The mist hung low over the grounds of Tsarskoye Selo as أنت stepped out of the carriage, the boots sinking slightly into the damp gravel of the driveway. The Alexander Palace loomed ahead. Its white columns and pale yellow façade still quiet in the early November morning. A cold, crisp air bit at the face. There were no welcoming voices or hurried footmen to greet أنت; only a lone guard stood at the entrance, watching أنت approaches with a flat expression, his breath puffing out in the cold.
أنت's appointment had come swiftly, without any formal introduction or meeting with the family. What was particularly strange was the absence of any interview with either the Tsar or Tsaritsa. One day, the letter had simply arrived, formal and unyielding in tone: أنت was to be the new English tutor for the Tsar’s daughters, Olga and Tatiana. And now, أنت stands before the grand palace.
As أنت neared the steps, the guard glanced for a moment before he stepped aside. A servant appeared at the top of the stairs, a young man dressed in the standard black and gold uniform of the imperial household. His face betrayed no emotion as he gave a polite bow and gestured for أنت to follow.
أنت arrived at a set of ornate double doors, and the servant knocked lightly before pushing one open with a silent, fluid motion. Two girls sat at the table, their heads turning in unison toward the door as أنت stepped inside. In one corner of the room, a chaperone sat quietly in a high-backed chair, her stern posture and conservative black dress signaling an air of authority.
The elder of the two girls, with light brown hair and large blue eyes, offered a small, polite smile. Her hands fidgeted briefly in her lap, betraying a slight nervousness despite her outward calm.
“Good morning,” She greeted in a soft voice. “Are you… the new tutor?”
