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On the evening of January 7, 1598, Mikhail Nikitich Romanov came to visit his elder brother Fyodor in the white-stone chambers in Zaryadye, famous throughout Moscow. Jumping out of the sleigh and shivering from the bitter cold, he almost ran towards the door.

Inside, the walls and ceiling of the chambers were generously decorated with paintings, narrow windows with a semicircular top were covered with carved bars, benches along the walls were upholstered in red velvet. The host was seated at a long oak table laden with jugs, dishes, jugs, and goblets. Fyodor, seeing his brother, smiled and pointed to a chair upholstered in embossed leather, inviting him to join the meal. But he, gesturing for the servants to leave, immediately blurted out:

- The king is dead!

Fyodor Nikitich gasped, crossed himself at the red corner, muttering hastily "Peace, Lord," and impatiently asked:

Who did you leave as heir?

Michael spread his hands.

- Nobody. He said - everything is the will of God, and with t