12-20-2017, 09:43 PM
Evelyn's was not the first female arm Nikolai led through these halls, but hers was perhaps the first one that occupied the fullness of his attention as he strolled. He was careful not to look at her too often, nor seek to guess her reaction with each new opulence that unfolded before them. Yet he tried to balance any false disinterest by casting smiles down at her on occasion.
This was his kingdom, if such territories still existed in the modern era. If such was true, he ruled here. The sureness of his direction in the complex of interconnected rooms and palaces spoke as much. If not, then the shadows of two Barrier Preator agents that followed nearby said the rest. Since the Atharim infiltrated what was arguably the most secure fortress in the world, they barely left him alone except on direct order. Mostly Nikolai was not in the mood to deal with the necessary commands that he be left in solitude. The Atharim infiltrated, they nearly killed him, and even now he could recall the terror that he might actually die at Regus's hand, but they failed. He did not die. Destiny simply would not allow it. The pattern planned by the universe would not allow it. Of that much, he was sure now.
He guided Evelyn through the palace he claimed as his own. The status and significance of their surroundings brought a gleam of pride to his piercing blue gaze. The halls were lavishly decorated, matching (and sometimes restored) to the splendor of the Russian royalty that preceded him. Leaders of every nation walked these halls at one point or another. But there was more to it than presence of history. Within the palaces and luxurious interiors, augmented by Evelyn on his arm, he felt as through they were transported five hundred years, maybe even five thousand years, into the past, two royals surveying their kingdom together.
Foolishness, he shook himself of the mentality. Too much had happened of late that filled his mind with reminiscence. Yet the invincibility that cloaked his aura could not be shaken. So much felt right. '
Time passed more quickly than he realized. Evelyn was a splendid conversationalist, and her genuine interest in the palace piqued at his inclination to share the history that enveloped them. In fact, as they circled through the Terem palace, strolled the Tsarina's throne room, and returned to the Tsar's grand throne room, where they first saw one another. He broke from her arm and paced forward, astutely aware of just how empty the grand hall was.
Suddenly, two seeming problems seemed to be solved by one brilliant idea.
"I'm going to sponsor a fundraiser for the Africans that are under the new governance of Jacques Danjou. Humanitarian aid for the cause. I'll have it in the palace. Let's start the auction with,"
he paused a moment as numbers filtered through his mind, "ten million a ticket, up to three-hundred tickets."
The limited number of tickets would sell off in less than a day, he was confident. For the chance to be in these halls after he proclaimed himself a channeler, and a god, then the nouveau riche would scramble over themselves for the chance to see him channel in person. Not to mention how he would prove his invincibility in the aftermath of the gruesome images of his wounds that plagued the news.
He approached her where she waited, quietly studying her reaction to what he was confident would raise three billion dollars in one night. Jacques would not be able to turn down that kind of money, and of course, with the cause benefiting his interests, he would be required to attend. That would practically cement their kindred relationship in the eyes of the world stage. The second problem was solved as he held out a hand, "Of course, if you will attend as my guest, I will gladly buy your own ticket. You can't decline, it is for a good cause after all."
A roguish smile hooked his lips. "Have you ever been to a ball?"
This was his kingdom, if such territories still existed in the modern era. If such was true, he ruled here. The sureness of his direction in the complex of interconnected rooms and palaces spoke as much. If not, then the shadows of two Barrier Preator agents that followed nearby said the rest. Since the Atharim infiltrated what was arguably the most secure fortress in the world, they barely left him alone except on direct order. Mostly Nikolai was not in the mood to deal with the necessary commands that he be left in solitude. The Atharim infiltrated, they nearly killed him, and even now he could recall the terror that he might actually die at Regus's hand, but they failed. He did not die. Destiny simply would not allow it. The pattern planned by the universe would not allow it. Of that much, he was sure now.
He guided Evelyn through the palace he claimed as his own. The status and significance of their surroundings brought a gleam of pride to his piercing blue gaze. The halls were lavishly decorated, matching (and sometimes restored) to the splendor of the Russian royalty that preceded him. Leaders of every nation walked these halls at one point or another. But there was more to it than presence of history. Within the palaces and luxurious interiors, augmented by Evelyn on his arm, he felt as through they were transported five hundred years, maybe even five thousand years, into the past, two royals surveying their kingdom together.
Foolishness, he shook himself of the mentality. Too much had happened of late that filled his mind with reminiscence. Yet the invincibility that cloaked his aura could not be shaken. So much felt right. '
Time passed more quickly than he realized. Evelyn was a splendid conversationalist, and her genuine interest in the palace piqued at his inclination to share the history that enveloped them. In fact, as they circled through the Terem palace, strolled the Tsarina's throne room, and returned to the Tsar's grand throne room, where they first saw one another. He broke from her arm and paced forward, astutely aware of just how empty the grand hall was.
Suddenly, two seeming problems seemed to be solved by one brilliant idea.
"I'm going to sponsor a fundraiser for the Africans that are under the new governance of Jacques Danjou. Humanitarian aid for the cause. I'll have it in the palace. Let's start the auction with,"
he paused a moment as numbers filtered through his mind, "ten million a ticket, up to three-hundred tickets."
The limited number of tickets would sell off in less than a day, he was confident. For the chance to be in these halls after he proclaimed himself a channeler, and a god, then the nouveau riche would scramble over themselves for the chance to see him channel in person. Not to mention how he would prove his invincibility in the aftermath of the gruesome images of his wounds that plagued the news.
He approached her where she waited, quietly studying her reaction to what he was confident would raise three billion dollars in one night. Jacques would not be able to turn down that kind of money, and of course, with the cause benefiting his interests, he would be required to attend. That would practically cement their kindred relationship in the eyes of the world stage. The second problem was solved as he held out a hand, "Of course, if you will attend as my guest, I will gladly buy your own ticket. You can't decline, it is for a good cause after all."
A roguish smile hooked his lips. "Have you ever been to a ball?"