Nineteen-gun salute, according to diplomatic protocol, this is the weight that a special ambassador should have.
It’s just that usually, this grand welco is only enjoyed by an ambassador when they arrive at their new post.
But for the Tsar to choose such an ordinary day to once again welco Earl of Dalmo with such a grand ceremony, whether it’s more a gesture of friendship or intimidation, only he knows.
However, most mbers of the delegation were not in the mind to think too much at this mont.
Like Colonel Stewart, the military attaché in Russia, and Sir John Lipton, the advisor, who have seen much of the world and remained calm, as for the young man who had just been promoted to first secretary not long ago, although his expression revealed no inner turmoil, looking at his large patch of wet gloves would tell you how excited and nervous he truly was.
The roar of the cannons illuminated the profile of Sir Arthur Hastings, brightened his white gloves holding the King’s bestowed sword, and lit up the red, white, and blue tricolored Union Jack sash wrapped around his arm, with the royal insignia on his chest shining brilliantly, his black high boots matched perfectly with the fireworks.
Passing through the gazes of the Preobrazhensky Guard infantry, bathing in the sunlight of the Winter Palace, the focus of all Russia, the sound of quiet and crisp footsteps in his ears, all these monts seed to blend into Arthur’s blood.
What is the taste of power?
This...
is the taste of power.
The only lant is...
The salutes outside the window,
were never for him.
The only sounds for him were the gunshots under the Tower of London,
and the curses on Fleet Street,
the only thing that rang for him,
was the funeral bell of the church.
Arthur couldn’t help but recall the past, rembering that morning in court, thinking of that sermon titled "For Whom the Bell Tolls".
Perhaps, this could be considered a kind of cycle.
The guiding attendant stopped at the last door, then stepped aside.
Imdiately after, a court official dressed in ceremonial attire ca forward respectfully and said in fluent French, "Honorable Earl of Dalmo, your arrival is our honor. Please follow into the Audience Hall, His Majesty is waiting."
After he finished, he gestured slightly, the guards behind him took several steps back in unison, creating a precise path leading to the Audience Hall.
The massive portraits of the Tsars from the Romanov Dynasty lined up on the black background, with Peter the Great, Catherine the Great, ’Terrible Anna’, Anna I, and ’Holy King’ Alexander I, crowding the walls of the Audience Hall.
However, in the center naturally was the current supre ruler of the Russian Empire.
And seated under this massive portrait was the subject of the painting:
By the grace of God, the Russian Emperor and Autocrat, ruler of Moscow, Kiev, Vladimir, Novgorod, Tsar of Kazan, Tsar of Astrakhan, Tsar of Poland, Tsar of Siberia, Crian Khersones Emperor, Grand Duke of Pskov, Smolensk, Lithuania, Volhynia, Podolia and Finland, Estonia, Livonia, Courland and Semigallia, Samogitia, Białystok, Karelia, Tver, Yugra, Perm, Vyatka, Duke of Bulgaria, Lord of Nizhny Novgorod, Chernihiv, Rostov, Grand Duke of Yaroslav, ruler of the entire North, Imperialia, Kartli, Georgia, and Arnia, sovereign of all the lands of Selgasia and other mountain regions, and other hereditary monarch and owner of territories, the ’Iron Emperor’ Nicholas I.
Standing upright, Earl of Dalmo slightly bowed to the Tsar, elegantly speaking in French, "Your Majesty, granted the benevolence of your esteed governnt, we are dispatched to pay homage, representing His Majesty the King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, to extend the highest respect to you. anwhile, according to my governnt’s instructions, I must present an important letter personally written by our Foreign Secretary to you."
After speaking, he turned and nodded slightly to indicate to Arthur beside him.
Arthur understood imdiately and stepped forward, holding in both hands the protest docunt adorned with a deep red envelope, sealed with blue ribbon and wax seal.
Earl of Dalmo took the docunt, stepped forward two steps, raised it to chest level, and extended it towards the attendant standing beneath the Tsar’s throne.
The attendant took the docunt, bowed slightly to show respect, then turned and ascended the steps, placing the docunt on the gold tray in front of the Tsar.
Nicholas I lifted his gaze, "I will read your country’s letter carefully and respond. However, Ambassador..."
He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping across everyone present like a blade, speaking in a slow and asured tone, "I hope the content of this letter will et my expectations of our country’s longstanding friendly relations."
Earl of Dalmo gave a slight bow, "Your Majesty, our country has always cherished the friendly relations with your nation. However, our governnt believes certain current events indeed require your attention and careful consideration. This point is detailed in the letter explaining our position."
The Tsar did not imdiately respond, only tapping the armrest lightly with his fingers, his sharp gaze made it hard for anyone to et his eyes, although Earl of Dalmo was not afraid of his gaze, out of respect for dals and honor, he restrained his temper as much as possible, maintaining deanor and respect.
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