Anastasia jumped back from the cursed metal as if they were a dead animal. She felt her magic rushing through her like blood returning to her fingertips. The Tsar turned his back on her to leave. The screaming began.
Anastasia immediately let her magic loose. It exploded all around them as if a bomb had gone off. It spilled not only from her hands but erupted out of the fireplace and poured from the walls. Her rooms looked as though they were flooding from the outside in with spirals of her golden magic.
The few soldiers in the room immediately collapsed to their knees, hands flying to their throats as they clawed for air. Mikhail was spared, the glittering tendrils snaking up his legs and around his torso like her magic recognized its lover.
The Tsar spun around, his feigned control gone in an instant. Anastasia was screaming as the magic began to spin around her like a current.
Everything happened too fast. The Tsar responded in kind, turning around like he expected this. Anastasia’s magic was a second too slow.
The Tsar pulled a pistol from his jacket, placing it to the back of Mikhail’s head and pushing him down to his knees.
“Call it off,or I will shoot him in front of you.” The Tsar’s voice was now disturbingly steady. He had been waiting for this moment and found his calm in the chaos, a trait that made him as dangerous as it did murderous.
As quickly as it erupted, all of Anastasia’s magic disappeared, swirling up and through the ceiling like evaporating water.
She stood there in the center of the room, breathing heavily as her nose began to bleed. She stared at Mikhail, her eyes wide with worry. She didn’t move fast enough.
The Tsar let out a dark chuckle, looking around the room and seeing all of the unconscious soldiers around them.
“I was curious about what you could really do,” he grinned, looking over his shoulder and whistling. Soldiers filed into the room, surrounding them.
Oh dear God.Anastasia fought to keep the shock and fear off her face.It was a test.
The soldiers kept coming, coming, coming, until they were surrounded. The last man shut the door behind them, creating an awful, final sound.
Anastasia winced. Mikhail said nothing, looking up at Anastasia and trying to keep his expression neutral. He was on his knees, hands in the air. The Tsar was still standing behind him, a pistol nestled in Mikhail’s hair.
Only once all of the guards had filed in and had their weapons trained on both Anastasia and Mikhail did the Tsar slowly step away from him and pocket the pistol.
“It seems you do have a stress point, daughter. Good to know just how quickly you’ll react when Rasputin is threatened.” The grin that spread over the Tsar’s face was nothing short of apocalyptic. It made Anastasia’s blood run cold.
The Tsar turned away from them and began shrugging out of his jacket. He draped the heavy piece of fabric, all of the metals and ornaments making an inappropriately joyful sound, over the back of a chair.
He began making his way over to one of the soldiers, rolling up his sleeves as he went and adjusting the cuffs, so his forearms were bare.
A sick feeling came over Anastasia as she watched him. The Tsar walked over to a guard, who handed him a wicked-looking knife. It wasn’t a dagger or even a combat knife but was a cruel, curved thing — that glinted in the light and looked suspiciously like a butcher’s carving knife.
Anastasia felt her heart beating faster as a cold feeling began running down her spine.
“Bind her,” the Tsar snapped, flipping the knife in his hands as he walked over to where Mikhail still kneeled on the ground.
Anastasia let out a cry as a guard appeared behind her, snapping new irons on her wrists. The ones at her feet were kicked away, and she forced down another gasp at the feeling of her magic wrestling with itself again.
Whatever new bonds her father had made, they felt wicked — instead of a dull, aching feeling, they felt like hot pokers where they touched her skin. It was only a few seconds before Anastasia couldn’t bear it, her back arching as she fell back into the soldier with a scream.
The noise that came out of Mikhail was inhuman. He went to rise to his feet only to be pushed back down by the pistol at the back of his head.
His whole body was straining, tortured by the sight of her struggle. It took a few moments before the pain in Anastasia’s arms settled down to a low burn, and she was able to regain a fraction of her composure. She looked at Mikhail, giving him the slightest shake of her head.
Not now.
The Tsar cleared his throat. “Those are new,” he nodded to the manacles. “I had one of your mother’s acolytes whip those up. It looks like we’ll have to try somethingelseto get your attention.”
His voice had a joyful tinge to it, as though this was the happiest that he had been in days. He flipped the knife once more before looking straight at Anastasia and bringing it down on Mikhail.
“No!” Anastasia’s knees went out. Mikhail had a second to brace himself, locking his eyes on Anastasia’s, determined she would be the last thing he saw.
There was a sharp ripping sound and it took them both a second to realize that the Tsar had cut away Mikhail’s shirt. It hung off of him in tatters, the cuffs holding on at the wrists.
