Chapter 5

Vlad accepted condolences as a rote over the past two weeks. His coronation was a simple affair, at his request and the public thought it was because he was still grieving. His true reason was because he hated everybody and didn’t want to spend hours fake smiling like a fucking circus monkey!

The girl he had upstairs, kept asking when she could go home. Apparently, he hadn’t made it clear enough to her that she wasn’t leaving. He put her off for an entire month while he got his affairs in order, then he called her to his father’s former study.

As soon as her eyes found him, she began with her questions. “Am I going home today? My mom is probably really worried I don’t understand why I can’t just call her and let her know I’m alright…”

“Sit down.” Vladimir ordered. He hated chatty fucking women! She sat in one of the chairs in front of the solid hand carved mahogany desk and folded her hands in her lap like a proper little miss. “Sign these.” He ordered placing documents in front of her.

“What are they?” She asked hesitantly.

“The reason you’re still alive! Sign it!” He responded angrily.

“I don’t understand…I’m a minor I’m not allowed to…”

“Oh, for fucks sake!” Vladimir cursed, “This makes you my ward. It gives you a new identity.”

“What’s wrong with my old one?” She wondered aloud, and he completely lost it! He smashed the chair next to her into the wall making her jump. He then pointed in her face as he threatened “Listen to me, you stupid cunt! Because of my father’s dirty little secret, I have two options, this…” he shook the papers in her face.” …or put you with Boris in the incinerator! Decide now because I am tired of looking at you!”

“Please let me call my mother.” She wept softly but he impatiently slammed her head into the desk.

“Sign the fucking papers, I don’t have time to waste on you! Just sign it!” Vlad screamed at her.

“Where?” She asked tearfully, wising up finally and Vladimir shoved a pen painfully into her hand then he pointed to the signature lines. She signed wherever he pointed.

“Get out! You weak American cunt! Out!” He shouted, and she ran out of the room.

*********************

I cried not because of the pain from the cut in my head but because the hope I had of going home for the past month just died. I didn’t even know what I signed, and I was afraid to ask what my new identity was. To think I thought he saved me. I was so stupid! What was he going to do with me now? He obviously didn’t like me and wished I was dead. Why didn’t he just kill me? He’s probably planning an even worse fate. I need to get out of here!

I got up and went to the window. Was it always snowing here? Where were the other houses? The only other buildings I discovered were parts of this one. A barn, a storage shed and two other buildings I couldn’t identify. Supplies were delivered to the castle, everything they needed was brought to them. My jailer would never have to leave if he didn’t want to.

To make matters worse, I spotted wolves circling the property. So not only did I have to surpass my jailer and the cold but now fricking wolves! No wonder no one was worried about me running away. It was a suicide mission to do so. That meant I had to call for help and the only phones I saw were in that office and on the wall in the kitchen. There were always people in the kitchen, so that left the office.

At least I already knew he was barely home, so it was just a matter of getting in when everyone was asleep. I was more relaxed now that I had a plan of sorts. I winced as I gingerly touched the growing knot on my head, what the hell is his problem? I wondered. I didn’t ask to come here! Going by his words, I don’t think he likes Americans or black people for that matter.

I released a sad chuckle. In America I looked too white, here I’m too black. I find my blackness after I lose my identity. How ironic! My head hurts! And I want to go home! Frick, it! I want my mommy!

The next day a team of people entered my room. I was dragged out of bed and a doctor inspected the cut on my head and asked no questions. In the years to come this would be the norm but now I wasn’t used to being abused so I spoke out. He spoke no English and I no Russian, so my pleas fell flat. I was measured and given a schedule written in English. On top of the list was breakfast 7.am. Going down the list I saw Russian tutoring along with etiquette and standard subjects I would normally take in school. He was having me educated it seems, I should be grateful, but all this information did was drive home the fact I was never leaving this place.

Sticking to the schedule was mandatory. I wasn’t allowed any leeway to change it, another reminder of my status as a prisoner. If I was late to breakfast or any meal I didn’t eat till the next one, missing any sessions with my tutors resulted in double the work and less time to do it and failure to speak only in Russian and complete assigned homework, met with a beating. Needless to say, I learned to speak Russian very quickly.

Thank God, I was a straight A student, so I was able to keep up with the Maths, English, Geography, Music (which by the way included ballroom dancing) and Science, Home Economics but I had new subjects they expected me to excel in from day one. Russian history, Latin, (I will never use this. Why were they teaching it to me? I don’t know but wouldn’t dare complain.) German (Again why?) Economics and Russian Literature.

Exercise was also strongly encouraged but it strangely was the one subject I looked forward to every day. Besides the simple calisthenics, there was swimming but unfortunately it was done in freezing water which got colder every week to acclimate my body to Russia’s weather. The fun part of this was horseback riding. I was never all that fond of horses but when you don’t have access to a car and trapped in frozen hell, it was a means to escape.

With the Prince gone, I pushed myself each week to get this reward, one-hour horseback riding. After the first week of being frozen with cold and my butt cheeks numb from pain, I still couldn’t wait for the next week. Especially since the Prince’s office, I sadly discovered, was locked at night. I was kept so busy during the day and the staff was always about, it was my only chance to try.

I was getting desperate though. And he wasn’t here. I had to find a way to get in the office and return to the ballroom before the next tutor arrived. I usually had a ten-minute break after the morning session and the office was almost half a wing away from the ballroom. It would have to do.

At precisely 10:05am my Russian tutor left and as custom a maid entered almost immediately after with a tea tray. She would return for this when she brought lunch. I watched her leave counting the seconds then I hastened to the door, peeping through the opening until she was well away. I dashed down the hall ducking into rooms while mentally counting how much time I had left. There was a long open stretch to the office and the chance someone passing by could see me, but I had to take the risk.

Scary heartbeats later, I was in the office so happy I started jumping up and down fist pumping in the air. I skidded to the phone and my hands shook as I picked up the receiver. I didn’t know how to call overseas so I called the operator.

“Operator?”

Oh man was I glad for those three months of Russian tutoring now!

“I collect call the USA!” I spoke shakily, and it wasn’t perfect but once it got the job done, I really don’t care.

“USA? Where?

“Queens New York, 1 847 56… Hello?” I toggled the phone. “Hello?”

“I won’t tell him, and you go back okay?” A female voice said in broken English. It was the one he called Kateya, the same bitch who set me up in the basement, she held the cord in her hand. As much as I hated that bitch, I needed my freedom more, so I begged.

“Please let me call my mom. I’ll go back…”

“You seem to think I have say.” Kateya mused aloud. “None of us have say. Only the Prince can say. Disobedience means punishment. You disobey, you get punished. I disobey I get punished. I no get punished for you! Go back!”

Like any teen that can’t have their way I threw a tantrum. I didn’t care about her petty problems, I wanted to speak to my mother. I want her to know I’m alright and I’ll come home. I screamed, throwing the phone at her.

“LET ME CALL MY MOM! YOU CAN’T KEEP ME HERE! I WANNA GO HOME! I HATE IT HERE! I HATE YOU! DON’T TOUCH ME!”

The last was said to the footmen who had come and were now picking me up bodily as I cursed (Sorry mom.) and threw a royal fit. I wasn’t even given a break to calm down. I was carried back to the ballroom and deposited there like nothing happened. I pounded at the door and the tutor began the lesson as though I wasn’t screaming my lungs out.

After what felt like hours of screaming, which was actually ten minutes, I finally calmed down to realize the tutor was still writing on the whiteboard as though the lesson was progressing. It was funny. I started to laugh and laugh and pull at my hair and the fancy clothes he bought, and I took my chair and slammed it into the whiteboard. The tutor simply ducked then picked up his things and walked out.

Once the tutor was gone, they opened the door to let him out, I collapsed on the polished marble floor staring up at a Michelangelo like ceiling complete with diamond chandelier. I wanted to destroy it. I wanted to burn this house down! But I was so tired and frustrated from my outburst that I fell asleep instead only to be woken with a sharp kick to my ribs.