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When Olga Romanova had accepted to acquiesce to her father's "proposal" to marry the young heir to the Kingdom of Württemberg, she had immediately understood that hers would be a marriage that would never be consummated.

Because anyone gifted with the bare minimum of acumen would have taken stock on how the meek, composed Karl, despite all the attempts of his parents to hide it, or at the very least to keep up a proper image behind which his true passions would be shoved, was majorly attracted by rough, yet elegant youngsters, while on the other side the most beautiful woman of the whole world would have caused him but a badly hidden indifference.

The marriage, including the ceremony that leaned on the fairytale, hadn't been but a very costly but badly organized charade, where the applause and the shows of jubilation were nothing but a front behind which lurked gossip, chuckles and jokes in poor taste.

Not even when Karl had, at last, inherited his father's crown, making her his queen, the rumours had completely ceased; the sovereign was a quiet man, who, while trying to showcase his sexual and love preferences, had no desire whatsoever to renege his nature, and despite everything that was a facet of him that the new queen couldn't help but admire, since honesty was a rare commodity among royalty.

Actually, Olga cared little for gossip or for her husband's tastes. What she missed the most were the joys of motherhood. That was why she had been more than happy to accept the request of her brother Konstantin to take her niece Vera with her and raise and educate her in her parents' stead.

An odd child, Vera.

Her father and mother had tried literally everything to correct that impossible and rebellious personality of hers, maybe too much for a girl barely nine years' old, and in the end both of them had taken the dramatic decision to give her into the custody of her aunt, the only one maybe patient enough, or stubborn enough, to be a match for her.

Considering the situation, Olga had taken it up like a challenge, almost; if it was her fate never to become a true mother, she had been given at least the chance to try her hand at being one, one way or another.

Truth to be told, at first the challenge had looked hopeless to her as well; Vera was rebellious, grumpy, allergic to any form of education. Not to mention the occasional irate outbursts that had spurred her true parents to have a kind of barbarous straitjacket, to force her into obedience in the worst instances.

Only after a while, with patience and perseverance, the young queen had understood the issue: what many mistook for hyperactivity and repressed anger was nothing but a strong will and determination, it was a mere matter of conveying it into the proper channels.

And, once more, fate had played its hands, providing Olga the solution on a silver platter. One morning, entering in her study, she had walked into Olga gazing with surprised eyes at the cases in which the queen loved to keep jewels, precious stones and all kind of rocks, lost like the child she was before that triumph of glinting and polished surfaces all different, but equally fascinating.

Ever since that moment, aunt and niece had begun to spend whole days together, both in the woods and in the small rivers to find new treasures, and in the study, to evaluate and catalogue them.

That was followed by the study of the other subjects, that Olga ably hid behind games and riddles for which the little Vera soon found out to have a gift; and that was how, in a matter of a few months, the wayward and aggressive child had turned into a judicious, respectful person, while not losing that free spirit of hers.

Any time she looked at her, moreover, Olga's eyes always turned misty; she would have never admitted it, nor could she openly speak of it, but her niece often reminded her of someone, someone whom the world proved more than anxious to forget about, but whom she always kept into her heart with great affection.

It was in those moments, when those memories became stronger, that her dazzling smile and her light-filled eyes turned dark, soon to regain their natural shine, though, as soon as she looked at Vera or at anything else able to raise her spirits.

That morning, in the study, one of the favourite games of both the queen and her protege was underway. Vera had to recognize, while blindfolded, the rock that was placed into her hands, with only the touch and the sound they made when struck by a small hammer to help her; if she guessed right, the rock became hers, for her own collection.

And of course, each and every time she guessed right with no hesitation nor doubt, making her mentor glow with pride, happier than ever to have managed to light that spark of serenity and cheerfulness in that grim spirit.

When the attendant came into the room, the game had been replaced by the true and proper lesson.

"Here, do you hear that?" said Olga, giving a light blow with the hammer to the big rock that she had in her hand. "Granite gives out this dry and acute sound when hit. Like a whistle. Instead, when you hit the limestone, you'll hear a deeper, more dilated sound, like that of a blocked organ pipe."

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty." the attendant butted in, respectfully producing a silver platter on which a lone letter stood. "This has just come in. The messenger that brought it specifically requested that it be given to you and no one else."

Intrigued, Olga picked up the letter, turning it into her hands; but as she read the sender and the origin, something suddenly appeared into her eyes, freezing her to the spot out of shock.

"Aunt..." said Vera, mildly worried, noticing her stupefied expression.

"Vera, for today that's all." said the queen, her eyes not moving from the envelope. "You can go outside and play."

"What!? But, Aunt..."

At that, Olga turned, dazzling her with one of her beautiful smiles.

"Please. I promise you that tomorrow we'll spend double the time. However, now I'd like some time for myself."

Vera, as it was obvious, was never happy when her lessons had to end early, but faced with such a heartfelt (and at the same time kind) request by her beloved aunt, in the end she let herself be convinced, leaving the study with the attendant.

Left alone, Olga went to the balcony that gave towards the internal garden of the palace, from which she could watch over her niece busy playing with their two Danes, hardheaded and drowsy beasts that woke up only when Vera showed up.

For a long time, the queen stood in silence, turning over and over the envelope in her hands without opening it.

But if her body was there, her mind was far away, both in space and time, bent towards a different period, perhaps the happiest of her life, when all those worries and duties as a spouse and as a queen were yet to come.

It had been one of the first among her great adventures; maybe not the most memorable one, but surely the one that she remembered with the greatest pleasure.