The Copper Queen's Bride: Lesbian Russian Romance

les from Yekaterinburg, my namesake. I watched copper-tinged snow fall. It was winter, 1910, and I was seventeen years old. The Popovas, our regents – we knew no tsar in the Copper

streaks of green and cinnamon striated like ve

hair and twirled it round my thumb. Azovka smiled, her malachite eyes and scaled legs shi

ribbon as fine as the tsarina’s silk. You could find malachite like that – a gown – in sheets at Snake Hill. Azovka, the Mistress of

ough immortal. I trusted the Copper Men in a way Prokovitch the Stonecutter did not. I confided in Azovka like our Landlord Peter swallowing dir

uscles from hunting and lifting heavy stones for father – shining in contrast to Azovka’s slim eleganc

ld playing cards had green crowned lizards on them with m

a’s queen with my king of hearts. “

es. We bundled up in our dresses, malachite belts, kerchiefs, elk boots and white fur coats and ate lunch down by the stone works. The grain mill churned in the river’d distance, and horses and buggies rode through the cros

pent all night with the dough – she really liked to bake. We dipped the rye bread in the soup from the thermos. Our mothers had both died in

he Copper Guard ran a vast network exporting the Ural Mountain’s riches past the Malachite Gates and importing minerals from abroad

one from the river,” I smiled, ha

th her pearly teeth. They cut the gem like butter, and the lizards that always thronged by her feet thrum

Kingdom. And I always liked pretty girls – I am ugly, dearest Azovka! I need a polished best friend to harp up my strengths when it

n angels out of the cloudy powder. It cushioned our fur jackets. Azovka stuck out her tongue. “Not

ing at her embroidere

brimming with mirth. “Promise me you wil

d

, swallowing and spitting out some red clay, crossi

terhood. It was a tall, gaunt boy, with a mop of dusty blonde hair – a beggar in tattered

re, save Azovka, I had ever seen. “Sure,” I said,

r? I am princess of this town. Someday, I

ore into the bread. “

d in on hers

y on his elbow. “You s

ike childish maidens. I’m eighte

t look ol

zards crawl up his legs. The boy just smil

eep him. Fatten him up with my blinis. Make him pierogis and borscht. Ask him to

hough, was ask th

id. “Someday, I

r what? Begging? I

o said obtusely. “Look

princess,

tersburg to find a better life – rode the rails to here, last stop past Yekaterinburg. Outside the Malachite Walls, beyond the reach of the Copper

look and smiled. “Su

ck, a bright

it for that, beggar boy,” I said with all the love a seventeen-year-old girl could tease the

t her lizards. I lik

n the winter