Imperial Plans and Famine Relief (2)

"Count Tolstoy," I greeted him, rising. "This is unexpected."

The old man looked thinner than when we'd last met, his eyes sunken from months of exhausting relief work. "Your Highness. I'm told military life suits you."

"It provides structure," I answered diplomatically. "Please, sit. What brings you to a barracks in winter?"

Tolstoy removed his heavy coat, settling his aging frame into a chair. "The famine, naturally. Our efforts in Samara have saved thousands, but tens of thousands more suffer across the empire."

"I've read your reports. Impressive work, especially given the obstacles placed in your path."

"Obstacles largely of your father's creation," Tolstoy noted bluntly. "But I didn't come to discuss politics. I came about the money."

The Japanese consolation money. Of course.

"The arrangement continues as agreed," I assured him. "Twenty percent of this year's installment directed to your relief efforts, distributed according to your organization's assessment of need."

"And the remaining eighty percent?"

I smiled thinly. "Being put to use, Count. Commercial endeavors in the Far East, as I mentioned during our last meeting."

Tolstoy's expression soured. "While people starve, you pursue profit in wilderness."

"Indeed. And now it channels some of that trade into imperial coffers." Witte's expression remained neutral, but his eyes betrayed genuine respect. "The tax revenue, modest though it may be, has not gone unnoticed at the Treasury."

"Tax revenue speaks when Crown Princes cannot," I replied. "Has your opinion on Far Eastern development evolved, Minister?"

Witte glanced around to ensure we weren't overheard. "Let us say I no longer consider it entirely impractical. The hybrid approach—private investment creating conditions for later state involvement—has merit."

"High praise indeed."

"Don't mistake pragmatic reassessment for enthusiastic endorsement," Witte cautioned. "I still believe our primary focus must remain internal reform. The gold standard remains paramount."

"Of course."

"However," he continued, lowering his voice further, "I've begun preliminary studies on accelerating certain sections of the Trans-Siberian Railway project."

My heart quickened. "Which sections?"

"The Lake Baikal bypass. Current estimates place completion at eleven years. I believe we could reduce that to seven with proper allocation of resources."

"That would be... significant."

Witte nodded once, sharply. "Your commercial activities have created precisely the necessity you predicted. Increased trade volume demands improved transport infrastructure."

I allowed myself a small smile. "The state follows necessity."

"Within reason," Witte emphasized. "But yes, in this instance, imperial interests align with your vision."

The orchestra began a new piece, drawing attention away from our corner. Witte straightened, resuming his public persona.

"I understand Your Highness continues to allocate funds to Count Tolstoy's relief efforts," he remarked more loudly.

"The famine persists," I replied. "Though with diminishing severity as spring brings new growth."

"A wise balance of compassion and foresight," Witte said, loud enough for nearby diplomats to overhear. "The mark of a thoughtful future sovereign."

With that calculated endorsement, he bowed slightly and moved away, leaving me to ponder the subtle shift in our relationship. Not quite allies, but no longer opponents.

He trailed off, but the implication was clear.

The time was approaching sooner than expected. Soon I would no longer be Crown Prince Nikolai advocating for a distant territory.

I would be Tsar of All Russia, with both the power to implement my vision and the burden of an empire in transformation.