Braxton's Century: Volume 2

KREMLIN MASSCRE! The imperial co-regents, Grand Duke Prince Maxim and Grand Duchess Princess Valentina, are hosting a banquet for three hundred nobles in the Kremlin Palace’s Hall of the Order of St. Alexander Nevsky.A table covered in gold-flecked cloth runs the length of the white and gold gilded two-story hall. Gold plates, goldware, and shimmering Baccarat glasses lay before the bejeweled women, and men, overdecorated in ribbons, medals, and corded aiguilettes.The Orchestra plays on.Well into the evening, many are toasting and heralding Maxim and his co-regent Valentina. The imperial cousins graciously accepting the praise, and of course, returning equally superficial accolades.The most vociferous of the fawning noble soon will begin to feel less than welcome at the imperial féte… Maxim smiles down the length of the table forested with golden candelabras. From high above, massive, gilded chandeliers hold hundreds of flickering candles alongside thousands of dangling faceted crystals.Grand Duchess Valentina, seated at the table’s far end, catches Grand Duke Maxim’s eye. Her facial muscles tightening as her countenance turns to ice. She nods. The time has come to extract revenge and rid the crown of a festering cancer.Maxim rubs his shoulder; the shoulder once injured by an assassin’s bullet. An assassin known to many assembled at the table.Several nobles take note of his action, then tug at their collars and swallow hard. Some chatter nervously; some in a higher pitch. Several exhibiting lines of sweat running over their foreheads and dancing across their cheeks. It is the fervid hushed tones emanating from the damned that permeates the room.Maxim raises his glass, staring down the table toward the Grand Duchess Valentina. She acknowledges his lead and also raises her glass. Simultaneously, they sip from their flutes, return them to the table and continue the conversation with their respective dinner partners.The orchestra continues playing.Twenty-eight of the one hundred Imperial Guards, flanking the vast hall, march up behind fourteen noblemen and their wives.The orchestra continues playing.Conversations cease, except those Maxim and Valentina are having with nobles seated nearby.Maxim, taking note of the pause in conversation among the guests, shouts out, “Please, continue!”The fourteen nobles and their wives rise as the guards draw back their chairs. There is no fuss, no screaming, no pleading, fainting or theatrics. They know their fate.The orchestra plays on…