Historical Fiction Russian Novels & Stories

Some of them read multiple times judging by the cracking of the binding. History. Military strategy. Economics. Law. Psychology. Philosophy. One entire shelf of biographies of powerful men across different centuries and continents. And then something that surprised me. Fiction. A whole section of it tucked into the far corner like something private. Novels. Some of them old enough that the titles had faded. I pulled one out carefully. A Russian novel. Thick. Dense. The kind of book that required patience and silence and the willingness to sit inside discomfort for extended periods.

“If they ask about the marriage, you refer them to me.” “And if they ask whether we have slept together?” “You tell them it is none of their concern.” She almost smiled. “That answer is going to work wonderfully considering they already think we have.” My stare hardened. She walked to the door, stopped with her hand on the handle, and looked back once more. “For what it’s worth, Nikolai, I did you a favor,” she said. Her expression softened in a way that made my chest tighten. “Because now no one knows that Alpha Romanov rejected his mate, married her anyway, ordered her into his room, threw her out, then lost control and kissed her in hers.”

But nothing explicitly mentioned Rena or Vittoria. Just as he was about to give up, he found a small, leather-bound diary tucked away in the corner of the safe. He opened it with trembling hands, his heart pounding in his chest. The diary was written in Russian, the elegant script of a woman's hand. He recognized the handwriting from the back of the photograph. He began to read, his eyes devouring the words on the page. The diary entries spanned several years, chronicling the life of a woman named Vittoria Rena, her dreams, her hopes, and her growing involvement in the world of organized crime.

Viktor’s eyes go to my hands and widen when I hold up the books. “Someone had hidden these in the wall next to the bookshelf with the pack’s histories. I tried to translate it with an app, but I know that it cannot be 100%. Read them and let me know, especially the entries dated from 1890.” I say and hand them over to him. He pages through them with eyes full of wonder but frowns when he gets to the entries that I mentioned. As he reaches the end of Dmitry’s writing, he looks up at me with horror.

“First, I’ll ensure her safety. No matter her past or secrets, she deserves that much. But I will also dig deeper. There’s a story there, and I intend to hear it, one way or another.” I meet Andrej’s gaze squarely as something occurs to me. Something that I pushed down as I spoke with her earlier. “Her accent is unmistakably Russian,” I say as I lean forward. “And you know the history between me and the Russians.” Andrej’s eyebrows knit together. “Do you think...”

Here are some fun facts about The Romanov Princess: -The original title of this story is My Vampire Mistress. - The short name for Anastasia in Russian would be "Nastya" or "Nastas" not Ana. And did you know the short-name for Alexandra isn't "Alex", but in Russia we would call her, "Sasha". LOL. - The two sisters only appeared as fictional characters at first, but one of my great readers suggested I make the story more historical, and that's when I realized how coincident it was that the characters really matched the real Grand Duchesses of Russia.

She usually relied on servant gossip and whatever her father and brothers said. The former King Vasil in Ursa’s memory was slightly similar to his son. They were both war mongers, set to conquer faraway and nearby lands. King Vasil wasn’t a military man though, and rarely left Ichares. It was a bit different from the picture the book painted, but Ursa could easily blame it on Romanov propaganda. On the other hand… Ursa flipped to the cover, and sure enough, the author was a man by the name of Lord Igor Putin. Of course a noble would want to write as flattering a picture as possible if it was for his king. This was too biased!

“My mother told me of our history. I grew up on tales of being a shirttail relation to the last of the Russian royals, of my mother playing with Princes and Princesses. Being there but not quite belonging. As a younger man, I visited the royal displays of fine jewelry and the bling they lived with every day and I thought to myself I deserved that. Russia isn’t the powerhouse it was back then but if I had drive and ambition enough, I could make it once again a place of power it used to be. I began researching my family tree and I spent years locating whatever relatives I had left. I found Rizvan Dreususs was really my only rival to the throne. It took me years to find him and when I did, he t

We even went to Dubai together and it was probably one of the best places with someone especially with the good company I had with him. Anyways back to me as usual, Russia is an amazing country. The pure snow settles down softly and gently, just like the fairy-tale atmosphere. It was an unreal place to be in and to be honest the true reason I was here was one of my friends had just got married and to the big bad Russian Mafia boss, Dimitri Ivanov. Before you say anything, it was an arranged agreement since she was a child to stop the Russian and Italian war. She was the Italian mafia princess, but their family believed women should not be allowed in the Mafia. She proved them wrong and was k

he took a quick glance at Damon before spinning the globe, and as it spun, he suddenly stopped it with his index, bending lower to see where his hand touched and after seeing it, a smile made his lips curve. “Ah, Kievan Rus,” he whispered, taking his eyes up to Damon who had been looking at him all along. “The country that's now called Russia,” Jake sighed as he threw a hand into his pocket. “What a perfect example,” he continued. “One of the things that made me love History, well in case you don't know, I added History to my subject irrespective of the fact that it's not that useful to me.” “I know,” Damon’s reply was curt.