January 9, 1907
They walked through the palace corridors at an unhurried pace, their footsteps echoing softly against polished floors worn smooth by time. Morning light streamed in through tall windows, pale but clear, catching on gilded moldings and marble walls. For Sednev, it felt as though the new year itself had swept something heavy out of his chest.
His Tsarevich looked… better.
No… too well.
The change had not been gradual. There had been no slow return of color, no careful rebuilding of strength over weeks of rest. It had happened almost overnight, so sudden that it had left Sednev unsettled at first, unsure whether to trust his own eyes. One morning, he had entered Alexei's chambers braced for the same familiar weariness, and instead found it gone.
The unhealthy pallor that had clung to the Tsarevich through the end of the year had vanished completely, replaced by a natural warmth in his complexion. His eyes were clear, alert, no longer dulled by exhaustion. His movements were steady and unguarded, his posture straight, his presence… solid. The quiet strength that had seemed to vanish before the new year had returned.
He had come dangerously close to informing the Tsar and Tsarina. One more sign of worsening health, and he would have done so, disappointment or reprimand be damned. His duty demanded it.
The thought of his Tsarevich quietly ruining his health under the lessons, responsibilities, and hands-on training far beyond what any child should do had haunted Sednev relentlessly.
And yet now, as they walked through corridors bathed in winter light, Sednev felt that fear finally loosen its hold. He did not know what had changed, nor what his Tsarevich had done to bring it about, but at least his Tsarevich's health had returned.
Alexei noticed the stare his attendant had been giving him.
He slowed, then stopped altogether, turning to face his attendant with a raised brow. "Sednev," he said dryly, "you've been looking at me strangely for the past several minutes."
Sednev stiffened. "Y-Your Highness?"
Alexei tilted his head, studying him with exaggerated seriousness. "If you're about to confess something," he added lightly, "I should warn you, I don't swing that way."
Nagorny coughed behind them.
While Sednev froze.
Then his face flushed crimson.
"No—! I mean—That's not—!" He cleared his throat hastily, bowing his head. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I was merely… relieved. You look much healthier day by day. And I was glad for it"
Alexei blinked, then laughed softly. "Is that all?"
"Yes," Sednev replied quickly. "That is all."
Amusement lingered in Alexei's eyes as he turned and resumed walking. "You worry too much," he said over his shoulder. "But… thank you."
Sednev followed, still embarrassed but undeniably relieved. He shot a glare at his partner, Nagorny, who was looking at him rather strangely.
They soon arrived before the doors to the Tsar's office. The guards straightened at once; one stepped inside to announce his arrival. When the guard returned, he gestured for Alexei to enter, and enter he did.
"Good morning, Father," Alexei greeted as soon as he entered.
Nicholas looked up from the papers he was reading and smiled faintly. "Good morning to you as well, my son. Come, sit."
Alexei moved forward and took the chair opposite his father's desk, sitting straight but relaxed. The office smelled faintly of ink and paper, familiar and steady. For a moment, Nicholas studied him, his gaze lingering longer than usual.
"I'm afraid your mother couldn't join us," Nicholas said at last, setting his papers aside. "She's occupied with your sisters and the ladies this morning."
Alexei tilted his head slightly. "I don't understand why she needs to be here."
Nicholas sighed softly, folding his hands atop the desk. "Because, my son, we wanted to ask you about your hands-on training over the past year, and whether you still wish to continue it this year. You'll be resuming that training this Monday, with the Okhrana no less. Your mother and I want to know if you would prefer to stop now and focus more on your studies instead."
He paused, his tone gentler. "As you know, we've noticed you've had little time for your friends lately. Your schedule has been packed to the brim every day. Your mother is worried, Alexei. She wants to know if this is truly how you wish to continue."
Alexei didn't answer immediately and thought about it.
It was true that the hands-on training had been squeezing his time lately, especially when it came to cultivation, rest, and other activities.
Cultivation, in particular, had suffered. What should have been long, uninterrupted sessions were reduced to short, carefully measured intervals, stolen in the early hours before dawn or late at night when he came back from his visits in the slums. Rest became something he rationed rather than enjoyed, and even moments meant for leisure were often spent thinking several steps ahead instead.
He felt the strain, but he couldn't come up with a convincing excuse to stop the hands-on training in the other ministries while remaining with the Okhrana without arousing suspicion. And now… his father had given him a chance.
Alexei looked at his father, choosing his words carefully.
"I want to continue my hands-on training, Father," he said evenly. "I've learned a great deal over the past few months. However, I'd like to request something."
He paused.
Nicholas did not speak at once. Instead, he studied his son for a moment, then gestured for him to continue.
"I would like to request permission to stop some of my hands-on training in the other ministries," Alexei continued. "There are departments where I've already learned what I can for now, or where the work does not suit me. I'd like to focus my hands-on training on the areas that are more relevant and suit me, rather than spreading myself too thin."
Nicholas leaned back in his chair, a faint smile touching his lips, as though both amused and thoughtful. "You're being very selective, my son," he remarked lightly. "Your mother would say that sounds suspiciously like you know exactly what you want."
Alexei met his father's smile with one of his own and said evenly, "Yes. I found out recently that I can't be good at everything. There are some areas I tried to excel in… but couldn't."
"Then shouldn't you try harder?" Nicholas replied, the faint smile still tugging at his lips. "You've only been doing hands-on training for a few months. Surely that's not enough time to decide you're unsuited for something."
Alexei hesitated, then let his shoulders drop.
The change was subtle but deliberate. His posture slackened, his gaze lowered, and the confidence he had carried moments ago seemed to drain from him. He let disappointment settle onto his features, carefully measured and convincingly restrained. Acting had become second nature to him by now.
"I knew you wouldn't approve, Father," Alexei said quietly. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have brought it up."
The room fell silent.
Nicholas studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He did not speak right away, merely watching his son as if weighing something unseen. The disappointment on Alexei's face lingered, carefully held, just enough to sell the moment.
At last, Nicholas sighed.
"Never mind," he said, waving a hand lightly. "I suppose we can do as you suggested."
Alexei lifted his head slightly, surprise flickering across his face, this time genuine enough to pass.
"Tell me," Nicholas continued, leaning forward, "which ministries have you found most difficult?"
Alexei answered without hesitation, listing them one by one. Some he framed as ill-suited to his strengths, others as redundant after what he had already learned. He spoke calmly, reasonably, never dismissive, careful to make it sound like the conclusion of honest effort rather than convenience. Nicholas listened, occasionally nodding, occasionally asking brief clarifying questions.
When the list was finished, the Tsar leaned back again, thoughtful.
"Well," Nicholas said at last, "we'll make the adjustments. There's no sense in forcing you to waste effort where it brings no return."
Alexei smiled brightly and inclined his head. "Thank you, Father."
Nicholas's gaze softened, and after a brief pause, he shifted the conversation to other matters. "With your schedule lightened," he continued, "there is one area I would like you to focus on more seriously."
Alexei straightened slightly, attentive.
"The military," Nicholas said. "You've had your introductory lessons, and my brother speaks highly of your discipline. But theory alone is not enough, especially for someone in your position. You need to understand command, logistics, and the realities of maintaining an army, not just in principle, but in practice.
"Normally, you would begin this kind of training around the age of thirteen, as I did," he continued. "But given your wit and eagerness to learn, I want you to start focusing on it now. I'll have someone arranged to serve as your instructor; my brother doesn't seem well-suited for that role."
"I understand," Alexei replied calmly.
It seemed he wouldn't gain much free time after all, but at least his military training was finally becoming more serious. He only hoped it wouldn't consume too much of his already limited time.
"Good," Nicholas said, nodding. "You have plenty of time vacant now, so I want some part of it redirected toward military studies, strategy, organization, and the structure of command. You won't be leading troops anytime soon, of course," he added lightly, "but you must be able to speak their language when the time comes. And make sure to tell me if it becomes too much for you."
Alexei put on a thoughtful look for a moment, then answered, "I think that would be beneficial, father. I'll make sure to learn a lot from the lesson."
Nicholas smiled faintly at that. "That's my boy. Don't worry, your lessons won't begin immediately. I'll arrange for them to start after our vacation, when spring arrives."
He glanced back at the papers on his desk, then looked up again. "Now that that's settled, let's talk about your publishing house. I hear it made quite a substantial profit last year. Have you seen the reports?"
Alexei followed his gaze to the documents on the desk, then replied, "I haven't met with Mr. Yurovsky yet, so I haven't. We're scheduled to meet tomorrow, though."
He paused, then looked back at his father with a hint of amusement. "The owner hasn't even read the reports yet, father. But it seems you already have."
"How wonderful." He added with mock annoyance.
Nicholas waved a hand dismissively, as if the matter were of no consequence. "It's only natural," he said. "When one hears that his son has suddenly become a successful businessman and a writer, curiosity is bound to follow."
Nicholas leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach, his expression bright with mirth. "And besides, as your father, it's my responsibility to make sure you're not being taken advantage of. Fortune attracts schemers as readily as it attracts praise. I would be failing you if I didn't look into it myself."
Alexei looked at his father as if he didn't quite believe him. "As if anyone would dare cheat us over something like this. If I remember correctly, Father, it was you who introduced Mr. Yurovsky to me."
"That's true," Nicholas acknowledged with a nod. Then his expression grew serious. "Still, it's important to check on their work from time to time in case they slack off or something. Especially when it concerns you."
Alexei exhaled quietly; he hadn't realized his father could be this shameless.
"Alright, Father. I suppose you're right."
"Of course I'm right," Nicholas replied, picking up the documents containing the reports on his son's business from the desk. "Anyway, since you'll be meeting Mr. Yurovsky tomorrow, I won't show you these reports now. Let's make his visit worthwhile. It would be a shame if he came all this way only to find that you already knew everything."
He set the documents aside.
Alexei could only nod as his gaze lingered briefly on the papers.
They spoke a little longer after that, the conversation drifting naturally to lighter matters. Nicholas asked about Alexei's studies, his tutors, and the progress of his new stories. Alexei answered with measured ease; there was nothing to hide about it, so he spoke honestly.
Eventually, Nicholas glanced at the clock on the wall and exhaled softly. The day was already pressing in on him, duties waiting in layers he could not afford to ignore. He gathered a few papers, straightened the stack, and finally looked up again.
With a small nod, he dismissed Alexei for the day.
"I suppose that's all for now, my son. I'll see you this evening at dinner."
"Of course. Thank you for everything, Father."
Alexei rose at once, smoothing his coat and inclining his head in farewell. He felt no urgency as he turned to leave, only the quiet satisfaction of having lessened his hands on training.
Just as his hand reached for the door, he paused and turned back.
"Father?"
"Yes?" Nicholas asked. "What is it, son?"
"Don't be late for dinner this evening," Alexei said lightly. "I'm trying to cook something new I read about in a book. You'll have to taste it."
Nicholas looked at him in puzzlement for a moment. It was the first time he was hearing this, and he couldn't help but find it strange. Since when had his son and heir learned how to cook? He made a mental note to ask his wife about it later.
"I'll be sure to be on time. And don't hurt yourself, whatever it is you're cooking for dinner."
Alexei smiled at that and left.
The door closed gently behind him.
He turned toward Sednev and Nagorny, who were waiting nearby. "Let's go to the kitchen," he said simply.
The three of them walked through the palace corridors at an unhurried pace, their footsteps echoing softly against marble floors polished to a muted shine. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting pale bands of winter light across the walls as they passed. Sednev and Nagorny followed just a step behind, exchanging quiet glances as their tsarevich led the way for them.
The closer they drew to the service wing of the palace, the more the atmosphere changed, formal silence giving way to subtle movement, distant voices, and the faint clatter of work already underway.
By the time they neared the kitchens, the air grew warmer and heavier with scent. Fresh bread, yeast, simmering stock, herbs, and roasting meat blended into a familiar, comforting aroma. The kitchen itself was already alive with activity. Servants moved briskly between stations, carrying baskets and trays, while cooks called out instructions over the steady hum of preparation. Knives tapped against cutting boards, pots hissed and bubbled, and the entire space pulsed with quiet efficiency, an organized chaos that functioned like a factory, with just a different kind of smoke and smell.
Alexei nodded towards the servants who bowed their heads as soon as they saw him. They were already used to him by now as he was always here asking for food every once in a while. He looked for Yuri, the headchef, around the kitchen and found him not long after, cooking something in the pot.
"Yuri," Alexei called out.
Yuri turned at once, clearly surprised to see the Tsarevich so early. "Your Highness, my apologies. I didn't know you were here."
He was already halfway to setting his utensils aside, about to call for an assistant to take over, when Alexei spoke.
"Don't bother," Alexei said lightly. "Finish what you're doing. I'll wait for you outside." He gestured toward the door.
Yuri hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Thank you, Your Highness. I'll join you as soon as I'm done."
Alexei gave a brief nod in return and stepped out of the kitchen. The warmth faded as soon as he was out of the kitchen, replaced by the cooler air of the corridor. He paused near the wall, hands loosely clasped behind his back, listening to the muffled sounds of work continuing inside.
It wasn't long before Yuri emerged, wiping his hands on a cloth, his expression a blend of enthusiasm and respect. "Your Highness," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Are you here about the cooking for dinner?"
Alexei turned toward him, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Yes. How are the ingredients I requested? Is everything ready?"
"Yes," Yuri replied at once. "Everything you asked for has been prepared. Would you like to see them, Your Highness?"
"No need." Alexei waved a hand lightly. "I'm just here to give some additional instructions."
Yuri nodded immediately. "Please give me a moment, Your Highness. I'll fetch my notes."
He returned shortly afterward, paper in hand. "I'm ready, Your Highness. Please tell me what I should do."
Despite his composed tone, Yuri couldn't hide his curiosity. He was eager to learn what his Tsarevich intended to cook, and even more eager to see how it would turn out. This was, after all, the first time he would witness the Tsar's son cooking something himself, and the novelty alone made him look forward to it.
"I'll need the ground beef cooked lightly and seasoned, not too heavily, just enough," Alexei said, listing the instructions with care. "The tomato sauce should be smooth, with no large chunks. Slice the onions thin and cut the peppers evenly. Prepare fresh basil and oregano, and have the cheese grated and ready…"
Yuri listened attentively, listing each instruction to his notes and nodding along.
"The dough," Alexei continued, "you'll have to prepare yourself. I don't know the exact mixture, but perhaps we can experiment later?"
"Of course, Your Highness," Yuri replied at once. "I'll prepare several types of dough mixtures, even ones intended for bread. Who knows? The texture might be exactly what you're looking for."
Alexei considered this for a moment. "Hmm. That sounds good. Alright, that should be everything. I'll see you later, Yuri."
Yuri bowed slightly, already looking forward to what his tsarevich would bring.
—---
Alexei watched his sisters happily devour the pizza he had made together with Yuri earlier. Crumbs dotted the tablecloth, cheese stretched between fingers and plates, and the usual strict dining etiquette had quietly collapsed into laughter and playful bickering. The pizza was far from the one he remembered tasting and savoring in his first life, but it was his, made by his own hands, with help, of course.
The dough had been the worst part of making the pizza.
Just getting it right had taken nearly three hours before he finally approved it. The dough meant for bread had been discarded after a single attempt; the texture had been wrong, too dense, and too heavy. Yuri had suggested variations patiently, adjusting ratios, resting times, even the temperature of the kitchen itself. Together, they tested batch after batch until they arrived at something close enough to what Alexei remembered, soft, slightly chewy, with just enough structure to hold the toppings.
The rest had been easier. Spreading the sauce, layering the cheese, adding the toppings, it was simple compared to the struggle of the dough. And now, watching his sisters reach for second and third slices without hesitation, Alexei felt that every failed attempt had been worth it.
His father stepped closer after finishing his own slice, wiping his hands with a napkin. Nicholas glanced once more at the remaining trays before turning to Alexei, mild surprise still evident in his expression.
"I still can't believe you made these yourself," he said, half-amused, half-impressed.
Alexei smiled faintly. "I read the procedure from a book and Yuri helped me. So? How is it?"
Nicholas considered the question for a moment. "It's good," he said at last. Then his gaze shifted past Alexei, toward the table where their daughters were eating with enthusiasm that bordered on impropriety. "This is my first time tasting something like this, so I'm not quite accustomed to the flavor yet. But…" His voice softened. "Look at your sisters."
Alexei followed his father's gaze and couldn't help but chuckle. Olga was already reaching for another slice, Tatiana was carefully cutting hers into smaller pieces, Maria was happily talking with her mouth half-full, and Anastasia was clearly attempting to steal from someone else's plate.
Alexandra joined them a moment later, her expression gentler than it had been all evening. She had finished her slice as well, though she held herself with more restraint than the others.
"My son," she said, "this is quite good." She paused, then added with a small smile, "I would like my ladies, and perhaps a few friends, to taste this when they visit. Would that be acceptable?"
Alexei nodded without hesitation. "Yuri knows how to make it now. You can simply ask him."
Satisfied, his mother reached out to ruffle his hair gently. The conversation drifted after that, easing into a comfortable quiet as their meal continued.
Alexei sat back in his chair, watching his family, and wondered what he might try next.