Her mother was the only person who had ever been into her chambers, other than Anastasia’s own suite of chambermaids and her lady-in-waiting, Asya. It was why the selection of the cabinet maids was an incredibly coveted position; in some ways, they were more privy to you than family. The fact that now her father, a priest — and threedvoryanstvo —were in her bedroom was apocalyptic.
“Where is Asya?” Anastasia’s voice was small, and she hated how desperate she sounded. She was hardly a teenager, but she knew that she needed to attempt a place of power in this conversation. Anastasia didn’t know what had happened to her, it was something that she couldn’t explain.
The Winter Palace had a problem with dark magic ebbing and flowing as political power moved around like the weather, which meant that things that could not be explained were often exterminated.
Anastasia was met with silence as one of thedvoryanstvocoughed quietly and clasped his hands together in his lap.
“Where is Asya?” She repeated, her voice growing more frantic. It was the Tsar who spoke first, his voice cruel and sharp.
“You killed her, Anastasia,” he said her name like it was a curse. Anastasia felt her blood run cold, and the world that had been spinning around her violently stopped.
A chill began at the base of her spine, and nausea threatened to overcome her as an evil, broken shame began creeping up her back and settling in the pit of her stomach.
“N-no,” she stuttered, sounding even younger now. “That’s not… I didn’t want to… I don’t know what…”
“It’s true,” the Tsarina nodded, her voice somber. “You killed Asya.”
“N-no, no, no, no…,” Anastasia pushed herself even farther up the bed and felt that cold ball of guilt and panic in her stomach become so heavy she hardly knew how to bear it.
“Do you know what we’ve had to do to protect you from yourself, Grand Duchess?” One of the lords spoke up as he focused his eyes on Anastasia. She could tell from his expression alone that he was a cruel, desperate man.
She didn’t answer.
“Tell her,” the priest chimed in, goading him on. Anastasia clutched the sheets in a tight grip, ripping the expensive linens to keep from screaming.
“Your Asya is dead —,” the lord started, and Anastasia released half of a crushed sob before clamping a hand over her mouth. He waited until she was silent and continued.
“Your Asya is dead, and we’ve had to send her son away. She had a son, did you know? Now he’s been ripped from his world, so he cannot spread the word of what happened to his mother. That family lost two members today, andit’s your fault.”
“NO!” Anastasia screamed, falling over and letting her sobs consume her, unable to keep them at bay any longer.
“Stop these dramatics,” the Tsarina sneered. For someone who had never attempted a maternal relationship with her daughter, she found herself annoyed at the sight of Anastasia in hysterics over someone else.
“It’s true,” the Tsar’s voice boomed as he spoke over his daughter’s cries. “You are cursed, Anastasia. We had prayed for years that this devil’s gift would never appear in you. It seems it was in vain. You’re carrying the Romanov Curse in your blood after generations of peace.”
Anastasia picked her head up in defeat, staring at her father with a confused look on her face.Cursed?
“Cursed,” the priest confirmed as if he was reading her thoughts. “You have black magic, Anastasia. No one will ever be safe around you if you use it.”
“I’ll never, I’ll never…,” Anastasia hiccuped, sniffling out of control, “I’ll never use magic! I’ll never use magic!”
“You’re damn right; you won’t!” The Tsar erupted as if his temper had been hanging on by a thread. His voice was loud and overpowering, and the tone he used left Anastasia terrified. She crawled back to the far corner of the bed, fear and panic consuming her.
“You are never to go anywhere without a guard, Anastasia,” the Tsar resumed his cold composure and looked over her with disgust as if he was ashamed. “Do you understand? Only those of us in this room know about your… condition,” he sneered the word. “Not even your siblings.”
The Tsarina nodded and continued, “Your lessons will resume with Fyodor alone,” she nodded at the priest, “and His Highness is correct. We will be selecting new chambermaids for you. Your staff, schedule, and meals must be approved.”
The cold sweat took over Anastasia’s entire body as her vision condensed to a single point, and she felt her world crumbling around her.
She stopped hearing the words after a certain point, her mother continuing her lecture, condemning every part of Anastasia’s life until she was confident she couldn’t have tea without permission.
Asya, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…
4
Mikhail was itching for a fight. There was nothing in him at that moment that didn’t seem on the edge of boiling over.
He had been on the brink ever since the priest propositioned him and was looking for an outlet; it had been a few days and the itch under his skin hadn’t gone away.
