural end, the Russian princess remained dutiful to her people, caring for their every need as best she could, drawing upon her own lessons in charity to keep them fed —... until things took a turn for the worse.
When news came of her father’s death and Russia’s inevitable surrender, the princess drew upon the strength and resilience of her people to keep from falling apart. They had lived through their own personal wars, shared in her grief and still, they persevered. Although her country’s surrender carried its own sacrifice, especially for its own princess. Determined to heal the wounds between Russia and France, the new Tsar, her own brother, decreed an alliance be made among the two warring countries — of the matrimonial kind. At twenty-five years old, Princess Nina seemed too old a maid to be married off but there were no other solutions to be found for the sake of diplomacy so the match was made.
At mere minutes later than expected, Princess Nina was finally considered by her strange new chorus of ladies-in-waiting to be “an enviable vision”. Letting the skirt of her dress of the prettiest kind of creamy satin skim way past her ankles, she stepped across the marble floor of the church carefully before meeting Tsar Nikolai, holding onto his arm just as she was supposed to do while the gentle swell of music set the definite pace for the two of them.
‘For Russia..’ She thought, bracing herself along her brother’s confident arm. It seemed all the countries of the immediate world had gathered to witness such an alliance being made, a spectacle she was sure they would not want to miss. Still, that thought alone wasn’t enough to quell the butterflies settling in the pit of her stomach as she looked ahead of her, trying to make out the beginnings of her new husband. Hidden underneath the delicate, paper-thinness of her veil, another symbol of her heritage, a gentle slither of tears cooled her cheeks as she finally got the chance to see him, the seriousness of such a situation finally sinking in. Handing herself off with her brother’s whispered blessings, she gave the King her warmest of smiles, a minor consolation for stealing him away for the rest of his life. From her diminished height, he looked handsomely dressed in his nation’s regal uniform and nothing at all like she pictured. Still, a few more stolen glances and the ceremony was more than ready to begin.
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