Anastasia looked around the room with a subtle eye, trying to determine if she had an opening to take out her father before the guards could shoot. If she had to choke the life out of the Tsar with her magic — she would.
The Tsar’s laugh grew louder until it was manic. He slapped his hands together in a booming clap bringing both Anastasia’s and Mikhail’s attention back to him.
“How adorable,” he crooned. “The both of you are trying to calculate making a move,da?” He pointed to each of them. “Trying to size me up for the crimes I’ve committed against your truest love?”
Anastasia paled. Her father was even more of a formidable opponent than she realized.
“No matter,” the Tsar cleared his throat and snapped his fingers.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The soldiers lurched from their stock-still positions at the walls, leaning forward and grabbing hold of Mikhail and Anastasia.
Anastasia shrieked as she felt the hands of strange men gripping her arm, ripping her from Mikhail’s side. Mikhail turned and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his chest. She hid in the crook of his neck while more and more hands emerged from all sides.
Mikhail shook his shoulders and tried fighting back with his free arm against those who were piling up on his back, but it was no use - there were too many.
Anastasia tried not to descend into tears, letting out a strangled cry as she felt more hands gripping her, digging in her tight enough to bruise.
She was brought back to that place that she had existed in for fifteen years with strange men bringing their hands against her time after time. As soon as she was sucked into that headspace, much like how she had been as a child, she couldn’t even think about using her magic.
In the end, it was only a few minutes. To the pair, it felt like an eternity. It took seven men to pull the lovers apart. The Tsar watched on with a small grin on his face as if the entire scene brought him sadistic pleasure.
As soon as they were separated, the sound that Mikhail made was inhuman. It was a feral sound, the yell of a desperate man who would burn the world to get her back. He knew that she was too deep in her head to access her magic, that the anxiety of being back at her father’s hand might cause her to panic.
The soldiers were sons of nobles and the elite, and Mikhail had spent fifteen years doing hard labor in the freezing cold. If it weren’t five to one, it would have been no contest as he tried to fight them off.
He turned, light on his feet for a man his size, sending one soldier flying into the wall with a massive swing. Another jumped on his back, and he tossed his shoulder to the right, sending the man crashing into another one of his comrades.
“Enough!” The Tsar roared above the din. Mikhail kept fighting, both of his knuckles now bloody and his hair loose, looking every part of the possessed priest that he allegedly was. “STOP, or she dies!”
Mikhail let go of a soldier and turned around. Anastasia was being held tightly by two men, one of them holding a knife to her throat. It was a sight that Mikhail had seen too often in recent memory.
He could have gone his whole life without knowing the intrinsic fear that he felt when he saw a blade threatening his lover’s neck. It made him descend into the depths of his rage, every ounce of hatred pooling in his body as he prepared to take the way out with violence.
It was the coolness in the Tsar’s voice that made him pause. The Tsar would kill his own daughter. He would. So Mikhail froze.
As soon as he stopped, the soldiers were able to gain a proper grip on their weapons. There were four muskets pointed at Mikhail’s chest and back a second later. He raised his hands slowly with a sigh of submission. It made his blood curdle.
Mikhail looked at Anastasia, trying to make eye contact. He cursed internally, seeing the look on her face vacant. She was slipping; he could see the anxiety settling over her bones. It was too familiar of a pattern for her. She was staring at the ground beneath her father’s feet, not looking at either of them.
“Now,” the Tsar drawled his words out as if it was a dessert that he wanted to savor. “No magic or Rasputin here gets a bullet in his heart. As you know, Anastasia’s… skillset…,” he struggled with the words, “come from my side of the family. I was wed to her mother specifically to lower the chance of this… appearing,” he waved his hands in the air, “in any of my children.”
“I bet you regret that decision now,” Mikhail’s voice dripped with animosity. He was like a predator caged only by the business end of four pistols. It still sent a chill down the Tsar’s spine, even if he didn’t show it. The Tsar kept talking as though he was unaffected.
“I had some of my advisors do a deep dive in our family history, Anastasia,” the Tsar pinned his gaze on her. She didn’t look up but shuddered. Mikhail wanted to vomit. “Did you know that there was one very particular way that our family kept the magic controlled?”
Anastasia’s eyes snapped up. Her expression made Mikhail’s chest constrict as he saw the fear in her eyes — pure terror.
“Answer me,” the Tsar snapped, standing up to his full height and walking closer to Anastasia. Mikhail stepped forward, momentarily forgetting about the guns trained on him until they pressed into his body. He let out a low grunt, eyeing the men on the other end of the weapons with contempt.
“I didn’t know,” Anastasia said quietly, her eyes falling to the ground once more.
The Tsar smiled as he felt the noose of control tightening around her neck again. He was concerned that he wouldn’t be able to get her under his thumb once more — that her love for this priest would cause complications — but it seemed that he was just another pressure point for her. She still crumbled. Mikhail could nearly read those thoughts going through the Tsar’s mind, and he wanted to scream.
She could burn this whole fucking palace down with you in it. She’ll find herself, and the second she does, none of these damn mind games and posturing attempts will save you.
His faith in her was still resolute but hinged on her stepping out of her father’s conditioning.
“I didn’t know myself,” the Tsar nodded, stepping forward until he was right in front of Anastasia. “It’s fascinating.” He turned to look at one of the soldiers standing behind Anastasia and gave him a curt nod.
