Excerpt from The Last Grand Duchess by Bryn Turnbull, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Mamma paled. Olga recalled visiting the garrison less than a year earlier, trotting on horseback past 40,000 troops all sworn to protect the tsar and his family. How could 40,000 minds be so easily turned?

"And what of my children?" Mamma persisted. "Tatiana can hardly walk. Maria and Anastasia are delirious, and the tsarevich is in a very delicate state—"

"With all due respect, Your Majesty." Resin met Mamma's gaze directly. "When the house is in flames, one carries out the children."

The room fell silent. Despite her attempt at composure, Olga began to shake, a thin, uncontrollable trembling, which, given the darkness of the study, she hoped Resin couldn't see.

Mamma gripped Olga's fingers in a silent plea to keep calm. Though her poor health would make it appear otherwise, Mamma's Victorian upbringing had given her a stiff upper lip which Olga and her sisters lacked. She'd been instrumental in running the government since Papa went to command the front, overseeing the distribution of relief aid to soldiers' families, orchestrating shipments of food and provisions, reining in the government ministers whose political agendas risked the country's success at the front. Despite what people said about her—despite her German roots—Mamma had led Russia through the worst of the war years, relying on her faith in God and in Papa to make the decisions others would not.

How had things gone so wrong?

Mamma stood. "We will stay," she said finally, lifting her chin. "I won't leave the palace without my husband."

* * *

Olga walked through the playroom, the cloying scent of illness lingering in the air. Four army cots lined the back wall: within, Olga's siblings dozed, their flushed complexions showing various stages of the virus's progression. In the cot closest to the fire, Alexei writhed in discomfort as Mamma laid a cold compress against his forehead.

Olga knelt beside Tatiana's bed and felt her forehead, inspecting her sister's face for the slowly dissipating rash.

Tatiana had been the first to contract measles; to Olga's intense relief, it appeared that she'd be the first to recover, too.

Tatiana's eyes fluttered open at Olga's touch. Even in the throes of illness, Tatiana was beautiful, her usually luminous face pale but lovely, nonetheless.

Olga smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Tatiana sighed, "though I don't think I'll be dancing the kozachok anytime soon. How are the others?"

Olga looked down the line of beds. In the next cot over, Maria slept soundly, her cheeks still covered in spots; between Maria and Alexei, Anastasia was curled into a ball, her disheveled blond hair cascading over the side of her pillow.

"They're on the mend," she replied.

Tatiana's smile grew. "Good," she said, closing her eyes. "And Mamma?"

Olga hesitated. After Resin left, Mamma had stood defiantly by the door, candle in hand, watching him retreat down the hallway. She'd closed the door, then circled back to sit at Papa's desk.

"Abdication," Olga had whispered, sinking into the cold leather of the sofa. Though she could feel the weight of unshed tears behind her eyes, she was too shocked to cry. "Did you know?"

Mamma opened the desk drawer and pulled out a stack of Papa's letterhead. "No." She searched the crowded desktop, pulling a candelabra close as she ran her hand along the leather blotter for a fountain pen. "I wish he'd consulted me first. I wish—dear Lord, I wish Our Friend was here to guide us." She unscrewed the lid of the pen with shaking hands and began to write, her script loose and fluid as she raced ink across the page. Since Papa had gone to the front, Mamma had taken to using his office as her own. Over the past few months, Olga couldn't count the number of times she'd watched Mamma follow Father Grigori into this room, closing the door behind them as they discussed the country in hushed tones.

Excerpted from The Last Grand Duchess by Bryn Turnbull. Copyright © 2022 by Bryn Turnbull. Excerpted by permission of Mira. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.