Zubov's hand on his sword was trembling slightly, unsure whether it was from the cold night wind or his overwhelming nerves.
He hesitated for a moment, but was immediately shoved forward by General Bennigsen, his breath reeking of alcohol: "What are you hesitating for? We all need you. Come on!"
Zubov gritted his teeth, gathered his courage with the help of the alcohol, and strode toward the Imperial Palace.
His two brothers and over twenty officers immediately followed behind.
None of these men wore the Prussian spiked helmets mandated by Paul I. Their thick sideburns and long Prussian braids at the back of their heads had also been shorn off. If it were daytime, they would have been immediately arrested by the Knight Etiquette Inspector because of this.
But now, they didn't care in the slightest, for they were about to put an end to this madness.
Skalagin glanced around cautiously and muttered, "Let's hope we don't run into Arakcheev's men?"
