- I think now. - Madness. It's barely charred.
A thin ribbon of raw in the center
creates an unctuous, silky mouthfeel within the cooked meat.
You also didn't stuff it with enough fennel.
I did.
You'll see, and bow down to my superior instincts,
as you will when we take Sweden.
- It's my country. I know how to take it. - My troops. I know how to use them.
You're an adviser in this, understood?
Okay, fine. God. Just wait till we're in Stockholm.
What a fucking time we'll have, huh? Huzzah!
- Huzzah! - Oj!
- Oj. - Oj!
- Oj!
Fucking hell.
Idiots.
- Oj! - Oj!
- How did it go at the fort? - Three battalions on the march.
We rendezvous with them down the road a few miles.
It is happening. It's really fucking happening.
- Will there be a lot of this? - Probably.
Okay. Let's ride.
Troops on the move, battle in the air.
Never a better feeling.
Let's fuck them up! Bring the fish.
What are we waiting for?
- Them. - How do we know they'll be here?
- Maps. - Right.
They have to cross on the other side of the lake
to meet the troops from Fort Bilyostock on the road to Stockholm.
Right.
When we get them back, no one can ever know what happened. Understood?
I just want him back.
This is Hugo's fault.
- You will kill him, right? - I…
Okay, don't answer.
But if I kill him now, accidentally,
say my gun goes off on the ride back, we all good?
- Just watch for them. - Sure.
And this has nothing to do with Pugachev?
They're not moving against me?
No. It's just fucking Hugo in his ear, and Peter the Great in his head.
- Men need something. It is our curse. - Everyone needs something.
It is not always a curse.
Why are you just standing there?
- Awe. - Inappropriate and yet logical response.
- Where's Grigor? - I haven't seen him.
- Nor have I. He didn't sleep here. - Inside Marial somewhere, I suppose.
Right.
- Thanks for saying the unsaid out loud. - Whatever you need.
I'm just going to stand here in case you need anything.
- If you must. - I must.
Fucker.
- I assume you mean me. - Bit late.
I have a full life. Randomness is an aspect.
Like killing 47 nobles in Vlastin?
- That kind of randomness? - Forty-seven. That all?
When you pile up bodies, looks like more. Optical illusion, I guess.
And yet, I don't remember that being in your instructions.
You said, "Raise chaos." Consider it raised.
It's an art, not an exact science. The people, they get out of hand.
- Apparently. - You wanted her scared, right?
- She is that. - Then you're welcome.
Can I have some of that?
Yes. Well, the final stage approaches.
I think we could take her down. They fucking love me out there.
They are fucking hot for blood.
I think I actually speak to them. I'm sort of having a…
- Breakdown? - Epiphany.
Power of the pulpit. It can go to one's head.
You wanted to be rich? You will be rich at the end of this.
No, I think I've moved us to a point where she has to kill me.
What with the noble killing, et cetera.
She actually wants to apologize for stabbing you.
Sweet. I'd love to fuck her. You think that's on the table?
I'll definitely mention it.
Funny.
You're kind of a charming fucker, aren't you?
Has been said.
Bite?
Focus on the plan.
One more town, Tekov. Don't kill any nobles.
Make contact with the local cleric. Stay there. Send this letter.
You would like to negotiate with the empress,
the church is your rock, et cetera.
- Here are your notes. - Okay. Tekov.
Okay. Great.
Anything else?
Quickie against the carriage? No one will see.
I don't think…
Well, it's all about not fucking thinking.
Look at you, waiting to exhale, my friend.
All caught up inside. Well, I say blow, fucking blow.
- Fucking foreplay, I love it. - Do your job!
I mean, let's face it. You're thinking about that all the way home, Patriarch,
and long into the fuckin' night.
Fucking hell. Is that them?
Told you.
- Fuck. - Who is it?
- It's Catherine's carriage. - She is a marvel.
I was just missing her, and here she is.
We could just keep going. They can't cross the lake in a carriage.
Great. We should wave.
Look friendly, though. No pointless animosity.
I want good diplomatic relations with her when I'm back on the throne.
I'll go talk to her.
- Why? She's just gonna tell you to stop. - We don't know that.
We stole her army!
True, but she is mercurial and always unexpected,
so she may have come to be supportive.
- Is he kidding? - People misunderstand our love.
And besides, what if I die in battle?
One frenzied sexual skirmish of a poignant nature seems opportune.
Fucking hell. She's not gonna forgive treason!
- Should we just keep going? - Let's wait.
- Oh, just you. - Did you come to have tea with me?
And to discuss the liberation of women from the yoke of the cock and the heart
along enlightenment principles?
- No. - I thought he was with you.
No.
Well, no doubt he's with the real love of his life.
Peter. Of course.
- Hi. - Disloyal.
I was worried.
- Hello. - "Hello"? Are you fucking kidding me?
- You're mad. - Beyond that.
And then imagine that, and then imagine more. Much fucking more.
And then imagine all again
as if magnified by a magnifying glass the size of the fucking moon.
Elaborate metaphor that suggests you're not here to be supportive.
- You stole my army. - True.
- And you lied to me about hunting. - I am hunting.
Hunting Swedes, hunting a legacy,
and we've also hunted many quail, so hunting was true.
I don't want to talk. No one knows this has happened and no one will.
- Au contrairie. - "Oh contri" what?
Means the opposite of what you said. Everyone will know.
It will be in the history books
and many songs and short dramatic plays will be written, celebrating it.
And also, a small recipe book of meals cooked on the journey to victory.
Do you actually think I'm going to let you steal my army
and take Sweden in my name?
Yes, because you're smart.
And when you look past this little swirl of anger,
you'll recognize its brilliance and own it as yours.
I don't want to invade Sweden. Or guess what? I would have.
- We don't do many things together. - What?
And the Choglokovs' book says you should.
I think they mean playing bridge or beekeeping.
Not invading a democratic nation at the loss of thousands of lives.
No, 672 is the estimate.
Our plan, which I basically came up with, is so brilliant, I…
Here, let me draw it in the snow for you. Grigor, you disloyal fuck,
get me some twigs and leaves of various colors to create roads and such.
Grigor, do not!
- Grigor! - Don't know what to do.
Get Velementov, get Hugo, and let's go home.
So you won't even listen? This arrogance of yours!
I am not at my best this day, in the snow, miles from home,
as a madman whips up my people against me, as the court simmers.
And the idea you did this now? Now?
Because if it got out, everyone would smell chaos, opportunity. You know that.
I suppose if I'd stopped to analyze, I do see that now, but easy to get around.
Who's not listening?
- Thanks. - One thing.
I am loyal to you, your safety.
Not your idiotic plans triggered by a foppish Swedish cunt!
- Right, okay. Calm down. - Don't ever say "disloyal" to me again.
Yes, I understand. Calm down.
I'll be at a respectful distance.
Catherine, you should own this.
We go take Sweden back, you come, we weekend in Stockholm,
get the plaudits and love of a new nation and an ally forever,
and a victory that rallies our people away from the distraction of Pugachev.
Hugo will give us a seaport, which is what we always wanted,
then on the way home, we find Pugachev, apologize, cut his head off,
and go from village to village,
introducing me as your loving, supportive husband,
and introducing Pugachev's head, explaining what has happened.
We go home, and it is a tale Paul feeds on for life.
- No. - I think it should be entertained.
It is entertaining, but not entertained. Let's go.
Sometimes words are clearly not enough.
- You wish to fight me? - If I need to.
What are they doing?
Throwing snowballs.
Aggressively or playfully?
That's hard to say.
You know, there is a buffet in the carriage.
A buffet?
Hams, mustard fruits,
a rabbit terrine sprinkled with your own lemon and thyme salt.
It is a trick. No, you want me to get in the carriage, take me away.
Great idea.
Grigor can ride your horse back, and we can fuck all the way home.
Your strategy is transparent.
And nonetheless powerful for it, I suspect.
Grigor, terrine!
I have to do this.
My father appears to me.
- As in, you actually see him? - I do.
- He wants more of me. - Fuck him!
No, I want more of me. Me as I am is not enough.
That is mad. You are the most enough I have ever met.
It's just in your head.
Look. This terrine is here, I am here. We are enough.
It is fucking good.
Because of the salt.
Because of you.
Did I tell you I am going to try my salt on desserts?
I have ordered Jean-Pierre to experiment.
Madness, but brilliant.
Let us go investigate these desserts. Let's go.
No.
- Why not? - Because ordination.
Because you. Because Sweden.
I never should have said that. "Because Sweden."
- I was being mean. - You meant it.
I did fuck it up, my whole reign.
That's my legacy.
- We are your legacy. - What will Paul see? And you?
As you grow larger and larger, as we both know you will,
I will look smaller and smaller to him, and to you.
It is mad talk.
You hear old voices… Hugo, Peter the Great…
calling you back to a place you have left.
But hear my voice.
I see your son's eyes,
the way they brighten when they're on you,
and yours on him.
And us,
we have rewritten each other in the best, most infuriating way.
That is enough.
That's close to enough.
Peter.
Fuck! You do this, and you can't come back.
- You're angry now but… - I mean it.
Catherine.
- I mean it. - You don't.
I do!
You kill me every fucking day.
You bend me and my reign. Enough! Enough!
I mean what I say.
There are many versions of you.
And you know I'm the only one who sees them all.
Yes.
And you know I love them all, even when I find them baffling and idiotic.
Yes, you do.
I just ask the same of you.
Peter.
There are "us" things and "me" things. This is a me thing.
I need this.
I am the leader of Russia, not just a wife.
The army is a "me" thing.
That version of you will have to kill me to stop me.
- Don't say that. - Let me go do this.
No. Just no. Just don't.
You think I am destroying us, and I know I'm saving us.
No!
- Really? - Really. And shut up.
I'll send word when we're done. I love you.
My whole fucking heart and all my body
and whatever ineffable spirit animates me.
Everything.
Actually, I…
Oh, shit.
No! No.
Peter!
It fucking burns when I piss.
You get that?
Where is he?
Fuck.
- George! - Elizabeth. How are you?
- I'm well. - I was just looking for the empress.
I found a passage in the Nakaz I wanted to discuss with her.
Which passage was that?
Rights of appeal of regional governors
as pertains to the issuing of agricultural permits. Page 94.
The whole thing's incredibly impressive. You.
You don't believe a woman can change?
She can change her plan.
The strangest feeling just shot through me.
Oh, gosh.
I might sit.
Lev, get Elizabeth some vodka.
Tell me we imagined it.
Fuck.
That's it, then.
Let's ride around the lake. We should reach them by nightfall.
Or couple of thoughts.
We keep going.
Peter's… Peter's dead.
- It's over. - Yeah. And you will be too, soon.
- I need to go see her. - She's gonna put a bullet in your head.
- Well, maybe it'll be a relief. - You don't deserve that.
You served your country your whole life.
I find that very sad.
Maybe my fate was to fucking fail, and the rest is delusion.
Okay.
Let me lay this out for you.
So you go back, and you'll be hanged or shot as a traitor.
Committed treason, stole troops, led Peter to his fucking death.
- Enough! - You were on thin ice with her already.
Fuck, badly timed pun.
The point is, she's not gonna be in a forgiving mood.
Grief is fucking weird.
My dog died when I was 11,
and I ate leaves for two months and would only communicate in rhyme.
Shut up, meatball. You just want your fucking country back.
And you just want a moment worthy of who you thought you were.
And I can give you that.
A victory that monarchies all over Europe will fucking celebrate,
and the man who wrought it will be in the fucking history books.
Add in a few months of Swedish blondes,
amazing meatballs made from perfectly minced elk meat,
and no doubt you'll get to fuck Agnes
'cause I can see she weirdly fucking wants to.
And so be it.
We're men who have what we want in our grasp.
Or we're not, and we cry in our fucking silk pants about our friend dying,
and fuck up our lives for nothing.
He isn't coming back either way.
And in a few months, neither are you.
Or your plan: Go home, get shot tomorrow.
Thoughts?
What the fuck?
Nothing fucking matters anymore.
Loving this attitude.
I can see why Agnes is in fucking thrall.
Poor fucking kid.
Peter?
No.
Her.
Yeah.
Okay, let's go.
Harder!
I'm not in the mood for company.
I'm not company. Did you see him?
Yes.
Well? Don't keep me in suspense. The plan continues.
Do this for me for a bit. I'm exhausted.
- Really? - Really.
And when does it end?
The plan.
So much better to be lashed by another.
- Jesus. What is going on? - I hate myself, my longings.
- Why? Why me? - Jesus. Did you fuck Pugachev?
No, no. I'm too strong for that.
But he is handsome.
Fuck me, is this whole thing turning into a love story?
He is a question sent.
Everything we're faced with is a question, you see?
God is fortifying me to do his work through and with a demon,
and I must prevail.
Why am I worried you're not in control of this situation?
I am. I am. One more.
Archie.
Bring forth your love, saints, your courage, and dip me in it.
Oh, shit.
Archie, sit!
Okay, okay. I'm fine.
- I'm fine. - Where is he?
Tekov.
He'll make contact through the clergy.
I bring him here to Catherine, the deal gets done, he dies, I assume,
or we live happily ever after.
Is that possible? It's not. It's not, so why say it out loud?
- Jesus Christ. - Yes, yes! Let's pray to the Son.
Great idea!
You can't bring Pugachev to Catherine, Archie.
Fuck knows what he'll say. What if he talks about me?
He won't. I'll handle it. I have a firm grasp on things.
Yeah.
I'm gonna leave you to do that.
So beautiful here.
- Catherine? - Grigor.
Grigor, so beautiful here.
We really should head back, though.
- Let's go. - What?
I might run to the carriage. I feel like running.
What?
We can't leave him.
Come on!
Happy birthday.
What?
- It's… - It is.
I always remember your birthday, as yours is four days from mine.
And when it's nearing my birthday,
I think always of the cakes your mother had made for you.
Yes.
Remember the life-size carriage with a hippo alighting from it?
- Nine. - They always thrilled me.
Dear fat Mother.
Of course you forgot your birthday. You're in that exciting phase.
- How do you mean? - The plan.
I'm figuring you make a breathless entrance into Catherine's apartments.
Dawn, probably, to give it a sense of drama and urgency, excitement.
Me, Archie.
"Pugachev has written, and I can solve this problem
"in exchange for gratitude and a list of demands."
Your face.
It's the marzipan. I'm not a fan.
Pugachev. Charismatic man, but an employee mentality,
even in the bedroom.
You fucked him? How was that?
That is what you take from my revelation you're behind Pugachev?
- You want to fuck him. - Jesus Christ!
You poor thing. How tormenting.
What do you want? You haven't told her?
Why would I do that?
As long as Paul gets ordained and she is unharmed,
then it is a valuable lesson in how easily chaos can be unleashed in the country.
It will be exactly that.
Then I am happy as a hippo in a carriage.
How did you know?
Your desk drawer was empty, and I know what a letter writer you are.
You wrote a play. I love it.
I could only show you.
- It's a bit… - Incendiary, but funny.
- I know. I love Swift. - Swift. Great.
Probably a bit treasonous about Catherine.
Written from love for country, it could not be.
Maybe she's for fucking real, Arkady.
Did they actually all go hunting without me?
And then to send me a note. I mean, that's a fuck in the face, isn't it?
- And all I've done is be loyal. - Me too.
But are we ever fucking rewarded? That badminton thing.
I can't fucking take this.
- I know what you're doing. - I don't know what you mean.
I forgive you for shooting me.
It was my patriotic duty. Possibly the thing I'm proudest of.
You used to say your tits were the thing you were most proud of.
I guess I evolved.
George, it's me.
Just wink, that's all, so I know.
Because it's driving me crazy, and honestly,
I miss you, bitch as you are.
Tatyana, this need for status and others' love
reflects a deep, gnawing hole in you that can only be filled by a new society.
I'll pull your fucking hair out.
Just wink and I'll know.
You have been created by a system that destroys women.
I feel for you and all of us, but a new dawn is coming.
Bye.
Dresses will be the first to go.
- Grigor went hunting, too? - Is that where he is?
Everyone but fucking me.
You all right?
You know, when I was a girl in Germany, we went to this garden, and two things:
One, all the plants were so delicate, I really thought fairies had made them.
And also, second thing, everything in the garden was a circle.
The garden, all the plants, the hedges, maybe even the clouds.
I really loved it.
And my sister Angela and I ran around and around it, laughing.
And Mother screamed at us, but we wouldn't stop, until we did.
And then we were so dizzy, we threw up. Her on my face, me on her feet.
- Right. - So, we should do that.
- What? Throw up? - No, silly.
Have at least one or maybe all the palace gardens all circular.
In fact, all the country palaces, too. It's fun. People would love it.
It just brings joy, nothing more than that,
but there's nothing wrong with that.
Joy! Hexagons alone would amuse.
- Are you all right? - Fine.
I can't believe it. I just…
- Fuck. - Grigor, stop.
What?
Listen to me.
- I don't think it happened. - What?
I lay down, and when I look back up, nothing.
Just icy lake.
Beautiful icy lake.
Grigor, I think we imagined it.
- Catherine. - The sun, snow blindness, hallucinating.
- It happens out there. - I saw. Was wet.
- I don't think it happened! - Catherine!
I don't. I think we imagined it.
- I… - Grigor!
That's what happened.
Okay, Catherine. Okay.
Yes.
Just rest.
If I could. But I am empress, and so I can never rest.
It's the joy and the burden. I must work.
- Marial, please. - Sorry.
- What's wrong? - Nothing.
A wife should always be able to unburden themself to their husband.
A load shared is a load halved.
You can't choke on a loaf of bread that's shared.
- Half an egg… - Yes, okay, okay.
Ridiculous to tell you, but maybe if I say it out loud.
- I'm guessing it's Pugachev. - Yes, I'm…
I'm worried that Archie has lost control of this, or himself.
He's going to bring him here.
Interesting. Go on.
- Well, that puts me in danger. - Us. Us in danger.
Do you think I won't be tainted with the brush?
You know what? I just need to relax. Archie's brilliant. Always.
- This is his morning gruel. - We need to kill him.
Archie? Good plan, thanks for your help.
Pugachev. He's a fucking peasant putting you in danger.
Archie is secure. He's a patriarch. He'll be fine.
- You… - Well, I…
They grab Pugachev by the balls and he squeals your name.
What then?
She never forgives me again.
No royal dinners or new shoes or court life.
At best, exiled from the palace.
You really want to spend the rest of our lives on the family estate?
- I hate the estate. - Manure and mosquitoes.
That is exactly what I think of when I think of it.
It cannot be. I'll kill him for you.
Happy to do it.
Your birthday's coming up, and I've been wanting to do something special for you.
Sweet.
But Pugachev trusts me.
- I'll do it. - Okay.
Do you want some milk? I could use some milk.
Sure. Milk would be great.
- I don't think I can do this. - You can.
- I can't. - You can.
I don't think I can…
- Can. - Catherine.
Can!
Can and will.
Yes.
Hello. We must have a big breakfast for the court.
Gather chefs and people to help me arrange such immediately.
And flowers, many flowers. Gather them in the green salon.
Pearl handle or matte black?
Pearl handle's so pretty, it'll probably distract him for a second.
- Pretty's always good. - Surprise is everything, my advice.
I've done it before.
- Hi. - Hi.
- Late. - Yeah, I guess so, but also early.
So, in deciding to come here, I went with the early thought.
Dawn's coming. Why are you two up?
Marriage stuff. I'll wait outside.
Where were you?
Went riding, got lost, fell off my horse, got knocked out,
woke up with a deer's tongue in my mouth.
- Weird story. - I don't think so.
I mean, it's the forest, I'm another creature to them,
so my tongue's just part of a greater whole.
You okay? How hard did you hit your head?
- Pretty hard. - Well, did you see Vinodel?
I did. How are you? I'm more interested in you.
What's going on? How was your day yesterday?
Two days. Were you with Peter?
What were you and Maxim talking about? Seemed serious, kind of intense.
Maxim and his shoe compulsion, trying to get a handle on it.
- Let him have his fucking shoes, I say. - Right.
Kid's only got one fucking life,
might as well live it.
You want to lie down?
Yeah, I do, but I also don't think I can sleep.
You relax here.
I have to go to our estate. I'll be back in a day or two.
- Your estate? You hate your estate. - I really fucking do.
But sometimes duty calls, and I have to save the fucking day.
It's what I do.
"Breakfast served for all nobles. Joy is on the menu. Fucking joy."
How wonderful. And good morning.
Yes, it's early, but why waste the day?
A wren got in the room before,
pecked Petra in the back of the head and flew away. It was such fun.
I could not wait to tell you some important news.
Agnes!
Glad you are here.
- As am I, Empress. - Marvelous!
War.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have, and we are already in the process of…
invading Sweden!
- What? - Is this a jape?
Peter the Third, Hugo, and General Velementov
have taken Fort Lalinka's three battalions and ride for Sweden this day.
Archie, pray for victory immediately. Go!
Indeed. I…
I send you, Lord, a missive to honor our men…
protect our men,
and may we make a river of Swedish blood
that you may sail a golden boat on.
Boat bit is weird, but evocative.
It's early. I'm struggling.
- Huzzah! - Huzzah!
Let us all sing a rousing Russian war song.
We will restore monarchy. So, with me, everyone.
Petrov, start us off.
Catherine, what a crazy business.
- Where did this come from? - Peter and I don't do enough together.
So, Sweden.
You've added mystery to your repertoire. I like it.
- Agnes. - Can I have a moment?
- Of course. - Later, my dear.
- I'm a bit stunned. - It is a stunner.
How did this come about? I was sure you would never…
And are they really on their way with troops?
They are. And you, so happy.
Your eyes are shining so bright, I think they might burst into flames.
Thank you. We never dreamed you would come on side.
So manufactured a plot beneath my cute button nose.
I'm…
Huzzah.
Dream of Stockholm. You'll return there soon.
What the fuckity fuck?
Empress?
Archie. Great. Hello. Great prayer, stayed with me.
A gold boat on a river of blood. Amazing.
Thank you. The spirit moves in mysterious ways.
Like our sudden war with Sweden?
Do you think God is like,
"I don't know what the fuck to do next" moment to moment?
"Let's call it me moving in mysterious ways,
"and then it'll seem all-powerful and bring logic to bear where there is none."
It's an interesting theological question.
God is savvy.
Do you like pistachios? We should get some.
I have a letter from Pugachev. No to pistachios.
He is prepared to come in, give himself up to me and the church,
and be held while you negotiate an end to the uprising.
- Brilliant news! - I thought so. Made my day.
So we bring him in and I kill him.
That your advice?
- It would be a relief to all of us. - Great. Thanks, Archie.
No, you looked sad.
- No, I… - Great. I feel tired a bit.
Right. I will go, then.
Shall I undress you for bed?
No. No, I have things to do.
- Grigor, what's going on? - Nothing.
I've known you since you were 12. Why did you cry in there?
I was moved by the whole thing.
- A lie. - Get the fuck off me!
You look terrified.
I'm not.
- Grigor! - I feel like my chest is gonna explode.
Fuck!
Okay, what is it? My darling, what is it?
I'm sorry. I'm not being mean to you. I mean, I was. I just stopped.
Punch me in the face. I need to…
Fuck me or punch me. Your choice. But something!
What is it? Look at me.
No, no.
Okay, you're scaring me.
I don't know how to live anymore.
What do you mean?
He's gone, George.
Who's gone?
Peter.
He's dead.
What the fuck are you talking about?
We went to the ice, to the lake, and he took the army and fucking Hugo.
And Catherine and Peter talked,
and if I hadn't said anything, he'd still be…
But he wouldn't come back, and I had a bad feeling,
which is why I fucking told her.
And he said, "disloyal," but I wasn't. I never was, not to him, ever.
I just had a bad fucking feeling.
- And he fell through the ice. - What? What are you…
His horse fell through the ice, and he was caught in the stirrup.
And I ran, George. I fucking ran.
And I put my head in, and I caught a glimpse, and he looked…
he looked bewildered, like…
"What the fuck?"
And then they disappeared. He was gone. Is gone.
Catherine said we imagined it, but we didn't. We fucking didn't.
And she won't tell anyone, and I can't tell anyone or she'll kill me.
She's fucking mad, and I…
He's dead?
He's fucking dead.
She knows?
And you can't tell anyone.
I know how I'll get you. I know how I'll get you.
A lob, you clever bitch! I didn't see it coming.
- Can I play? - Yes!
Watch out for my lob. I put spin on it, and it's fucking dangerous.
I'll watch out for it.