For over a month, Miroslav and other boyars had been accompanying the Byzantine delegation to Kyiv. The mission, which began with negotiations in Constantinople over trade privileges and church independence, was meant to strengthen Kyivan Rus's position. But now, just three days from the capital, news reached them that could change everything.
At a rest stop in an old border town, the air was filled with the noise of carts and servants' chatter. Miroslav, putting aside a map of the roads, looked around, sensing an unusual unease. This feeling intensified when a rider, covered in road dust, galloped into their camp. The horse was breathing heavily, its flanks shining with sweat. The rider, barely keeping his balance in the saddle, headed straight for Miroslav.
- What’s the matter? - asked the boyar, frowning, as the messenger dismounted and collapsed to his knees before him.
The young man was barely catching his breath, but his eyes burned with urgency. Finally, summoning his strength, he spoke:
- The prince… the princes… - the words came with difficulty. - They’ve been killed. Only Prince Alexander remains. In five days, he will be crowned
The camp fell silent, as if in a tomb. Servants exchanged glances and froze in place, barely daring to move. One of them dropped a jug of water, and its sharp clang echoed through the camp like a peal of thunder.
The boyars stood rooted to the spot, some crossing themselves in desperation, while others murmured quiet prayers. The senior armorer whispered to Miroslav, careful not to disturb the oppressive silence:
- My gracious boyar, what happens now?
His words were strained, as if he feared the answer itself. The entire delegation, from nobles to common folk, seemed paralyzed by an unknown abyss. Miroslav felt a chill run down his spine as his fingers, gripping the map, began to tear its edges.
- All of them? - Miroslav’s voice echoed like a hollow sound in an empty hall, lifeless and subdued.
The messenger nodded, barely standing on his feet.
- Sviatoslav, Vsevolod, Iziaslav, Viacheslav… all of them killed, except Alexander, - the words fell from his lips like hammer blows, resounding and relentless.
Miroslav closed his eyes, as if trying to calm the storm raging inside. He felt as though the ground was slipping away beneath him, while dull thuds pulsed in his temples - the pain of loss and the terror of uncertainty.
- Except Alexander? That youth who always sought battles, not councils? How will he hold the throne? - Dobrynia of Pereiaslav’s voice broke, as though he, too, feared the answer.
His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, and his gaze darted to the horizon, as if searching for answers there. Instead, images of ruined walls and burning cities from past campaigns rose before his eyes. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice.
Miroslav turned his gaze to the horizon, where hills - the heralds of Kyivan land - were already visible. His thoughts raced - about Alexander, their mission, Byzantium, and the future of Kyivan Rus. He knew Alexander only as a warrior capable of inspiring in battle, not as a ruler prepared to govern such a complex state.
- He is on the throne, - Miroslav said, struggling to keep his voice steady. - That means we have no choice. Either we strengthen his power, or Kyivan Rus will collapse under the weight of its enemies
Dobrynia of Pereiaslav frowned, his hand tightening on his sword hilt.
- But what will the Greeks say? They expected to see a stable Kyivan Rus, not chaos, - he said.
- The Greeks? - Miroslav turned to Dobrynia. - The Greeks must see that Kyivan Rus has not faltered. We will arrive in Kyiv, and our prince will prove to them that he is worthy of the crown
These words, spoken with confidence though trembling inside, briefly calmed the camp, though not everyone.
Nikodim, the chief Byzantine envoy, remained silent. He sat on his horse a little apart, observing the conversation. When the messenger delivered the grim news, his usually impassive face changed slightly: his gaze sharpened, and his jaw clenched.
He seemed entirely withdrawn from the discussion. But those who knew Nikodim understood that a storm of thoughts was already brewing within him.
While Miroslav issued orders to prepare for departure, Nikodim never intervened. He quietly dismounted, took a few steps away from the camp, and stopped, bowing his head as if in prayer. But it was not prayer - his mind was analyzing the consequences.
Anna, the granddaughter of the Byzantine emperor, and Vsevolod, the son of Yaroslav the Wise. Their marriage had symbolized the union of two great powers. Now it had lost all strategic significance.
The princes’ deaths meant that the entire political structure built over the years had crumbled in an instant. Now everything depended on one young prince, about whom little was known in Constantinople. Young, inexperienced Alexander - who was he? Who would he become? And could he hold together the great Kyivan Rus?
Nikodim understood that the tragedy brought not only danger but also opportunity for Byzantium. He knew that in such moments, everything depended on quick thinking and the ability to seize the moment.
He spent the entire day in contemplation. During the stops, while other boyars discussed what had happened and servants exchanged whispers, Nikodim remained silent. Even his companions, accustomed to his composure, sensed that he was lost in deeper thought than usual. Sophia, riding nearby, noticed his pensive mood but did not dare to ask questions. She understood that senior envoy Nikodim would speak when the time was right.
The evening sky was covered with clouds, and the camp, weary from the long journey, gradually grew quiet. Only the occasional crackle of the fire and low conversations broke the silence.
Nikodim stood slightly apart, gazing at the dancing flames. His thoughts were dark, and his face remained inscrutable, as if carved from marble. He had spent the entire day pondering the fate of the delegation and, most importantly, the situation in Byzantium.
The death of the princes disrupted the fragile balance in Kyivan Rus, creating a dangerous power vacuum but also opening a path for Byzantium to strengthen its influence even further, as Alexander was now the sole leader of Kyivan Rus.
When the morning light gently woke the camp, Nikodim had already made his decision. While the servants gathered belongings and saddled the horses, he gestured for Sophia to approach him. Her young face, usually serene, now revealed weariness from the road and a faint anxiety.
- Sophia, - he began, his voice soft yet laden with a hidden weight, - we need to talk.
Sophia clutched the fabric of her dress but stepped forward with apparent composure.
Sophia Lakapina, the sixteen-year-old granddaughter of one of Emperor Constantine IX's closest advisors, had been raised in the refined halls of Constantinople. Her life had been surrounded by luxury and ceremony, but from a young age, she understood that the court was not just about splendor but also an arena ruled by intrigue. Her mother, a distant relative of the emperor himself, often said:
- In this life, a woman can choose only how to submit - with dignity or without it.
Sophia recalled how she found herself on this long journey. When her grandfather, Magister Lakapin, summoned her to his study, filled with heavy tomes and bathed in the soft light of oil lamps, he had gazed at her for a long time before speaking.
- Your role, Sophia, is not just a title or position, - he said, his voice calm but firm. - You will travel with the delegation to Kyiv to demonstrate the greatness of our court and strengthen ties with the northern lands. Much is at stake there - church independence, trade routes... and much more
She was to show that Byzantium was not just power but also culture, art, and diplomacy. Her teachers had trained her as though she were not a girl but a tool, an instrument meant to command respect and underscore superiority. But plans had changed...
- I am listening, sir, - she replied, though her voice wavered.
Nikodim motioned for her to follow him to a more secluded spot, away from the other members of the delegation. He scanned their surroundings, ensuring no one was eavesdropping, and finally began to speak:
- Everything has changed. The princes’ blood has washed away the old order, leaving the throne to young Alexander. This is a disaster for some and an opportunity for others
Sophia looked at him, trying to hide her growing unease.
- An opportunity? - she repeated, her voice slightly higher than usual. - What does that mean for us?
Nikodim squinted, assessing her reaction. Then, slowly, as if weighing every word, he said:
- Your destiny has already changed, Sophia. Now you are not just an envoy but perhaps a future princess
Sophia inhaled sharply, feeling her chest tighten with tension. Her fingers trembled, but her gaze remained steady.
- A princess? To Alexander? I don’t even know him - she exhaled, as if the words burned her tongue. - He rules a land where strength is valued over wisdom. What does Byzantium want from me?
Nikodim tilted his head slightly, like a sculptor examining an unfinished statue. His tone remained soft, but beneath the pauses between his words lay a barely concealed steel. A slight shift of his shoulders, an almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes - all indicated that he had already made up his mind, and any objection from her would merely delay the inevitable.
- No one knows, Sophia. And that is our chance, - Nikodim said, though his gaze grew firmer. - You are the granddaughter of a magister, a representative of a great lineage. An alliance with you will strengthen Kyivan Rus in Byzantium’s eyes and us in Kyivan Rus’s. The young prince needs stability, and you can provide it
Sophia raised her chin with effort to mask her indignation.
- Are you certain this alliance won’t become a trap for me? That I won’t end up a pawn to be discarded once I’ve served my purpose?
Nikodim raised his hand, as if to call for silence.
- This is not a trap, Sophia. It is your chance to hold the prince on a leash if you prove you can. Alexander will listen to you if you show him you are worthy of it. Your words could change the outcome of any diplomacy. But only if you prove that you deserve this place. This is not just politics, Sophia. It is an opportunity for you to step out of your family’s shadow and enter history.
Sophia averted her gaze, her attention lingering momentarily on a weary horse, as if trying to find a reflection of her thoughts in it. She felt exactly the same - exhausted, bound by circumstances.
Her mind was overwhelmed, like a storm crashing into a quiet harbor. Nikodim continued to speak, but his words were drowned out by her doubts.
- Why me? - she thought, but the words never left her lips. Her fingers clenched, as if she were trying to hold on at the edge of an abyss. Before her lay a choice: to accept the burden of an imposed future or to try to change it.
She stepped forward, raising her eyes to meet Nikodim’s.
- And if I fail? - her voice broke, trembling at the end. - If my presence destroys everything we are trying to build? What then?
Nikodim, usually unshakable, squinted slightly, his gaze becoming heavy. He slowly lowered his hands to his belt, as though carefully weighing his response.
- You are afraid. And that is good, - he said, pausing. - It means you understand how high the stakes are
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Sophia lowered her eyes, her fingers unconsciously fidgeting with the edge of her dress. She pressed her lips together but soon raised her gaze again, filled with both fear and determination:
- And you want me to become part of a game where I have no right to make a mistake?
Nikodim smirked slightly, though there was more weariness than amusement in his expression.
- Every game is a risk. But, Sophia, remember that in this game, a pawn that reaches the end becomes a queen
Her lips trembled, but she suppressed a smile.
- And if I don’t make it to the end? If I’m stopped halfway?
Nikodim stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper:
- Then you will never know what you were capable of. But I know one thing - you have everything it takes not just to reach the end but to change the rules of this game.
Sophia exhaled, a shadow of resolve appearing in her eyes:
- If you are so certain, I will prove to you that you were not wrong. But I want to be more than just part of a deal. If I agree, it will be on my terms
Nikodim froze for a moment, his gaze softening slightly.
- Your terms will be shaped by your actions, Sophia. Alexander is a man who respects strength. Show him that you are not just a symbol but an ally
Sophia's gaze flashed with defiance, though a storm raged within her. Nikodim leaned in slightly, lowering his voice:
- I will report to your grandfather, the Magister, and Emperor Constantine. They will understand that this decision was necessary. An alliance with Kyivan Rus is more crucial for the empire than ever. You could become the bridge that ensures peace and stability for both nations
He paused, giving Sophia time to absorb his words, though her face remained tense. Then he allowed himself a faint smile, though it lacked any lightness.
- You are the perfect choice. Your lineage and upbringing speak for you. Alexander is young, and he needs an ally who can become his support. You can strengthen his power, Sophia
Sophia did not respond immediately. Her heart clenched, and a lump rose in her throat. Nikodim’s words felt like a sentence, inescapable and final. She recalled stories of great women who made sacrifices for their nations but didn’t feel prepared for such a role herself.
- What if he rejects me? - her voice trembled, but her gaze remained resolute.
Nikodim smiled, though the smile carried more calculation than warmth.
- Then he will realize that refusing you means losing everything, - Nikodim said with cold certainty. - Alexander is a ruler, and rulers always seek advantage. We will remind him of the Polovtsy, of Chernihiv, of Novgorod - of all those who might challenge his authority. And you, Sophia, will be the one to show him the path to strength
Sophia met his gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
- And what if he sees this as a threat? - she asked softly. - What if he decides Byzantium wants to control him?
Nikodim looked away, pondering briefly. When he turned back to her, his expression grew even graver.
- Then we will assure him it is his choice. We will make him understand that you are an ally, not a spy. That you are his support, not a threat. But, Sophia… if he still refuses, we will find another way. Kyivan Rus will remain our ally, whatever the cost
Sophia took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the ground, while her thoughts raced. Her voice, when she spoke, was firmer than Nikodim had anticipated:
- Even so, I will agree only on my terms. I don’t want to be a symbol passed from hand to hand. I want to know I can influence my own life. And if I enter this alliance, it must be more than a deal
Nikodim squinted slightly, studying her. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but his voice remained steady:
- You speak like a seasoned diplomat, Sophia. But you understand that not all terms may be in your control? An alliance with Alexander is a step toward stability. However, if you show him your strength, he will have no choice but to listen to you
Sophia raised her head, her gaze locking with his. She tried to speak calmly, but her fingers still nervously fidgeted with the edge of her dress:
- And what if he doesn’t listen? What if he sees me as just a part of this deal, without a voice? I can’t just drift with the tide, Nikodim. I need to know I have the ability to fight for my place
Nikodim paused, his gaze softening slightly.
- Guarantees? No one will give them to you but yourself. If you want a place in this game, take it. You won’t change his will immediately, but you can show him you’re not just part of the deal. You can become his ally, his support - not merely a condition of peace
Sophia frowned, reflecting on his words. She stepped forward, her voice steady:
- Then I want to know everything I can. What should I say? How do I convince him that I’m more than just a symbol? I don’t want to be a shadow in this alliance
Nikodim allowed himself a faint smile, his voice warming slightly:
- That’s already a good sign, Sophia. You’re speaking not as someone who takes orders but as someone ready to change the situation. Alexander is young; he likely doesn’t expect to see an equal in you. But if you show him that you are, he won’t be able to ignore you
He leaned in slightly, adding with a subtle smile:
- And if you ask him how he envisions your life together, that would already be a beginning. Men, even rulers, respect those unafraid to ask questions
Sophia straightened, her gaze firmer now:
- Fine. If I agree, it will only be with the certainty that I can be more - more than just for him, but for myself as well
Nikodim nodded approvingly, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer:
- That is the right decision. Remember, Sophia, you are not a pawn in this game. You can become the piece that changes its course. But only if you believe in your strength and act on it
Sophia nodded slowly, her face regaining its composure, though the confusion inside her was gone. She knew this was the beginning of a path where she would have to fight for her place.
Nikodim watched her closely, observing every emotion flickering across her face. When she nodded in agreement, he barely suppressed a satisfied smile.
Outwardly, he remained as inscrutable as ever, befitting an envoy of the empire. Yet his mind was constantly at work. The decision to propose Sophia as a bride for the young Prince Alexander had been far from impulsive. It was a calculated move dictated by the circumstances Byzantium now faced.
Nikodim saw in Sophia’s marriage an opportunity to strengthen relations between the two states, reinforce ecclesiastical unity, and secure control over critical trade routes. In the face of the growing schism with Rome and threats from the steppes, such support could prove vital for Constantinople - all achievable through a simple marriage.
Soon, the Byzantine delegation led by Nikodim, accompanied by Miroslav, entered Kyiv to the solemn ringing of bells and the lively hum of the crowd. The city, like a vast beehive, buzzed with life, filled with anticipation and palpable tension.
The narrow cobblestone streets were crowded with townsfolk - seasoned merchants with cunning eyes, peasants in simple garb - each vying to catch a glimpse of the foreign guests who had arrived for the coronation of the new prince. The momentous event was two days away, set for the 25th of Berezozol, and all of Kyivan Rus held its breath in expectation.
Sophia sat in the carriage, hiding her emotions behind a cold mask, as she had been taught in Constantinople. Her gaze drifted over the faces of the townspeople. It was the first time she had seen such a contradictory city.
Women with baskets brimming with fish and fruit, children chasing wooden hoops, elderly men with weary faces leaning on staffs - each person seemed busy with their own tasks. But as soon as the heralds began proclaiming the prince’s decrees, the crowd’s attention shifted instantly.
- By decree of Prince Alexander! Establish shelters for orphans at monasteries! Strengthen the borders against the Polovtsian threat! Support the poor and protect those who seek peace! - the herald’s booming voice rose above the general noise, echoing over the crowd.
The crowd reacted with a mixture of cheers and protests. An old blacksmith snorted:
- Strengthening the borders - that’s what matters! The Polovtsians will strike again, and who will stop them?
A woman with a basket of fish grumbled:
- Shelters? He should lower taxes instead!
A young woman holding a child crossed herself, her voice quiet but filled with hope:
- A merciful prince. God grant him strength
Sophia listened attentively to the people’s reactions. Their voices and conflicting opinions intertwined like the city’s collective breath. Her gaze shifted to Nikodim, who rode beside her on horseback. His face remained calm, as if carved from marble.
- It seems his decrees stir mixed feelings, - she remarked.
Nikodim smiled faintly, observing the arguing townsfolk. His gaze wandered to rows of merchant stalls, where animated negotiations had begun.
- A crowd is a living being, Sophia, - he replied. - Some hear care, others hear threats. The art of governance lies in making them believe they’re part of these decisions
Her youthful face darkened briefly with thought.
- He will have to be strong to achieve that, - she said with a hint of doubt.
Miroslav, riding ahead, turned his head at her words, his voice firm and slightly hoarse:
- Strength lies not only in decisions but in support. Without those who stand behind him, any ruler is just a lone sword in the field
These words drew a faint smirk from Nikodim.
- True, - he agreed. - But he is young. The question is whether he will listen to those who can teach him
Miroslav cast a brief glance at the crowd, squinting his eyes.
- He has no choice, - he said curtly. - Either he learns, or he is trampled
Sophia once again looked out at the bustling square. People glanced at the carriage, speculating who might be inside. One of the heralds repeated the prince’s decree, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd’s hum.
A merchant loudly remarked to his neighbor:
- Strengthening the borders - that’s the priority. Otherwise, the Polovtsians or Pechenegs will invade again
Another, arms crossed, retorted:
- And shelters? Who’s going to pay for them? Us?
The crowd argued, a sign that people cared. Miroslav noticed this and turned to Nikodim with a quiet, satisfied smile:
- Let them argue. It means the prince has a chance to convince them. Indifference is worse than disputes
The delegation moved slowly toward the Detinets, where envoys and boyars awaited them. Nikodim leaned closer to Sophia, his voice low but resolute:
- This city is full of opportunities - and threats, - he said. - Do you see it, Sophia? Streets that could be called great but are steeped in anxiety. The tension in the air - it must be turned into strength before it becomes chaos
Sophia nodded thoughtfully, her gaze lingering on children playing at the edge of the square. She spoke, barely audible:
- Anxiety is not weakness. It’s a chance. If he can protect them, they will believe in him
As they approached the Detinets, a junior boyar hurried over to Miroslav. His movements were abrupt, and his eyes darted around as if he feared missing something important.
- Boyars from Novgorod, Chernihiv, and other cities are starting to arrive. Dobrynia Ognyshanin is already handling their accommodations and reception. Poles and Hungarians are also on their way. And there are rumors that the Polovtsians plan to attend the coronation as well, - he reported, struggling to keep his voice steady.
Miroslav frowned, contemplating what he had heard, and gave a curt nod. Then he turned to Nikodim, who, despite the general tension, remained unshaken.
- Here we are at the heart of events, - Miroslav said calmly. - Now it’s your turn to show that you are ready for this alliance. Alexander is waiting
Nikodim’s gaze was fixed on the Detinets, the majestic fortress towering over the city. Its walls, built from massive logs, looked formidable but also reminded him of how fragile strength could be without a steady hand to uphold it. He shifted his eyes to Sophia, seated in the carriage. Her face remained calm, but her eyes betrayed her tension.
- We are ready, - Nikodim murmured almost to himself. Then, raising his head, he added, - But is the prince ready to receive us? We will find out soon
Sophia straightened in her seat, her fingers gripping the armrests as she tried to mask her unease. Miroslav glanced at her intently, as though searching her gaze for an answer to an unspoken question.
- He is young, - Miroslav said, his voice firm yet tinged with doubt. - But he is learning. And if his first steps tell us anything, it’s about his determination to prove his strength
The carriage moved slowly into the Detinets, where life bustled with double the energy. Servants hurried about their tasks, guards stood watch, and boyars gathered in clusters, discussing the latest news.
Sophia’s eyes wandered over the lively courtyard. The grand princely terem, adorned with intricate carvings and guarded by armed warriors, stood at the center - a symbol of the authority and responsibility Alexander now bore.
She had arrived to demonstrate Byzantium’s greatness and strengthen ties with Kyivan Rus. But the death of the princes had changed everything, turning a formal mission into a pivotal diplomatic moment.
Sophia suddenly realized that her role was no longer just about showcasing the empire’s grandeur. She had become part of something greater - something that could influence the future of both nations.
Every movement, every word she uttered now carried additional weight. Ahead was not just a reception with the prince but a moment that could determine the fate of Kyivan Rus and its relationship with Byzantium.
Her teachers in Constantinople had prepared her for intrigue and political games, but now she felt those lessons recede before a reality where every decision, every glance, could prove decisive.
- Welcome to the heart of Kyivan Rus, - Miroslav said, turning to Nikodim, Sophia, and the other members of the delegation. His voice was steady, but those who knew him well could detect a hidden tension. - Now, it’s up to you
The carriage stopped before the terem. Sophia took a deep breath, feeling her heart quicken. She was about to step out when her gaze fell on a figure standing in the shadows near the entrance.
It was a middle-aged man whose face bore an expression of cautious calm, though his eyes were as sharp as a predator’s. His attire, rich but dusty, suggested a long journey.
A dark cloak, with faint embroidery resembling the crest of a southern principality, framed his lean silhouette. At his waist hung a short sword - not merely an ornament but a weapon he seemed accustomed to wielding.
Sophia felt her breathing quicken. There was something in his gaze that carried a hidden threat yet also cold calculation. This man was clearly no accidental guest.
- Who is he? - Sophia whispered, feeling a chill run down her spine.
Nikodim, who had been watching the man intently, furrowed his brow and subtly tightened his grip on his sword hilt. His voice was low, as if meant only for her ears.
- Someone capable of turning everything upside down. Do not fear him, Sophia, but be ready - change often comes faster than it seems. Many trust him, but his loyalty is always in question
The man, as if sensing he was being discussed, tilted his head slightly in their direction but did not step forward. His movement carried a hint of playfulness, as though inviting them to make the first move.
- He knows we are here. And his presence is no coincidence, - Nikodim added, lowering his hand but remaining alert. His eyes never left the figure near the terem. - That is Branimir, a former close boyar of Vsevolod. Now he seeks a place beside the new prince - or a way to undermine him
Sophia straightened, trying to suppress her anxiety. She understood that this man could become either an ally or an enemy, but she had yet to decide which.
- He isn’t here just for a greeting, - she quietly observed, locking eyes with Branimir once more.
Nikodim nodded, his tone hardening.
- He’s here to see who will take the upper hand. And for men like him, there’s nothing more dangerous than weakness
The man finally stepped forward, a faint, almost friendly smile appearing on his face. But Sophia felt a chill run through her - there was no warmth in that smile. She understood that this encounter with Branimir might be her first test of resolve.
***
Dear Readers,
Thank you for your patience and interest in my story. I’ve worked hard to improve chapters 1 through 13, adding over 10,000 words in the process. This has allowed me to make the narrative deeper, more vivid, and richer in detail.
Your attention and support inspire me to keep moving forward. I am grateful for your time and for traveling with me through the pages of this story.
The coronation I mentioned will likely take place in chapters 18 or 19. I write in real time, without a predetermined script, allowing the plot to unfold naturally and spontaneously before our eyes.
This makes the creative process all the more exciting and unpredictable for both me and you. Thank you for staying with me on this journey!
Happy reading!