Yao woke up after a deep, comfortable sleep. He blinked away the grogginess from his eyes, sitting up slowly. His hair slid down his shoulders, hanging around his face like curtains. Sunlight spilled in, indicating the day's tread into noon. He had overslept but could hardly care. Slowly, taking his sweet time in each step, he pulled on his clothing and left for the kitchen to gather some breakfast.

When he approached the living room, however, he heard a low murmur of talking voices. He paused and slipped behind a wall, for he feared to intrude on some vital conversation.

Ivan's voice came into recognition, as well as a sharp, piercing voice of a young lady. Yao peered over the edge, curiosity bidding him to.

Sitting in the living room, Ivan was speaking with a stranger. He had his legs crossed, ankle over knee, and the tip of his nose was pink, his lips pale. Across from him was a young woman who could not have been more than eighteen. She had been unfortunately bestowed with two features that did not suit her. Her gray eyes were crossed and too close together on her face, and her upper lip was too small, constantly revealing her upper row of teeth. She looked like a rabbit and spoke in a twittering bird's voice. She wore her dark brown hair plaited and a blood-red shawl covered her dainty shoulders. She was so small Ivan could easily have picked her up by a single hand.

They were, surprisingly, speaking in French. Ivan rendered the language atrocious: stressing the wrong syllables and forgetting to omit certain others. The girl spoke it fluently and prettily. Yao felt hopelessly lost again. He had only begun to understand Russian lucidly and now he was hurled yet again into a word of uncertainty. However he never heard his name, first or last, mentions.

He exited the hallway, entering the living room in his silky robe. At once the girl stopped speaking and looked up at Yao, pulling her lower lip down to cover her shining white teeth. Yao walked over and she starred profusely at him, unable to determine his gender and whether or not to stick out her hand or to rise and embrace.

"This is Yao," Ivan said, in Russian.

Yao smiled, bowing in greeting. The girl's lip curled back up, revealing a glimmering smile.

"This is Ira. She's a friend of Sveta's and Lena's. She's come to tell us first-handedly that they will be unable to come and join us due to certain…" he paused, seeking a word to label the situation accurately, "to certain issues that have cropped up."

Ira nodded solemnly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Yao, however unfortunate the circumstances may be." She said, also in Russian. She hadn't the trace of an accent. At least not as far as Yao could tell.

"It is nice to meet you too, Ira," Yao said quietly, falling back into shyness. Ivan was nearly taken aback, having forgotten that Yao could be shy and reserved.

Ira stood, patting down her brown dress. "It has been good seeing you, Ivan. I hope we shall meet again." Ivan approached her and, gently taking her delicate hand in his, kissed it. For an unknown reason Yao felt a stabbing pain in his chest. She pulled away, starting to leave, but she hesitated. She lingered at the doorway, her crossed eyes fastening onto Yao. "You a very fortunate to be under Ivan's protection, Yao… But…" she cleared her throat and started in broken mandarin: "he is more than you think." With that she bowed again and left, letting in a gust of cold end-of-winter air.

Yao frowned. A thin line appeared between his eyebrows.

"What has she said about me?" Ivan asked, the left side of his lips curling upwards. "Probably something foul!" He laughed in a way that signified that he was not at all amused.

Yao shook his head and realized Ivan was not watching. "No," he said slowly. He made his way into the kitchen and started to set the table for himself. When he reached their small, round table and found that it had already been set, he sat down and put the plate to his side. Picking up a piece of rye bread, he spread jam over it. Ivan had walked into the kitchen, his back towards Yao and his eyes looking out yonder. The window to the backyard, which seamlessly molded into the rest of the rural area, was square and located a step away from the door that let them outside.

"Do you want to go skating tonight again?" Ivan asked in the same monotone voice he used when dealing with business.

"It would be a pleasure," Yao said around a bite of bread.

Ivan lowered his shoulders, his eyes distant. The signs all signaled an ill humor working up inside him. Yao had picked up on that quickly. Ivan would look far off, bored almost, and his jaw would be loose though his lips still touched.

"Spring will be here soon," Ivan commented. Yao agreed. "Then we will be able to see more of the country. You can meet the townsfolk. This morning, before Ira came, I went out and visited them. I grew up with some of these people, you know."

"I thought you lived in the city." It dawned on Yao that he knew very little of Ivan's home life, besides the facts already given by the two maids back in Moscow.

"I did. But I was born here and I lived here for some time, going back and forth from home to home. My mother was one of the aristocratic people. I was her only son and therefore carrying the family name was set to me. My sisters are stubbornly refusing to get married. My youngest sister, Natalia, is nearing seventeen. Soon the family will seek out bachelors for her, just as they did for me."

"Who were you supposed to marry?"

"Oh, they brought in many young women. Some were shy little creatures, like doves, and all so small. I liked them the most because when they talked they always said something of importance. Other girls were stiff and intelligent. I had a good deal of amusing conversations with them. The ones I hated were the bright, energetic ones who prattled without reason. Ira was one of the shy ones and she still is. And the answer to your question is none. I refuse to marry like my sisters. My eldest, Katrina, two years my senior, is lovely enough to gain any man she wanted. You'll see when you meet them…" He trailed off.

Ira's image was brought back abruptly in Yao's mind. She was gentle and sweet, but at once a sour loathing boiled up inside him. He detested her, and for what reason he did not know. "She isn't very pretty," he said before he could stop.

Ivan did not move, "Perhaps not by the traditional definition of beauty."

Yao pressed his lips together, thoroughly regretting having let that slip and hurt Ivan.

"Do you love her?" Yao asked, picking up another slice of bread and placing salami on it.

Ivan turned around to look at him. He pulled up the chair across from Yao and sat down heavily, placing his wrists on the table. At length, he said; "Yes… But I do not love her in a way that I wish to whisk her away and hold her dearly in my arms. Marrying her perhaps I could be content with. But kissing her and affectionately touching her I cannot fathom. I do not detest the sight of her skin or the feel of it. I can't explain the feeling, really." Ivan ended weakly, picking up a tomato and rolling it between his fingers. The thin and tight red membrane gleamed in the morning light.

Yao bit into his bread, staring over it at Ivan. Ivan set the tomato back down and sighed.

"I am worried, however. I feel like I am her only hope. Most men hardly look at her long enough to anticipate her personality. I hardly did, but I was obliged to talk with her for at least an hour over tea. I learned very much and even made her laugh. She doesn't giggle, that's another thing. She's serious as a stone and if I ever caught her giggling in the few months I spent with her at fifteen years old, she was thirteen then, I knew that she was doing something malicious. And since then we've formed a great friendship. I want her to be happy."

"You met her at fifteen?" Yao asked. Already he understood the mechanics of courting and allowing the pair to meet young, form a friendship, and already have a bond of trust before manage. Still, he wanted to keep Ivan talking.

"Yes, it was a year before I was deployed as a soldier." Ivan shook his head, evidently wanting the contrary of Yao. He stood up and left Yao alone. Yao remained in silence, listening to Ivan's scuffling before he cleaned up the table. His hair was still loose and long at his back, catching the sunlight that ignited the delicate fibers like embers.

When he finished, he walked into the study to resume learning Russian. Ivan sat on a divan, his legs propped up and a heavy volume in his hands. Spectacles rested at the end of his nose. His lips were drawn tight in concentration and his fingers lingered at the corner of the page, ready to turn it. Yao, bewitched again for an unknown reason, had to pry his eyes away and quietly pad through the carpeted room, seeking his books from the rows of bookshelves. He found it and, seating himself in a different divan, began to study with only half his interest there. Constantly he caught himself looking at Ivan, watching him flip the patch with a popping sound. Ivan shifted his legs and kept his eyes pinned on the words, engrossed completely.

The study was behind Ivan's room, slightly towards the left and edging towards Yao's. Ivan did not speak of it on the first day, as he wanted it to remain a secret. But Yao eventually scrounged it out of him at dinner one evening. Before that Yao studied in his room.

After a long time unmarked by the clock, since there were none in the room, Ivan sat upright. He removed his spectacles and placed them on a nearby shelf. He held the book in his hands, his forefinger shoved in as a bookmark, with a lost, sad look one gets when finally pulling away from a good book. He yawned and stood, tucking a sheet of paper into his place and placing it beside his lenses. Scratching his head, he looked towards Yao who had started to wander through the array of books.

Yao stopped, feeling Ivan's movements, but he kept his eyes trained on the book at his fingertips. The title was written in English, a language even farther from Yao's recognition. Ivan cleared his throat, "Are you ready to have some lunch? I'll start preparing it. When you smell it, come." He turned away without waiting for a reply.

Unable to calm his heart down from the start it suffered at the sound of Ivan's voice, Yao bowed his head, lip trembling. Only then did it come to his realization that Sveta and Lena would not be coming. They would have already prepared the food. They would have explained to Yao why he felt that way. He felt that maids such as they had this extra sense for such seemingly nonsensical emotions.

After lunch, Ivan went back into the study and worked with paperwork, his novel longingly waiting him on its shelf. Yao walked through the home, studying the fine walls and furniture. Nearby one of the ottomans in the living room, Yao discovered a slightly opened drawer. He went to shut it, and realized something had jammed the way. Sticking its little ear out was a white, fresh envelope. Yao pulled the drawer by its gilded knob, pushing the envelope in. The front was inscribed with Chinese characters. Yao's pulse thundered in his throat.

Wang Yao

He picked it up and sat down on the ottoman, gently opening it. The flap was still glued tight and he paused, wondering if he should continue.

"It is for me…" he argued with his morals and proceeded to open it quietly, pulling out a yellowed piece of parchment written in vertical lines. Some characters were blurred, but nothing beyond Yao's sharp comprehension.

Yao,

I hope his tyrannical oppression has not pressed to hard on you. How is he treating you, the Giant? He must be keeping you locked up because you have not replied. I wonder how you are. Send back as soon as possible.

Knitting his eyebrows, Yao wondered who could have gotten such notions into their mind. Ivan was far from a tyrannical leader and would have given Yao all his letters. He seemed open and kind-hearted enough. Yao was not too sure, until he read the next few lines.

I only joke. I wonder if you believed me! That would have caught some drama. This is my first letter to you and I want you to respond back as soon as you can.

-Xiang

Yao burned with rage and humiliation, his cheeks flaring crimson. His cousin, Xiang, a boy with choppy black hair and thick eyebrows of only seven years had written it, hence the sloppy language. Some mistress must have revised it which could explain the neat lettering. Yao pondered it before slipping the letter back in and into the drawer, shutting it.

He grasped, after some pensive thought, that Ivan had purposefully placed the letter there. To joke or to make a point, Yao presumed.

They ate dinner and then went back to the lake. It glistened as before and Yao had improved considerably, only occasionally stumbling towards Ivan for support.

That was their agenda for a month and a half: eat, read, study, eat, various other activities, eat, skate, and then sleep.

Yao couldn't have asked for more. Through this time he had sparse conversations with Ivan that concerned either of them personally. Ivan had grown sullen, sinking himself deeper into thought. If Yao ever asked about the way he replied with a shrug or negation. If Yao asked about anything else he seemed to have gone temporarily deaf. So Yao held his silence and was never asked any questions back.

It was only when they went out ice skating that Ivan ever seemed to smile. He enjoyed the moonlight and cold and especially watching Yao improve. He clapped his hands in joy when Yao successfully made a spin or small jump.

Some days Ivan left to see the townsfolk or to gather supplies or for some other unknown reason. He returned rosy-cheeked and talkative.

Ira, too, came often. Yao only came to loathe the poor girl more and more. Her rabbit face especially became an object of dissatisfaction. Ivan smiled candidly around her, but mostly it seemed either strained or sorrowful. She showed no signs as to whether or not she loved him more than a good childhood friend. To Yao she was not unkind. Yet Yao, in a shy manner, would respond to her stiffly. She was not stupid and picked up on it, but could do nothing but tighten her big red shawl and feel hopeless.

At the end of the month and a half, Ivan's sisters came to visit.

Yao was sitting in the drawing room, reading calmly. Ivan was sitting across from him, frowning in anticipation. A loud knocking sounded and Yao jumped at the sound, dropping his book. He scrambled to pick it up and make himself presentable.

The two women came in, carrying trunks and wrapped in lighter, but still warm winter wear. Ivan hugged them both, kissing their cheeks in greeting. He stepped back and allowed them to enter, holding his hand out to Yao.

The first, the eldest, rushed up to Yao and embraced him briefly. She smelled of flowers and dry grass. Stepping back, Yao had a better look at her. She was his height, if not taller, and built sturdier. She was not fat but thick, as though she had lived on a farm her entire life. Her hair was shirt and tawny, the color of autumn grass by barn doors. Her eyes were bright and lively, set next to a protruding nose. Her lips were pale and smiling, revealing an even row of teeth. Her bust was not to be mistakable. She spoke loudly and happily.

"So you're the Yao Ivan keeps talking about! Oh, and do look at you! You are quite a lovely thing. If you had been a girl I would have mistaken you for a princess!" She beamed, carrying her bag and her sister's bag to the guest room next to Yao's. He had yet to look inside that room.

After the storm came the low tide. The youngest sister was taller that Yao and thin. Her face was long and brooding, her eyes looked intently at everyone, expecting to be fooled at once. Her hair was very long and braided. It was the color of a sky before a storm. She spoke in a quieter, sharper voice. Holding out a hand, bent at the wrist to Yao, she greeted him coolly.

Yao took it and shook gently. She pulled away her slender fingers and walked noiselessly to the guest room.

Yao looked after the two, feeling his shoulders still tingle after Katrina, the elder sister's embrace.

"You're all so different…" Yao said.

"No, not really," Ivan responded personally for the first time in nearly two months. "If we had been brothers then we would not even seem related. But in the end we still hold the same values and morals, just at different energy levels, I suppose."

At dinner this was proven.

Natalia picked at her food. Her hair now was tied back in a tight bone, lined with a white ribbon. Her nose pointed at the food, freckled very faintly at the tip. Katrina ate happily and poked at her food. She had recovered from an earlier weeping session. She had asked why Ivan decided to move here and he explained his resignation.

"My poor dear brother!" She cried, "They must miss you so!" Her lips trembled and tears spilled down her cheeks.

Now she had not even a trace of it on her face. She had dressed into a house dress, comfortably suiting her voluptuous figure. Her lips puckered when she chewed or downed a glass of liquor.

Natalia ate tight-lipped and made little comment. She screwed her eyes shut when she drank. They spoke when speaking and Yao felt alienated. But that was short-lived, too.

"Yao!" Katrina said, emphasizing the ya. "So you come from the east, don't you?

Yao nodded.

"Ah! It must be so different from here! Goodness, I can only imagine."

"Yes, very much so," Yao confirmed.

"You talk to him like a child," Natalia said.

"What and launch him right into a philosophical debate?" Katrina said, her smile slipping away briefly, "We have to welcome him in first."

"You speak like he isn't even listening." Ivan muttered.

"I am not," Katrina said, tears springing up in her eyes.

Natalia sighed, picking at the fish on her plate. "You are. You can speak to him about anything. He can't be much older than I am. And you speak to me about the French and how our aristocracy is becoming more corrupt by the moment."

"But we are the aristocracy." Ivan pointed out.

"That is exactly my point."

Katrina dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, assuming a more serious attitude. "We are not completely in the culture. We haven't been invited to any soirees or lounged about in a perfumed hall, smoking and drinking expensive wine." She brought her open hand to her lips and held it out, as if holding a cigar.

"But I believe," Yao ventured, gaining energy as he spoke, "I believe that it's bloodline that gives you that title rather than your actions. So you have no choice to be in that culture."

"So it may be, but others cannot see your bloodline as well as your actions," Natalia said.

"Yes, I've been mistaken for a pauper woman, a wife to a farmer as well," Katrina added in.

A silence that was not at all uncomfortable fell between them, filled with the clattering of forks on plates.

Softly, Ivan spoke up; "Yes, but whether you are a coward or a brave man, a farmer or a king, a pauper or a prince—you still receive the same great, glorious gift."

"And what might that be?" Natalia asked, her eyes flashing cleverly.

"Death," Ivan said morosely, his face becoming wary.

"Then why don't people see?"

"They can't see what they don't want to. They're too tangled up in life," Katrina said.

Another silence passed. That conversation was dropped and forgotten, though it still rung in Yao's ears. How these people could talk so freely of such serious matters at dinner baffled him. Then again he was still quite young as well. And Natalia was, though his junior by roughly a year, his senior by many in maturity.

"I can't help but love it," Ivan said, pouring each one of them sparkling champagne. It fizzed and bubbled in their glasses, glowing in an amber color under the lamp-light. He took up his glass and stood, pushing his chair behind him. He held it using his thumb and four other fingers, his forefinger sticking out, and the sisters picked up their glasses as well. Yao gingerly picked his up, holding it before him and watching the glittering bubbles rise to the surface.

"I hope that makes a good introduction into my toast," Ivan said affably smiling. "So I propose this toast to all. I know that there is bad in the world. I know there are people who strap helpless victims to raging animals or break bottles on one another's head, just to watch the blood seep. I know there are children that throw rocks at cats and dogs. I know there are those who steal from those who already suffer enough. But still, I believe there is goodness in the world. I still believe that inside everyone there is a gleam, a streak, of good and pure thoughts. And I love it all. I love the winter and I love the summer. I love the delicate leaves when they are ripe and green and also when they are coated with frost and frozen over. I like those who debate and those who remain quiet. I don't feel this way often. Usually I can think of nothing but my hatred for mankind and for those who speak without reason. So let us rejoice in this merriment! This blessed occasion of love! Oh if only I could learn to love like other young men who seem to care for every last thing as if it were their kin. If only the world wasn't ruled by men who held it in their heads to be in a permanent state of hatred and dispassion! But these are only 'if's and the potency of that word ends along with our imagination, stopped by that expedient common sense and misanthropy! Again, let us rejoice for the moments of extreme, passionate love!"

Beaming, they brought glasses together and downed the drinks, Natalia screwing her eyes shut as always and Katrina puckering her lips. Yao tasted it and found it likable, taking half of it in and feeling slightly tipsy.

Ivan threw his head back when he took a drink, his throat twitching as he swallowed. When he set the glass down his cheeks were red and his eyes alight with life.

Yao felt like he understood even less of Ivan than usual.

First off, Ira's name is pronounce ee-ra, not eye-ra

Second off, thank you all so much for the reviews! I read every single one and take them into consideration. I take your advice and I try to apply it. I'll try my best to make the romance believable and the commas to be in the right place.

I use Xiang as Hong Kong's human name because I feel that fits more. I'm sorry if it does not suit you but I cannot make everyone happy at once.

If anyone was wondering Ivan was reading War and Peace by Lev Tolstoy. At this time the book should have been relatively new, though this is again historical FICTION and not set in a specific time.

Thank you for reading!