Her head spun as she watched the creature morph into the body of a naked man in front of her, writhing on the ground and cursing as if he was holding a live wire that he could not let go of.
Alexei watched on, the blood drained from his face and his expression fearful until Anastasia realized that he was lookingat her.
She began to sway in her saddle, her hearing muffled and her vision was beginning to condense to a single point. The icy sensation in her body turned hot as she became flushed all over.
Vaguely, she heard her guards snap into action somewhere near her, both of them galloping over the short distance towards the prince.
Not again… oh God… not again… not again… I swore… never again… they’ll die…
Anastasia slumped forward against her horse’s neck and descended into the blackness as it consumed her vision and rippled through her.
???
Anastasia thought she was fairly acquainted with fear. She had made friends with it, welcomed it even. Anastasia learned the difference between fear and panic when she blinked her eyes open.
Fear had a way of being deathly quiet and stoic, sending chills and stealing breaths, but panic was loud. It was fast heartbeats and sweating palms. When Anastasia woke up in her bed, she panicked.
“ALEXEI!” she screamed before her eyes were even fully open.
“I’m right here, sister,” Alexei’s voice, calm as ever, appeared next to her.
Anastasia blinked her eyes a few times to adjust to the light, realizing that she was again in her chambers and had woken up to an audience.
Horrible memories came rushing back to meet her as she saw the Tsarina, the Tsar, and his ever-faithful three with him, now with Alexei.
“What happened?” She turned towards her brother and grabbed his arm. Alexei brushed his hand over her hair and kissed her forehead, squeezing her shoulder.
“You saved my life, Sashy.”
“That… thing…that creature!” Her voice trailed off as she sat back in bed, leaning against the headboard, trying to rationalize what she had seen.
Anastasia was well-versed in the world of angels and demons — it came with the territory of being cursed — but seeing such a violent shapeshift was pushing the boundaries of her imagination.
After years of being sheltered from the world of her own powers and the supernatural, what else existed beyond the limits of her knowledge? What other things could only be explained by magic?
“Akhlyst,” the Tsarina’s voice was sharp as glass, interrupting her children, “a zealot. Clearly, one who had made a deal with the devil. Sent here to attack the future Tsar of Russia and God’s followers.”
Her voice had a level of fake piousness to it that made Anastasia want to roll her eyes. She knew her mother was only outraged because none of her chamber of religious zealots had ever displayed that kind of power.
“And I…,” Anastasia trailed off, looking down at her hands in her lap, her mind jumping through hoops as she thought about what reaction her family would have.
“You stopped it,” it was the Tsar this time and Anastasia found her head snapping up and to attention unwittingly when he spoke.
There was a deathly quiet as she ran her gaze over the faces of the lords, their expressions betraying nothing. “It seems as if this could be an… interesting development,” the Tsar paused and ran his hand across his chin.
“As you know,” one of the lords spoke up, with a voice that sounded like a snake-oil salesman, “the great Romanov line is under intense persecution. Your family’s enemies are hiding in plain sight and spreading lies among the people. There are many…,” he paused and smacked his mouth a few times as if tasting the next word, “politicaladvantages to a gift like yours.”
Anastasia’s eyes grew wide with shock, “Political? All this time —”
“Do not forget your place,” the Tsarina snapped, her hands coming to rest over one another at her navel. “You have alsokilledsomeone, Anastasia, so do not get righteous now.”
Cold shame flooded Anastasia, and she squirmed uncomfortably like a child, once again cornered in her chambers by a suite of people determined to wield her like a weapon, her soul being drawn and quartered in front of them all.
The Tsar coughed once and held up a hand, “You will pursue this, Anastasia.” A quiet, cold command. Anastasia felt her head begin to spin at the sharp turn that her life was taking.
“I… I don’t…,” she stuttered, unable to meet her father’s gaze even after fifteen years, “I don’t know how.”
“Your mother will arrange for a tutor,” he snapped, taking one step closer to the bed, “and they will let us know hourly how you are progressing. We will all return to St. Petersburg. You are to be removed from court —“ Alexei and Anastasia both let out sharp gasps of surprise, “— and you will dedicate your days to figuring out your curse until a time has come that we may have use for you.”
