The sleigh slipped through the slush and the idea of light fluffy snow seemed so naively childish to Anastasia that she almost laughed bitterly. Light shone from the basement window as she passed and she knew what that meant. When would he give up on that child and realise that they could always make another, one less flawed and fragile? Taking a sip from her flask to brace herself against the cold once she stepped out of the carriage, she relished the burning as the vodka slipped down her throat. The coachman caught a whiff of her scent as he lent her a hand for balance and, like all the other men, he smiled a dreamy smile as she passed her eyes over him. The amethyst orbs never failed to capture them, like the butterfly net over the moth, like the lilacs that she smelt of, gently alluring was that woman.

That was why he hated her. Down in the basement the child’s skin was feverish again and he covered her up with a grey wool blanket. He cursed marrying that woman, she wanted to kill them both, he knew…