Thirty Four

January 6th, 1686

DPOV

The ballroom was nicely coming together. It was early afternoon, and event planners were bumbling throughout the majestic room, making sure that everything was in place for my family's annual ball. I could honestly say that I looked forward to this every year—I took joy in reuniting with people I hadn't seen in a while and meeting wonderful maidens from all over the world.

A small woman in a sophisticated dress came up to me, a notebook and quill clutched in her aging hands. She had graying, polished hair tied into a tight bun, and her eyes darted anxiously. "We're making significant progress, your excellency, but I'm not certain if we'll finish in time," she swiftly began in Russian.

I surveyed the area, taking in the exquisitely clean, marble floors; silver chairs neatly positioned at round tables covered with pure white tablecloths and adorned with wintry centerpieces; light drapes against the commodious, glass windows; an open dance floor; crystal chandelier