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had turned into wisps of straggly, unkempt hair. The clear bright eyes were glazed, and his sensual mouth was slack and unappealing. But she was also reminded of another person, whom she had loved with all her heart and soul . . . Quickly she forced the memory from her mind to concentrate on her job—surely he was dead.
    Halya turned to Ivan and pouted coyly. “My Czar, would it be possible to summon a balalaika player to sit outside the door and play for me?”
    â€œVery well, but no more delays, Halya,” he grumbled, the spittle from his mouth dribbling down his chin and onto his neck.
    With the first sounds of the melodious notes Halya began to dance, her movements slow and sensual as she responded to the music. Her slim body lent itself to wantonness as she brought into play the proud high-tipped breasts and rounded haunches. As she swirled and swayed to the rhythm, her tiny feet barely touching the floor, her hands caressed her body, lingering in a display of blatant sexuality.
    Perspiration beaded the faces of the soldiers as their eyes filled with unabashed desire. Sensing their craving, Halya threw herself into a frenzy of immoral gestures and moves that she knew would delight Ivan.
    Her fingers tore at the buttons of her gown as abandon rose like a tidal wave throughout her body. Dropping her dress at her feet, she cupped her breasts, still hidden beneath her camisole. Slowly, inch by inch, she removed Ivan’s gold caftan, delighting in his moans of mounting passion as her hands touched his naked flesh. His eyes were wild; his tongue dangled from his gaping mouth.
    She whirled away from the Czar, working with slow deliberation at the ribbons of her camisole. She knew both Ivan and the soldiers were waiting for her to divest herself of the garment, waiting in pain for the first glimpse of her bare skin. She glided out of reach, her tight haunches moving to the rhythm of the balalaika as her body began to undulate provocatively. Sensuously she moved her fingers to the tiny ribbons, undoing each one with a wicked smile on her face.
    The Czar rolled over on the bed, his eyes glazed as he stared first at Halya and then at the two soldiers. He cackled gleefully at the sight of the well-fitted black trousers bulging with the swollen manhood trapped within. As he watched, the swelling pushed forward, fighting to escape to freedom. He jumped up and down on the bed, pointing a sticklike finger at the two men, his laughter insane and shrill.
    Halya continued dancing, her fingers untying the last bow. As she leaned toward Ivan, her breasts spilled from the dainty embroidered camisole. A knowing smile played about her mouth as she heard low groans coming from the direction of the doorway. She, too, now noticed the growing, aroused manhood bursting at the confines of their trousers.
    She ripped away the undergarment with a flourish, freeing her taut, full breasts for all to see. Cupping them, their rosy crests pointed and erect, she swayed ever closer until she was directly in front of the soldiers. Her movements taunting, she flaunted her body without restraint. Moan after moan followed her as she danced back to Ivan. Slowly she extended a long, shapely leg from between the open front of her lace petticoat. Languidly she thrust it out and withdrew the stocking from thigh to toe. Twirling it in the air, Halya swept past the soldiers, her naked breasts heaving as she allowed the stocking to brush across their agonized faces. At Ivan’s bedside, she dropped the silk and reached down to remove his slippers.
    The soldiers continued to watch, their faces full of incredulous shock. Before them lay the Czar, completely stripped of clothes. The princess was still dressed in her petticoat and one sheer stocking. How much more were they to endure?
    Moving over to a chair closer to where the soldiers stood, Halya lifted her leg, reached to the top of the limb, and, again slowly, removed the remaining stocking. She