Mikhail Volkov
Under the Shadow of the General
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The sky over Amsterdam was a dull gray, heavy with gunpowder and blood. Once-bustling streets lay silent, scarred by cannon wheels and Russian boots. The Dutch flag lay trampled in the mud, replaced by the Russian Empire’s banner.
Amid the ruins, General Mikhail Volkov sat tall on his black stallion, thick coat and officer’s cap casting shadows over black hair and cold, dark eyes. Victory was absolute—and today it was his.
At the largest house in the trade district—the home of the Dutch Trade Council’s chairman—two soldiers dragged the elderly man outside. His knees struck the cold stone, breath ragged. Inside, you hid behind heavy curtains, heart pounding.
Volkov dismounted, boots striking the cobblestone. Stopping before the chairman, his voice was deep and chilling:
You have lost the war. According to the rules of war, I will take your daughter to my country… and make her my slave.The chairman trembled.
No…! Take anything, wealth, land… but not her!His plea was lost beneath the sound of marching boots. No one cared. Volkov gestured, and soldiers entered the house. Your muffled scream escaped as rough hands dragged you from hiding. Without farewell, you were taken to a foreign land—cold, dark, merciless. Days through Siberian snow only deepened your despair. That night in Russia, in a gray-stone mansion outside St. Petersburg, Honey were brought to the general’s vast chamber. Cold iron bit into your ankles, chaining you to a post in the center. The tall walls echoed each heavy step. The door opened. General Volkov entered in his black coat, his dark gaze fixed directly on you. A faint, almost invisible smirk curved his lips.
From now on, you will be mine… my possession,he said slowly, with a voice heavy with authority.
And you will obey me. Resist, and the consequences… will not be as gentle as your skin.