September 1907
The scratching of pen against paper was the only sound in the room. Nicholas sat behind his desk, a stack of documents spread neatly before him, each page aligned with deliberate precision. Reports, memoranda, correspondence from ministers, each demanding attention and carrying its own weight.
He read one in silence, eyes moving steadily across the lines, then set it aside and reached for the next. Outside the tall windows, the sky was pale, the last warmth of summer already beginning to fade into autumn. The light filtered softly into the room, catching the edges of polished wood and the gold trim of the furnishings.
Ordinarily, he would have found comfort in reading through the reports, as they gave him something to occupy his mind. But today, he did not. His hand paused briefly over the next document as a knock sounded at the door. He signaled to his attendant, Boris.
Boris bowed slightly at once and called out, "Come in."
The door opened, and a guard stepped inside. Nicholas relaxed slightly when he realized the guard had only come to inquire about dinner, not to report on the results of the Duma election. After Boris answered on his behalf, the guard bowed and stepped back out.
Nicholas set the documents aside. He could no longer focus on the reports. The election results from across the empire were to be tallied today, and he could not help but feel tense as he awaited the outcome.
He had dismissed the Second Duma months ago, under the careful planning and execution of his Prime Minister, Stolypin.
The decision had not been made lightly. The chamber had grown increasingly defiant, filled with men who seemed more intent on challenging the authority of the crown than governing the empire itself. Debate had turned into obstruction. Reform had been twisted into agitation. What had once been tolerated as a necessary concession had become, in his eyes, a liability.
And so, it had been dissolved, with sufficient justification, of course. His Prime Minister's planning and execution had been superb, to say the least. The reaction from the people had remained contained, far from the violence and upheaval that might have followed such a decision. The radicals had called for another revolution after the dissolution of the Second Duma, but the response had been minimal compared to the unrest of 1905.
To Nicholas and his ministers, this could only mean one thing. The tide of revolution across the empire was finally beginning to recede.
Afterward, the electoral laws had been altered, quietly, but decisively. The influence of peasants, urban workers, and non-Russian populations had been significantly reduced, while greater weight was given to landowners and the wealthy classes, those whom his Prime Minister, Stolypin, believed had a stronger stake in the stability of the empire.
Nicholas had approved of such changes. He had no desire to see another Duma dominated by radicals and left-wing supporters. He was well aware that what he had done stood in contradiction to the existing Fundamental Laws of the Empire, and yet he had sanctioned it all the same, as he believed it to be his right, his duty, to decide such matters for the empire. Fortunately, the backlash had not been too severe. Some had called it a coup d'état orchestrated by his Prime Minister in coordination with him, but he did not care, so long as it was done and no further revolution arose among his people.
If only he could just dismiss the Duma entirely and return to the system that had governed Imperial Russia before the upheaval of 1905.
He shook his head slightly, dismissing the notion. It was too late for regret. All he could do now was move forward.
Nicholas leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers resting against the armrest as he waited for the results to be delivered to him. Now, all that remained was to see whether all the decisions he had made had borne fruit.
His Prime Minister, Stolypin, had thus far carried out his plans and fulfilled his promises superbly. Nicholas held high hopes that the election results would be favorable to them, if not entirely so, then at least better than the first two.
He glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was nearly dinner time. He had promised his wife that he would join them for the evening meal. It seemed he would only hear about the results afterward. He was about to rise when another knock sounded at the door. He sighed softly and nodded toward Boris, who promptly allowed the guard to enter.
"Prime Minister Stolypin is outside, Your Imperial Majesty. Shall I let him in?" the guard said after bowing his head.
Nicholas looked at the clock again and decided to grant his Prime Minister three minutes to report the results of the election before dismissing him. He would hear the full account tomorrow.
He gave a small nod, and Boris answered on his behalf.
It did not take long for his Prime Minister to step into the office. From the man's posture, his composed expression, and the confidence in his stride as he approached, Nicholas already knew the outcome of the election, and he could not help but smile.
—-----
The rifle cracked.
The sharp bang echoed across the palace firing grounds, rolling into the distance as Alexei held his position, unmoving. His cheek remained pressed against the stock, his eye still aligned with the sights, his breath steady and controlled.
Seventy-five yards. That was the distance to his target. He did not lower the rifle. Instead, he waited for the general's command, and it did not take long.
"Hold," came the calm voice behind him.
Alexei exhaled slowly, maintaining his posture for a heartbeat longer before easing his finger off the trigger. Only then did he lower the rifle with measured precision and glance at the general behind him.
General Vladimir Nikolaevich Voeykov raised his field glass and observed the target.
A small, clean hole sat perfectly at the center.
The general gave no outward reaction, but the slight twitch of his eyes did not escape Alexei. And Alexei could not help but allow himself a faint smile at that.
Voeykov lowered the glass and looked at him for a moment before issuing the next command. "Again."
Alexei nodded and reset without hesitation. His stance adjusted slightly, left foot forward, right foot firm. The rifle rose smoothly into position, settling naturally against his shoulder as though it belonged there.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Then squeezed the trigger.
Another crack split the air around the palace firing grounds.
General Voeykov lifted the field glass once more. Another clean shot. Dead center.
His expression did not change, but the twitch in his eyes was more pronounced this time than before.
Alexei already knew that the general would always downplay his skill with rifles, or any other kind of firearm the man had him use. He did not know why, but it seemed that praising him or calling his talent with a rifle excellent was simply not part of the general's vocabulary. Still, he did not care what the general was trying to do. He already knew, from both before and now, from the man's subtle reactions and body language, that the general was impressed by his marksmanship. Sednev and Nagorny, standing off to the side, had also noticed the general's lack of reaction to the repeated bullseyes Alexei made every time they practiced, but they did not voice their thoughts, as he had instructed them not to. It was better not to make anything of such small details.
The general lowered his field glass and looked at Alexei once more before ending the training session then and there. "Let's end the shooting exercise here, Your Highness. It's almost time for dinner."
Alexei had no objections. He glanced at his pocket watch before replying. "Thank you, General. Next week again, then?"
General Voeykov nodded. "Yes. Next week, we'll cover military commands and discipline, Your Highness. I expect you to be on time for the lesson."
Alexei nodded in return. "No problem. If I'm late, just scold my attendants for not bringing me to the lesson on time, General."
He would have liked to point out that he had already learned military commands and discipline during his lessons with his uncle, but he chose not to. He was not yet close enough to the general, and he still had a favor to ask of him.
The general did not reply. Instead, he stepped closer and took the rifle from Alexei's hands without a word.
Alexei did not mind. He simply let go of the weapon and began removing his gloves, his thoughts already shifting to the matter he had been considering since earlier.
They walked side by side across the firing grounds, the guards and attendants following at a respectful distance.
Alexei glanced briefly at the general. "General," he began, his tone casual, almost offhand, "may I ask you something?"
Voeykov did not look at him, but he answered nonetheless. "You may, Your Highness."
Alexei slipped one glove into his coat and continued walking. "You know that my father has already approved the shooting competition I told you about before," he said. "It's just that I still haven't found anyone capable enough to organize such an event. I remember you mentioned that you supported the idea but wouldn't have the time to oversee it yourself."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"So I was wondering… do you know someone capable who could help organize it? I've asked nearly everyone in the palace, but the people they recommended didn't quite fit what I'm looking for. Do you know anyone?"
He had been searching for someone to organize the shooting competition, but he still had not found anyone he liked, or at least someone who understood what he wanted for the event. He had not expected it to be this difficult to find capable people within the palace itself.
His father had instructed him to organize the event himself or find someone on his own. It was a test of his capabilities, he knew that much. His father, Nicholas, intended to use this event to see whether he was capable of handling matters independently.
He liked the idea of promoting the event, especially since he intended to participate in it himself, but he knew that organizing it would be both time-consuming and difficult. He had not reduced the time spent on his hands-on training just to take on tasks like this. And so, over the past few weeks, he had devoted part of his time to finding someone capable of organizing the event. So far, however, he had found no one.
That was why he had turned to the general, hoping he might know someone suitable. Ideally, Alexei would have asked his uncle, Michael, to organize the event himself, but his uncle had recently caused quite a stir. His father and his uncle had yet to reconcile after their earlier dispute over the matter.
The general remained silent for a few steps after his question.
Alexei did not press him. They still had a long way to walk before they would need to part ways.
Then…..
"I know someone," Voeykov said at last.
"Really? Can you ask him to meet me? No… no… I'll have my attendant go to him instead. So, what's his name? How can I find him?" Alexei spoke almost in a single breath. He could not wait to meet this person.
He was already finding the task of searching for someone capable of organizing the event tiresome and had begun considering postponing it until he found someone suitable in the future. After all, it was not particularly important, just an idea he had come up with and wanted to see realized.
General Voeykov stopped walking, and Alexei halted as well, looking at him in puzzlement. The guards and attendants following them did the same.
Voeykov spoke calmly, "I did not say that I would bring or introduce him to you, Your Highness. I only said that I know someone."
Alexei would have liked to point out that what the general had said bordered on a capital offense, an insult to the Tsarevich of the Empire, and by extension, to the Tsar himself. Like the spoiled, entitled brats he had seen in the films from his first life.
Instead, he inhaled and exhaled quietly, calming his nerves and steadying the rise in his temper. It seemed he had grown accustomed to people giving him exactly what he wanted, everyone except his father and mother.
He already knew how difficult it was to befriend someone like General Voeykov. He had made inquiries before their first meeting and learned that the general was strict, disciplined, meticulous, and authoritarian, a man who could not be easily persuaded or swayed, even by those of higher noble rank, so long as he outranked them within the military.
A man like the General had almost no friends at court, save for those who valued his uncompromising work ethic like his father.
Alexei closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. He looked at the general calmly and gave a slight bow. "I apologize if I have offended you in any way, General. I simply became excited when I heard that you knew someone who could organize such an event."
The general looked at him for a moment longer, as if searching for any trace of anger or pretentiousness in his expression. Finding none, he gave a small nod.
"You did not offend me in any way, Your Highness," he said. "I merely pointed out that I did not say I would bring or introduce him to you. That is all."
Some of Alexei's guards, standing not far from them, were already casting the general angry looks for allowing the Tsarevich to bow to him, but the general seemed entirely unbothered by it.
Alexei nodded to the general. "Still, I apologize for assuming that you would introduce him to me right away, General. If I may be so bold as to ask, what would it take for you to introduce him to me?"
Voeykov smiled slightly. "They were right. You already understand subtle hints when someone wants something from you, Your Highness."
"Of course, General. I grew up in the palace, remember?" Alexei returned the smile.
This time, General Voeykov let out a quiet chuckle. "Right." He paused for a moment before continuing. "It is not much, Your Highness. I only ask that you do not participate in the competition, should you choose the man I introduce as the organizer of the event."
Alexei's eyes narrowed slightly at the general's request. That was one of the very reasons he wanted the competition to happen, to showcase his skills to the public. Well, not the general public just yet, but at least among the military and nobles who would attend the competition.
Still, he asked, "Why? You've seen my skill with a rifle. Surely you don't think I'm incapable of winning."
Voeykov shook his head. "I know exactly how capable you are with rifles, and with any other firearm, Your Highness. In fact, that is precisely why I do not want you to participate. I am certain you would win the competition without question, barring anything unexpected."
Alexei tilted his head slightly. "What is wrong with winning? Isn't the competition meant to determine who the best marksman in the Empire is? What would be wrong if that were me?"
Voeykov glanced briefly at the attendants and guards behind them before turning his attention back to Alexei. "When you first proposed this idea, you said you wanted to boost morale among the soldiers and provide them with rewards they deserve if they win. Now that you wish to participate, and given what you have demonstrated in our previous shooting exercises, I do not believe those benefits would reach them if you were the one to win, Your Highness."
He paused before continuing, his tone steady. "That is why I believe it would be better if you did not participate and instead allow the soldiers to compete among themselves."
Seeing that the Tsarevich had fallen into deep thought, he added, "Of course, if you did not mean what you said before, you may still proceed with your plan to participate. And I will still provide you with the information about the man I know who could organize such an event."
Alexei snapped out of his thoughts after Voeykov finished speaking. "It seems I have yet to explain the competition I have in mind clearly, General. Allow me to explain…"
He went on to outline how the competition would be conducted and how many winners there would be in each category.
"Of course," he added, "I only intend to participate in the first year. After that, I will no longer take part. You have my word."
"Is that so?" Voeykov rubbed his jaw thoughtfully before continuing. "It seems I was mistaken, Your Highness. I had assumed there would only be a single winner. I was merely looking out for our soldiers, those who might win the competition if you're not going to participate, since the prizes you mentioned could greatly help them and their families. Allow me to apologize." With that, he bowed.
Alexei paused. He had not expected that the general's objection to his participation came from a desire to ensure that the ordinary soldiers would receive the prizes he had promised, rather than seeing them taken by him, like some corrupt official who pledged rewards only to claim them for himself. He let out a quiet chuckle and waved his hand dismissively.
"Your apology is accepted, General. And as I mentioned, there will be two categories, for officers and enlisted soldiers. I will only participate in the officers' category, so there is no need to worry."
"Thank you, Your Highness," General Voeykov said, bowing once more.
"Anyway…" Alexei looked at him with a faint smile. "I didn't expect you to think so highly of my skill in shooting, General."
General Voeykov looked away after Alexei's remark, his gaze settling on nothing in particular. After a brief moment, he turned back to him and spoke.
"Your skill in shooting is superb and unparalleled, in my opinion, Your Highness. I have not seen anyone who could strike the same spot on a target repeatedly with such consistency." He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words. "I am simply not fond of praising your skills, or anyone's, for that matter. I have seen with my own eyes how praise can get into a student's head. It ruined one of my finest pupils. So…"
Alexei raised an eyebrow at that, but quickly relaxed his expression and gave a small nod. "I understand, General. I wasn't truly seeking your praise."
He shifted the conversation without hesitation, clearly unwilling to dwell on the subject. "Anyway…" he continued, "what is the name of the man you mentioned?"
General Voeykov smiled at him before resuming his walk. After a moment, he answered, "His name is Artem Zhakarov, Major Artem Zhakarov. You can find him in the military's logistics department, Your Highness."
Alexei nodded, committing the name to memory as he walked beside the general toward the palace.