Hello, there anon! I am so sorry this took so long (Secret Santa Season hit). But here is the blurb! I hope you enjoy it!

tw: swearing, mentions of sex, angst that ends in fluff.

He was a kind man, he made you laugh, he was smart, and he loved you. 

He was also married. To the Emperor's mistress. And you just changed his firewood.

Scrubbing the floors a little harder, you noticed the redness on your knuckles. The skin was rough. Blood seeped out. All that soap and water wrecked your palms. And the emperor often left a mess in every room that you had to clean up. 

And whenever she walked by, her red silk skirts training after her with the click of her heels down the green hallway, you couldn’t help it. You looked. Right at her hands. Smooth and white from not a day of hard work. A hard day's work that included drinking wine, tossing balls onto the grass, and spreading her legs to the Emperor with a smile on her face as you held her crying husband in the other room.

Grigor was miserable. Obviously. And you were miserable here. 

The other day Lady Svenska insisted on making blush by pricking your finger with her sewing needle. Blood dribbled out and you tapped it on her cheek, biting back the tears of pain.

You had chamber pots to empty. Instead, you ran to the Dymov apartments. The second you saw Georgiana leave, you knocked desperately at the door.

Grigor always greeted you with a kiss. He led you to a chair and handed you a towel.

“This…this is ridiculous…” he mumbles. “They can’t treat you like this.”

“But I’m…I’m just a serf…” you mutter. You were just another pair of working hands to wipe asses and be tossed into a fire when a plague broke out.

“I used to think serfs were just…just there, but you! Y/N- you’re sweet and good and brave! I used to be so…so miserable here all the time, now I just wait for you to appear!”

Eyes getting watery, despite the sting of the cloth on your hand, you smile up at him.

“And I used to be miserable here until I met you….” you spoke lovingly.

“I can’t believe they did this to you…” he continues. The white cloth he wraps tenderly around your hand seems to contrast the red walls of his room.

“I can’t believe your wife doesn’t regret fucking the emperor,” you retorted boldly. It was on your chest.

He looks ghostly white at the mention of it.

“I’m sorry, it…it’s just this place…everything about it and I keep seeing…how miserable you are with her. Why can’t we do something about it?” you asked.

“He’s my Emperor, he won’t let her go…and if he lets her go, she’ll find a way to run back to him…” he said. You hear giggles and a smashing of glass outside. 

You huffed, both of you held onto each other, hearts slowing. Clinging as if for life.

“But…” he mumbled.

“But what…” you asked. You bite your lip and stare down at your hands. The prick mark is dimmer. Still present, but weak.

“It doesn’t…have to be this way. It’s always in this palace, this place….what if we…changed location…to a place where we don’t have to hide when we’re...together like this...” he suggested.

“I…I have some family. And…I clean Archie’s room every week. I’ve noticed certain documents…”

You looked up at him.

“The right ones…ones that end marriages...” you confess. A wicked smile crawls up your face and his.

A week later, Grigor crept up from his bed alone. It was the early part of the morning where the sun was present, but barely, Peeking out from the edge of the sky. He left his wedding ring and a signed paper of divorce for the Dymov couple. He folded it up, wrote Georgiana’s name along with a brief, angry letter saying goodbye. With a deep sigh, he slipped the ring off of his right hand, placed it on the desk in front of the fire, and walked out.

Meeting him, you put on your grey cloak. You left no letter. You had no real friends here. None you would trust this with. In the stables, you both greet each other with a squeeze of your hand, and only a few belongings in a small bag.

Hopping onto a small, discreet cart, Grigor snapped the reigns on the horses and both of you went away. He kept urging the horses to run as fast as possible. Baskets of vegetables from the kitchen were stuffed in the back. No one would think that vegetable farmers would be a Count and Servant eloping.

Your heart was pounding. That large grey palace slowly grew smaller…smaller…and smaller. You were far away by the time the sun rose and the rooster cried.

Partway through, you shivered from the cold Russian air. Grigor glanced up at you.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Nervous. Excited.”

“What did your family say?”

“They’d like to witness the wedding. It won’t be big. We will just say ‘I do’ and that’s it. There is an extra room where we’ll live…it will be so different than your life Grigor.”

He looked at you and smiled.

“If I’m with you, how could I ever be unhappy?” he said.

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek. It was a long time and a long drive. Your appearance prevented suspicion of any connection to royalty. You hugged your family and cried, introducing them to Grigor. Both of you thought you would never reach home. But there was no time to waste. It had to be finalized. Soon.

Reaching the church, your hands began to shake. Your dress was dirty and Grigor smelled like the horse. Both of you knelt before the altar in front of the priest as he prepared to begin the nuptials. Noticing the tremor, Grigor took your hand and you accepted it. It was just a quick, peasant wedding with a small peasant home awaiting you both. No parties with elaborate gowns and wigs. Only the odd festival with aprons and cloth hats. No more rich dining on oysters and vodka. Now you had to settle for bread and milk you got from the goats you milked.

But you didn’t need the rich clothes, balls, feasts, lavishness, and misery. You had each other. And a new life where you could be together.

Taglist: @queenlover05 @stardust-killer-queen