Romanov Royalty and Extra Ordinary Loyalty

I have attended many bedsides in the Lord’s service, but this one haunts me.

He was a man of such plain countenance I can’t believe him ever more than a ghost in the grand rooms he claims to have inhabited.

In his confession he speaks of a great friendship with an exiled Grand Duchess; her plea for help—a quest to break into a palace, overrun with revolutionaries, to smuggle out her fortune.

He produces an emerald so grand I cannot help but believe this extraordinary tale. “Payment for my burglary services,” he explains. His voice cracking slightly, he asks that I convey it to the Duchess’ son.

The mention of his quest companion, the Duchess’ son, morphs his features into a display of such love and grief I find I cannot bear to witness.

As his breath grows ragged he reveals a blade of gold. Clutching the weapon as a child does a treasured teddy, he asks only that I make sure it is buried with him.

“A gift, from the Duchess’ son,” he explains, bestowed after their harrowing flight from the bloodthirsty Bolsheviks.

“What is the inscription?”

“For Courage.” His smile wistful as he breathes his last.