- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -
Just remember the wine bladder is Paul.
- Mm-hmm. - Head shot is the go.
It fucking moved.
Yes, they do that.
Need some more practice.
Don't worry, Paul. This is why we practice.
So, they're having to source a lot of monkeys.
History will judge me harshly
for the "monkey in every village" idea.
Rightfully.
You did what you had to do. Huzzah!
Peter must be happy.
He came up with the idea when he was 12.
Of course, he did.
They killed Simitz.
Of course, they did. They had to.
Why is the day already unbearable?
It is not!
It is ripe with possibility and joy.
Leave that behind and focus on Paul's ordination
and the Stag Ritual.
What is this stag thing?
Peter the Great invented it
as a celebration of Peter's ordination.
It's a fun way to celebrate.
Peter loved the idea of continuing the tradition.
Ah! Actually, I have a surprise in this regard. Wait.
Fuck.
Paul's ordination.
If we could go over the words,
some of which are the traditional blessing,
and then I follow on with some inspired freeform...
Bad news?
Can I help?
No. Um...
What were you saying?
Uh, Paul's ordination.
Paul's ordination!
What a day it will be!
Taste this.
Ooh! Delicious! What is it?
When Paul was born, your placenta was taken
and placed in a barrel of the finest vodka,
to be toasted on Paul's special day at the end of the Stag Ritual.
I just drank my placenta?
You did.
Sweet and strong, like you.
It's a little yeasty, though.
If we could look at the wording.
We're hoping for a shaft of sunlight
to hit his forehead as I say, "You are anointed by God to lead."
I do it in a baritone for effect.
I will cry, I know it.
Right. I need to go to the Nakaz salon.
I thought that the Nakaz would taste of the future,
but it is fucking merde in my mouth.
How dare you, Voltaire?
Our Empress is the bravest and brightest and she will prevail.
Oh, I... I didn't see you come in.
Awkwardly singing your praises.
We started with murder, we've ended up with monkey.
The people love the monkeys.
Let us focus on what's next for the Nakaz.
Education for all.
The peasants were reluctant to vote,
as the Church said they should not.
And having talked to them,
they would also prefer to be whipped than made to read books.
The Church clings to them like a succubus.
I'm right here, Frenchie.
Perhaps we could have a reasonable discussion
about the role of the Church in our lives, Archie.
Open hearts.
Wife! Ah! Amazing news.
In the middle of something.
Something not as important as Paul's first word.
What?
We were sitting on the floor playing and suddenly he looked up at me
with this delighted look and said...
What was it?
Pussy!
- What? - Pussy.
I suspect his next word will be "eat."
Say "eat," Paul. Hmm? Who would like to hear Paul's next word?
No, stop!
What? Yeah, say it to Mummy, Paul.
Paul, no!
Hmm?
- Leave him. - Take him!
Uh, very confused right now. How is this a bad thing?
I do not want his first word to be "pussy"!
Why not? He has focused on what will be a joy in his life.
I want him to be a thoughtful and kind child,
led by brain and love, not by... pussy!
Well, I for one accept him as he is.
Of course, you do! He's like you!
Huzzah!
And you fucking love me, I will remind you.
Not today!
Ooh!
You are out of control! And also very fucking annoying.
He is a child uttering a word, he doesn't know what it means!
But I do know what it means.
It means his next word will be "murder,"
and then "cunt" and then "knife fight"
and then "bacon-wrapped fig" and then "cut some fucking throats!"
It means he's like you!
And you want him to be ordained by God to lead this country?
No, not fucking happening!
- Don't you fucking dare. - The ordination is cancelled.
- What? - And so is the fucking stag ludicrousness!
- Fuck. - There are lines that cannot be crossed.
My son's destiny is one of them.
Do not even threaten it.
I do not threaten it!
I promise it!
For I will not risk he grows up to be you
and I gave him the chance and the right
to manhandle this country's people.
Shut the fuck up, or I am cutting throats!
Oh, point made.
Got a problem, grab a knife! Cut a throat.
Come and get it.
Cut my dumb, dumb heart out for loving you.
I came here with happy news
and you have been a terrible wife and a fucking bad mother.
She can't mean it.
Of course not. Of course not.
That was very...
Gosh.
Paul has to be legitimized in the eyes of God.
Even she must recognize the danger of leaving that door open.
They just had a fight that was a bit rattling to soul and mind.
That's all.
If you're not worried, then why are you shaking?
Oh, God, I am a bit.
How odd.
Good Lord.
Brings my center together.
All right, I'm fine.
We have to nip this in the bud.
Indeed.
Grigor! You're not gonna bel...
Well, isn't this adorable.
- Was. - What's up?
A little war broke out between Catherine and Peter,
and fuck me, I thought there was going to be bloodshed for a second.
- What? - Shit! Is he all right?
He looked as angry as when they took his pet tiger
off him when he was nine.
Oh, God. Towel!
Thinking about your former friend?
I can't believe he likes fucking that.
He loves fucking that.
And he loves me.
Love is blind, and I guess, in your case, it needs to be.
You broke his heart a thousand times.
I guess he gets to do it to you once.
I do not want to see anyone.
My role is pastoral care as well as political avarice.
Are you all right?
Not really, no.
I once told fat Mother that I would never visit her again
if I saw her eating another cream cake,
and as I did I angrily pushed one into her enormous mouth.
What the fuck are you talking about?
Things get said. They're just words.
They blow away on the wind, but the love is left in the body.
Two days later, we sat at afternoon tea
and I let her eat herself to vomiting.
Archie. Go away.
The ordination is about Paul, not Peter.
Ah. So it is not pastoral care after all that brings you here?
I am a gifted priest so I can do two things at once.
Moving on to political avarice.
Without the ordination, the Russian throne stops being hereditary,
a tradition that, if we're to be fucking honest, has kept you in power.
I'm not hereditary.
You are seen as such.
Had you not had the marriage that made you family,
you would not still be on the throne.
Bear shit!
The family ordained by God, or any cunt can decide to take it.
You risk the legitimacy of your rule.
Am I risking the legitimacy of my throne or the power of your God?
Both.
High stakes, isn't it?
Fuck me, that was something!
I was at the front in our war and it was less fucking intense.
Sauternes and duck liver parfait?
I'm too fucking angry to...
Oh, it looks good.
Soothes the soul.
What the fuck is she doing?
Trying to take the throne off your own son?
I mean fucking oj, as we say in Sweden.
Are you okay?
I don't want to speak ill of her. She's a monster who hates your son.
I brought a carrot cake.
For an emperor? Fucking carrot cake? Do you hate him?
That will not fucking do.
I was rushing.
I just heard. It's the talk of the halls.
Passion! I mean, I still remember that
when we were first married. It's beautiful.
- It's not passion. - It's an attack is what it is.
She cannot do this to you.
I need to do something. Let us run at bags.
I will not fucking talk to her until she apologizes.
Will you fuck her? Because fucking often leads to talking.
- Do not fuck her. - For once we are in agreement.
Of course, I will fuck her, I'm not a monster.
But there will be no talking.
Out, gentlemen!
- They're giving me solace. - And some amazing sauternes.
Are you all still here? It seems an eternity since I said "out!"
Are you all right?
Not really. It was a bruising encounter.
I don't understand this rage.
Thank you, Aunt.
Never pick up a knife like that again in front of the court.
I wanted to chin her. I was...
Angry?
Hurt.
She does not want my son to be like me, and yet she loves me.
That is a fucking head-splitting conundrum.
Well, let me simplify.
This has nothing to do with love.
Your feelings don't matter.
Your love does not matter.
Only your family and your job matters
and you will do what you need to do.
You're being very aggressive.
You have one job as a son to your father,
and that is to preserve the line.
Right. Well, she couldn't have meant that.
I remember playing badminton in this room,
naked, using passion fruit as shuttlecocks.
Your father sent a forehand smashing into me and I loved that,
the sting of it as the fruit broke all over my nakedness.
And he roared with laughter, as only he could, dropped to the floor.
And I ran to him...
and he looked at me with those eyes
that held you and broke you at the same time
and he said, "Keep my line, my love."
Then he died.
Right.
I'm not going to say anything more, as what else do we need?
Understood. Understood.
Ah, I hoped you'd be here
having heated, sensual lovemaking,
slick with sweat and bruising.
Let me smell you.
Fuck off.
Did you see the fight?
Yes, and I feel like it offers an ajar door for you and her.
Ah! And I suspect, from your sudden giving a toss, for you.
Why shouldn't we all win? That's what God wants.
Funny.
This baby needs to be ordained by the Church.
A soft ear for her
and a whisper of, "let's not take that off Paul just to spite Peter."
Also, "let's not take away the Church's right
to deify leaders and undermine its power."
I knew you'd understand.
You're actually simmering. I can see.
Mm, broiling with a mélange of emotion.
Go on. Get in there, get a nostril full.
Vanilla.
How strange.
I was hoping for musky.
Are you fucking kidding me?
You have a fight with your idiot husband, you come running to me?
I was actually just walking past.
Liar.
Oh, fuck's sake.
I am the ruler of this great country because it was my destiny.
Also because I suggested it.
Possibly mainly because I suggested it.
I took it because I have the ideas and heart to do it,
not because a man in a big hat representing a God
who may or may not exist
in league with one noble family decides that the fate of millions
is on a baby who could become a fucking monster.
Albeit we are talking about my son, who I love, obviously.
Yes. Yes. Agreed.
We are at a leader's whim, and if the whim is that
of a blind giant dancing, we're all doomed.
Thankfully we are all at my whim.
Clearly my next point.
It is a relief to have you beside me again.
Against your husband, we will always be in agreement.
I understand you hate him.
You just do not have to throw it in my face.
Or you, your love for him in my face.
That could be a rule.
Because I hate it.
This love.
Today I do too.
But...
it is there, even in the rage.
- You're about to talk about it again. - Strong...
Let us fence it off.
And then my love for you can live next door.
I've missed you.
Hated you.
And missed you.
Empress! Hello.
Welcome.
Darling, you never said she was coming.
Maxim.
Why are you using those glasses? I'll get the crystal. And snacks?
Such a catch.
There you are.
I was worried.
I went to your apartment. Are you all right?
I am. I went to Marial's.
Lovely.
When love is at the root, it always grows back.
I suppose. I am very angry.
Things are said in anger we don't mean.
I meant every word. Anger aside.
Here is a book on the science of marriage, by the Choglokovs.
It's very modern, you'll love it.
Your love is fierce, too fierce at times.
This will help.
A royal marriage is a job.
Do the work, or broken hearts, shattered lives,
and blood all over the floor.
I am writing notes to myself.
"My wife does not like interruptions during intellectual salons."
Hmm. Funny.
"What the fuck" is my prevailing reaction
to what the fuck happened in there.
It did escalate.
It was like I was falling off a cliff and the momentum kept building.
Hmm. I believe it happens, sudden outbreaks in marriage.
Father would often throw urns at Mother,
and Mother would often fill his mouth
with crushed glass while he slept.
My mother would suddenly break loose, similarly to me then.
A boiling hot wave that swept the room
and took my father's legs out,
and then she held him under the metaphorical water
as he gasped out lame excuses.
Huh. So it is normal.
A kind of momentary marital madness where things not meant are thrown.
Some of it I meant.
From my sister Angela.
"Where is Mother?
"She does not answer my letters.
Please respond. I am concerned."
Ah. Right.
That's annoying. Thought that one was buried.
Perhaps today was an accumulation of our past.
It seems every week something else adds to the weight of it.
Let us forget it. Hmm?
We said things we didn't mean, or did, but so what? Just words.
I suggest we remove our clothes and stop talking.
I meant what I said about the ordination.
Know that.
What are you doing? Hm?
I have no choice.
You will break us.
Elizabeth gave me a book.
We could try it.
The science of marriage, apparently.
Hmm.
How is it?
How do you think it is, Agnes?
It's like a rat threw up blood in a glass.
I miss aquavit.
Don't wait up for me.
I'm going to your apartment.
Meet me there tonight.
I, um...
yes.
But we need fire and action, not just words.
Oh, blinis!
Here.
What's that?
Oh, I just thought you'd need to wash the taste
of all the lies out of your mouth.
You should join us.
That wit is wasted on just being a bitter bitch.
Disagree. Hm.
Hmm.
I just think our job for the Empress
is to challenge her on every level,
for the country, for isn't that...
I'm torn.
How so?
I want to keep listening,
but I want to listen whilst you suck my cock.
Yet that would make it hard for you to talk.
It's... a conundrum.
Blini?
Ooh!
You have trampled a very romantic moment, Georgina.
She really hasn't.
I imagine sometimes if you were castrated
and could focus only on ideas,
how great you would be, Voltaire.
And sad, no? Voltaire without a cock.
No. No, no, no.
Well, let's leave Voltaire to suck his own cock and ponder that,
and we shall go and speak words unencumbered.
Love to.
This exercise is called...
Tug of war.
The papers attached to the rope
have your issues written upon them.
You each argue a point,
the other attempts to see your side
and takes a step toward you when they do.
You hopefully both see enough
that you slowly reach the line together.
Go!
Ah! Catherine's reign.
You do not share my desire to transform this country.
Because it's bad.
Brilliant, but fucking mad!
And you don't listen to my advice.
I would like you to read all the works of Diderot,
as you cannot truly know me
and know what it is I seek here without it.
How many are there?
Forty-seven, not including annotated pamphlets.
Forty-seven? Are you fucking mad? Is she mad?
You can't read a book? You do nothing but eat and hunt all day.
Set yourself free in the forest and I will hunt and eat you all day.
- Off topic! - Was it?
- Arkady! - Marriage science is strangely fun.
You're losing.
No, you're losing!
I don't think that's the, uh...
Well, that's just fucking bragging.
The couple must stay balanced,
keep connected at all times, as we throw balls at you.
I have you always.
I know you do.
Ow!
Sorry.
We can take anything. Look at me and tell me we can't.
I do believe it now.
If we are just in the now.
But the past and the world outside...
Ow! Fuck!
Sorry, it says "increase force as it goes."
Where?
Somewhere.
It was just an argument, out of hand.
We can pretend it never happened.
Is that the secret to an unhappy marriage, amnesia?
Fuck!
The next ball that gets thrown comes out of Arkady's ball bag!
In arguments, it is best to use "You always" statements.
"You always do this and I hate it about you."
You always go to work and I hate it about you.
- Excellent. - Thanks.
I'm saving Russia.
No, you have to say, "I accept what you say."
"I am awful, have me anyway."
I'm not saying that.
I am to hit you in the back of the head
using a protruding knuckle if you don't.
And then I have to fuck Peter while you watch.
- It doesn't say that. - It says "some improvisation allowed."
Fine. I accept I am awful,
and I do put work,
and the saving of Russia from all you did to it, before you.
Accept me anyway.
I do.
You always kill whenever you want, hunt, eat and fuck when you want,
and do whatever you want, and I hate that about you.
Hm. I accept I am amazing
at arranging my life in an exceptional and fun way.
- Accept me anyway. - Funny.
We are now, terrifyingly enough, apparently to make an observation.
You two?
You are a fucking big-cocked hedonist,
and you are a stuck-up bitch married to her work.
It's doomed.
Wrong. No.
Arkady, what do you think?
I think you are both exceptional people. And that makes it hard.
You live life at its edges, and the edge of anything is sharp,
so you wound each other merely because you are you.
So you need to find a way to accept that there will be wounds,
or that at points you will need to step back from yourselves
for the sake of the other.
Fucking hell, Arkady.
Indeed.
I do notice things, you know.
He does.
He has excellent fucking eyes.
Peter, I have brought you a pheasant.
Pheasant as a present.
And 11 bottles of rosé and 46 oysters,
and I had the chef make madeleines stuffed with cantaloupe.
And I was going to suggest badminton, but you are... something.
Finished with this. I have work.
Oh, stay and play.
You are always improving Russia. Let us have fun.
Fun?
It's actually chapter six.
Hmm?
Let's try it.
- Oh! - Ah...
We need four then. Shall I get George?
- Or six of us is good. - Hugo?
I think he died.
I heard that too. Well, we can stay.
Me and Tatyana?
No, Grigor. Get Marial.
Thank you, you two. You can go.
A four.
Unbelievable.
- Marial? - Marial.
"Get Marial," she said. Fucking couldn't believe it.
- Once you love me... - I, of course, agree.
You're so happy.
The four of us together, friends, fucking amazing.
And Hugo can fuck off.
Glad it's about me.
I'm happy for you. Don't fuck this up.
I won't fuck it up.
You hate him. Just hide it. All of it.
I am a very good actress.
Yesterday, that orgasm...
It was real!
Was it?
Ah! That was good.
I almost believed you.
You'll end up loving him.
We all do.
You all do.
That's almost a good point.
- Hello! - Hello.
One rule. You can't speak ill of him.
But I can think it.
If you must, but we are in agreement on the speaking part.
Understood.
I have half-filled your glass. We cannot have slosh.
But we can be sloshed?
By the end of the game, it is essential.
What are the sides?
I'll play with you.
Agnes.
I was hoping you weren't undressed
so I could tear every stitch from your body.
First this.
We're going to play a war game.
- What? - I'm Sweden. You're Russia.
This is where the battle was when the ceasefire deal was done.
You think you would've won.
I know I would've.
Well, I know what our plan was.
Let's find out.
I may be in love.
Be offensive if you weren't.
Let's begin.
Keep your eye on the cock.
I cannot keep my eyes off it.
Are you flirting with your own husband?
I'm using his self-love against him.
- One-nil. - Brilliant!
Fuck!
Aaah! I'm very competitive.
- And very shit so far. - Hey.
Back off my partner and serve the cock.
Okay?
Yep. Yep.
Whoa!
Two-one.
Marial, stand further up court.
I know where to stand.
Oh, fuck!
- Three-one. - Eyes on the cock.
A yard up court.
I know how to play.
Ah, with all the missing, it was confusing.
Ah! Then we counterattacked
on your flank with a division...
But I'd turned you, so it's not my flank anymore.
You're looking into the teeth of thousands of men.
Bristling, guns ready, cocks hard.
Fuck.
Then we retreat and...
I'm on the ridge above the valley you retreat into...
Ha! And that's it!
You know where I march next, don't you?
Stockholm.
I win!
I knew I fucking would.
Well, maybe you would've. Guess you'll never know, really.
And now I'm in Stockholm,
are you the spoils of war?
Come here.
Get on all fours.
Smell me, and wail like a buffalo.
As much as I want to, I can never fuck you. I'm married.
No. But...
But know that I am slick with want.
It is a sweet torture we must endure.
No. I'm...
I'm dying...
This is something I desperately want before I die.
And so is Sweden.
Oh.
Yes.
It's horrible to die with many things unfucked and unwon.
My heart breaks for you.
Ow!
Fuck!
So, I'm to sit and rely on Peter to solve this for us?
Peter? I'll just say it again for impact.
Peter?
He has his gifts, and making her love him is one.
And if... and if I may say the obvious out loud...
when he fails, what then?
Archie, you and I united against anyone, who wins?
True.
Understand, though, this is...
how shall I put this...
a big fucking deal.
I have tried to stay aligned with her
and she does nothing to stay aligned with me.
At some point, you will hear a tearing noise
and it will be me coming loose and letting loose.
You're very worked up.
Should I teach you the bird noises?
I came to take you...
but obviously not a good time.
I envy your life sometimes.
Really? I never envy you.
Although sometimes I love your hats.
You could ask Vinodel to come back.
I love to watch.
Still watching?
When are you going to give in, Archie?
That's a tearing noise I'd like to hear.
Mm.
Mm! This fucking pheasant!
It's how I shoot them.
With a gun?
Mm. It is amazing.
We all sit at a table gorging on pheasant and forgiveness.
Even Marial and her myriad of betrayals are in the fire.
- My fucking betrayal? - To Marial! Hmm?
All love is complicated.
And sometimes love is unintelligible to outsiders.
A monster to one... I tend to shoot them in the neck.
- What? - Pheasants.
So the shot does not get in the breast,
and when pan-fried, the pheasant retains a silky texture.
- Amazing. - Hmm. Silky. Well done, darling.
Are you being sweet to another human?
It is sporadic.
It is a sight to see, you in love.
And you in love is also a sight to see.
- Careful. - To Grigor and Marial!
To Catherine and... the future of Russia.
- And to Peter and Catherine! Huzzah. - Well, yeah...
- Huzzah. - Huzzah.
Catherine got a letter from her sister today.
A strange and possibly incendiary subject
to lob into our dinner, husband.
Gosh. What did she say? "Where's Mum?"
Marial, put a whole lot of pork in your mouth and chew... slowly.
I've been thinking on how we respond.
- I've written a letter, all in my head, but... - You what?
"Dear sister-in-law, you don't know me,
but I am the former head of Russia,
married and sick with love for the new head of Russia,
your sister Catherine.
In regards to your mother's whereabouts
and state of health, we'll get to it."
I like the start.
Are you really doing this?
I am. You will not be alone in this. I start strong.
"Love!
It is a prick. Take it from a prick
who has been led too often by his prick.
Your mother's love, for instance.
She came and saw her daughter had blossomed into a leader
of such light and power and could not abide it
so wished to suffocate her for it, and our love with it.
And for two and a half minutes, including all foreplay,
I aided her in it.
Your mother is dead.
I do not regret her death, but the circumstances of it, yes.
If I had my time again, I would not fuck her,
merely pick her up and toss her out the fucking window."
- Right. - Indeed.
"For she came to destroy us and we are a love that cannot be destroyed.
Rest assured, your sister did avenge your mother
and stabbed me five times.
Each stab in my body was deserved,
and as I watched the blade go into me over and over,
the fact she could live without me brought a chilling blackness,
the look of pain in her eye as she did it almost worse,
the terror I would leave her and Paul forever, worse still.
Somehow I lived.
As I said, our love is fierce, it is a sun.
It burns within us and sometimes it feels
it will consume us, but it never does.
All the best, your brother-in-law, Peter."
"P.S., Please come visit.
Spring is the nicest time."
Thoughts?
You are a wonder to me.
And you me.
And also to me.
Are you fucking... Ugh!
Tasting this pork thing is amazing.
Mm.
Two great discoveries I made in France...
the Enlightenment and French 75s.
I also discovered cunnilingus there.
Giving it or getting it?
- Both. - What a country.
Très bien.
Thanks for helping me.
To women and ideas.
These fucking weak, mealy-mouthed, all-talk intellectuals.
I hoped for fire in there.
You're really on her side?
No one knows. You're mysterious.
I am not at all.
France changed me. Forever.
My concern is it is all talk from Voltaire and the others.
The Empress needs us to be wild, as you said,
with our ideas, our push, our actions if need be.
I so agree.
Wow, this is strong.
As are we.
I need a friend who believes in what I do.
If the drinks are always this good, you have one.
What a fucking night.
Felt so right, all of us together.
Are you fucking kidding me?
What? You liked him.
He is a fucking monster and someone needs to kill him
so you idiots are free from his spell.
Wow, I really thought you were having a good time.
Misread.
Like the orgasm thing.
I'm relatively sure we just made a new baby.
Perhaps.
Ah, Paul!
You said to bring him if he said anything new.
Ooh! What is it?
I'm scared to ask.
I don't want to ruin the surprise.
- What a cutie. - Paul.
What did you say, Paul? Hmm?
I'm really hoping for the word "enlightenment"
to balance your mother and I.
Hmm?
I don't want to ruin the moment, but you can't take this off him.
Just think about it.
All right. I will.
Book.
Did he just say "book"?
I think he did. Perfect.
Hey, practice!
Let's practice the Stag Ritual.
It's the middle of the night, Velementov.
We're a long time dead, and you must get it right.
Or Paul's head...
Look at him.
Peter the Great.
Velementov, are you all right?
He's always there. I miss you.
Go home, Velementov.
We should honor this man.
Little Paul. Look at him.
Ruling family cuddling up.
What... what a day it will be.
I am glad I lived to see it.
Anyway...
let's practice!
I'll take him home.
To see... to see him ordained,
and knowing how your father wept the day you were.
- He did? - Like a baby.
Made me... he made me slap him several times to try to stop him.
- Oh. - Just...
So, you remade the friendship.
How do you know?
The court is all a-flurry. I felt proud of you.
And Peter and you, how did that go?
I prefer Pugachev's version.
What?
He's living downstairs.
I sometimes go back to my old life.
He is fucking funny, that guy, and he does Peter pitch-perfect.
Evil and charm fused.
Really? Interesting.
And you mentioned the ordination tonight?
No.
But she's going to give in.
I can see her wavering and he'll keep pushing.
He knows just where to punch her in the heart.
He was born to have what he wants.
Great news. Join Maxim and I in a port.
The drink and the game.
No, I'm exhausted.
Good night.
Women. So delicate.
So many late-night visitors.
- Don't give in. - I'm not.
Your voice is faltering even as you say it.
You cannot leave Russia in the hands of...
- He's half of me. - His first word was "pussy."
A salient point. His second, "book," though.
He works you and you don't even see it.
Don't.
We had rules, Marial.
I love you too much for rules.
Don't give in.
Well, this is a sight for tired eyes.
Success, I take it?
Guaranteed.
As in, not yet?
As in, not yet, and yet it will be.
As in, "No, I haven't done my job"?
Don't scratch at me.
I have mended our hearts
and will soon give the gentlest push and she will fall.
When? There is no time.
I will know the moment, as is my way.
The whole family line rests on my impeccable instincts.
You can be confident I will bring it home.
Indeed.
I'll rest easy, then.
- Morning! - Morning.
I hear you found peace with your husband.
Such passion you two have.
We do.
I look at Paul and I think,
how can he not be anything but extraordinary?
Obvious and clumsy from you.
It is important.
My mind shakes a little at the mistake you could make.
Also slightly threaten-y.
I'll stop, you start.
I cannot espouse the ideals of meritocracy
and then let the Church say, "A man in a cloud has chosen my son
to rule all your lives, whether he is built for the job or not."
I enjoyed the speech, but that's not why.
It is why. Also, what if I had a daughter?
I don't think that's happening when you have a cunt full of lemon top.
I don't know what you're talking about.
What are you... What the fuck are you doing?
I can smell it. Lemon top!
Get away from me!
I will get it out, or you will admit it's in.
Yes! All right.
God.
I am too busy to have another baby. That is all.
Ah, the truth.
Let's have more of that, shall we?
Let me go.
It's fucking madness ordaining Paul, you should see that.
It makes him an option for others.
Get rid of me, choose him.
Yes.
So you know that!
Yes, of course.
And you would still have me do it!
You've always been under threat, always will be.
People are plotting to kill you somewhere right now.
- Perhaps even in here? - Funny.
Was it?
It strengthens you as much as it weakens you.
And it preserves the family line of Peter the Great.
Your great love.
And you.
But mainly him.
For you.
It can work for all of us.
I always think you are for me, but really it is all for him.
I think I've done enough to prove my love for you.
I am asking you rather desperately to do something for me.
My instinct is no.
It screams in me.
No.
As you wish.
Are we sure the barrel of this gun is straight?
Yes, we're sure.
I think Paul said "dead."
"Bed." He said "bed."
Maybe we need an old, slow stag.
They are. Should I find a three-legged one?
Fuck off, fatboy.
Why don't you shoot me? I'm probably more your range.
Let's just do it again.
Huzzah!
Ah, Paul!
Huzzah, Paul! Oh!
Chosen by God...
and loved by Daddy.
Yeah.
Hi. Mum.
Did you see that?
I saw you.
I've thought on it.
I will allow the Stag Ritual.
Huzzah!
But not the ordination.
I don't have the right to discard my father's legacy.
How do I explain that to him?
- He's dead. - No, he's not.
We are the future.
You mean you. Hmm?
So I must push my family into a ditch to get out of your way?
My father built the room we live in, the palace we live in,
in the city he built with a will of iron.
A thousand-year reign was his desire.
You are legitimate because of him.
I am legitimate because I fucking took it,
because it is my destiny.
- No, because I gave it. - Oh, we're back here.
Yes. And what of Paul?
Paul will have us.
How do we explain to him he's a fucking nobody?
Do you not think we are exceptional, you and I?
Of course.
And that our child will likely be similar?
You ask too much.
Of me. Of Paul.
I ask you to choose us.
Oooh!
What the fuck?
You fucking brought her here.
You chose her as a wife. This is your fucking fault.
You couldn't control her.
Because I love her!
You should never have brought me someone I would love.
Total mismanagement!
It's not my fault. Peter the Great ruled his women.
I thought you might be something beyond a shadow of him.
Total misjudgment!
Oh, that was cruel.
Oooh!
Ah, you're both here. How fortuitous.
Archie, get off the ground.
She's not doing it. I failed.
What the fuck will Daddy say?
- Happy to make some guesses. - Hush.
Which is why I have a plan. A sedative.
You dab it on her lips once she's asleep,
it will absorb and put her in a heavy sleep.
At midnight, Paul will be one.
You bring him to the chapel.
He is officially ordained. She never knows until she needs to.
I like it. God has intervened.
Eh... fuck it! Give me it.
It is a secret you must keep until it's done.
Right, right, right.
Oh, that's fucking reassuring, "right, right, right."
- I will hit you again. - And God will note it down again.
I believe in you, darling.
To Emperor Paul. Huzzah!
- Huzzah! - Huzzah.
So yummy.
- Her placenta is divine. - Yeah, it tastes like Mummy's.
This is exciting, Paul.
Your first step toward becoming an emperor.
What if it is not for you?
It was not for me.
What if I am just putting a burden on your neck?
It is exhausting to carry the weight of Peter the Great.
Maybe a good father should protect you from that.
Nod if you want it.
Imperceptible.
You're right, I'll decide.
He's late.
Right.
Oh, watch, watch, watch.
- Uh, noble. - Emperor.
Come here and bend over.
Ooh!
Thank you, sir. You may go.
He actually thought you were him.
Good at my job.
These frescoes are so beautiful.
Are you trying to distract yourself from the weakness of your nephew?
Yes. I am, actually.
Only God can control destiny.
Well, have a word, then, will you?
This is fucking bizarre.
One minute, they're like he's chosen by God,
and now we're strapping him to a wild animal and shooting at him.
This is Russia.
We'll be home soon, though.
I can feel it.
I'm sorry, I know what it meant to you.
Love can carry wounds.
I will carry mine.
I took it out this morning. The lemon top.
I look forward to meeting your daughter,
or the possibility of a bushel of children to choose a leader from.
- Grigor, should I be nervous? - Not at all.
New gun!
It's fine.
Release the stag!
Pugachev.
God has called you.
You fucking me, or I fucking you?
Neither. We're fucking the Empress.
Oh. Love it.
- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -