The Hall of Ambassadors had not seen such anxious preparation since the end of the Napoleonic Wars. Polished marble gleamed beneath fresh wax, and golden chandeliers glittered with renewed vigor. But no amount of cosmetic splendor could hide the unease that hung in the air.
Alexander stood near the long window, staring out toward the Neva. Ice floes drifted lazily downriver as if time itself had slowed.
Today, he would face his first foreign diplomat—Baron Karl von Schrader, Austria's ambassador to the Russian court.
He turned slightly as footsteps echoed. A court official cleared his throat behind him. "Your Majesty, the ambassador has arrived."
Alexander nodded. "Bring him in."
Moments later, Baron von Schrader entered with military precision. The man was in his late fifties, tall and lean, with sharp, calculating eyes and a practiced half-smile. His uniform bore medals from the Congress of Vienna, and the way he bowed—just slightly short of proper—was deliberate.
"Your Majesty," he said. "On behalf of His Imperial Majesty Ferdinand I and the Austrian people, allow me to express our profound condolences. The passing of Tsar Nicholas is a loss for all of Europe."
Alexander met his gaze. "Austria's kind words are appreciated. My father valued your alliance."
"Indeed," von Schrader replied smoothly. "Russia has long been the cornerstone of the Holy Alliance. We pray it shall remain so."
The line was baited. Alexander gestured toward a pair of ornate chairs by a table set with tea and wine. They sat.
"You've been in Petersburg many years," Alexander said. "You knew my father well."
"I did. He was a man of certainty and order."
Alexander poured them both tea. "And do I strike you as a man of uncertainty, Baron?"
Von Schrader sipped before replying. "You are young, Majesty. Youth brings passion, but passion must be tempered by discipline. Russia is a colossus; it demands firm hands."
"And subtle ones, too, perhaps," Alexander replied lightly.
The Austrian's brow twitched. "Forgive me, but your sudden ascension has caused concern. Some ask whether the Empire will remain stable."
"Some," Alexander echoed, placing his cup down, "or Austria?"
A pause. The ambassador smiled. "Europe watches, Majesty. France has a new king. Prussia strains with reformist fever. Britain flexes her navy in the Mediterranean. Any sign of weakness in Petersburg could encourage adventurism."
Alexander leaned forward. "Then they must be shown strength."
Von Schrader tilted his head. "Strength alone is not enough. Will your Majesty maintain the protocols agreed upon at the Congress of Vienna? Will you suppress sedition at home and abroad, as your father did so resolutely?"
Here it was. The first test. Alexander felt the weight of the question—it wasn't just about philosophy; it was a demand for allegiance to the conservative order of Europe.
He chose his words carefully.
"Russia will continue to uphold the balance of Europe. But I believe peace is best preserved not by fear, but by prosperity. The Empire will pursue stability, not stagnation."
Von Schrader's expression didn't change, but his silence spoke volumes. Finally, he said, "A noble sentiment. Though many rulers have found such ideals difficult to maintain."
Alexander smiled faintly. "Then I hope to be an exception."
They talked for another hour, dancing through topics—Poland, the Ottoman Empire, trade tariffs. Alexander remained guarded but informed, impressing the ambassador with his grasp of European power dynamics.
But as the conversation waned, von Schrader stood and added one final note.
"There are whispers from Berlin, Majesty. The Prussians are unsettled. They speak of reform. And in Vienna, some fear that the embers of 1830 may reignite."
Alexander met his eyes. "I will keep the fire from spreading. But I may not use the same tools my father did."
Von Schrader bowed, deeper this time. "Russia is in capable hands, then. Good day, Your Majesty."
As the ambassador departed, Alexander sat back in his chair, exhaling deeply. He had passed his first trial—but barely. Every word had been a tightrope walk.
A knock interrupted his thoughts. His aide, Mikhail Petrov, entered with a sealed envelope.
"A dispatch from the British ambassador, Majesty. Lord Clanricarde requests an audience within the week."
Alexander took the envelope, nodding slowly. "So the wolves circle."
Petrov looked confused. "Majesty?"
Alexander rose and looked out the window again. The Neva still moved slowly, like history biding its time.
"Send word," he said. "Tell Lord Clanricarde I look forward to our conversation."
The young emperor turned back to the map table, where Europe sprawled out in ink and borders. Every one of those lines pulsed with potential conflict or alliance.
He tapped Prussia with his finger, then slid south to the Balkans.
"Let's see who blinks first," he murmured.
The game had begun.