She let her magic flare to life, taking the form of open flames that danced above her palms.
She watched as it reflected in the eyes of the teenage revolutionaries in front of her, having no patience left for seeing her lover threatened. The boys shouted in surprise, taking a few steps back, but kept their rifles up.
Anastasia didn’t want to use her magic, she didn’t even want to make them feel powerless or to take their weapons, but they were losing precious time. If the Tsar hadn’t already left, he had a million ways to sneak out of the palace.
Don’t forget about Alexei.Anastasia’s thoughts took a sharp turn, and her stomach lurched. She had barely seen her brother in years. She didn’t know what side he would take, for or against them. If he was in the palace, she needed to try to find him.
“They’re working with the Tsar!” One of them cried, “They have to be!”
“Have you found him?” Mikhail asked again, trying to distract their line of questioning.
“Yes,” one of the boys looked down at Mikhail, “Not that it is any of your business. She will be joining him soon.” The boy cocked his rifle and nodded towards Anastasia, “You are coming with us, Romanova. You will see your father.” He said her name like it was a curse.
Anastasia paused, letting her magic go out. She stood frozen for a second before picking up her skirts and taking a few delicate steps towards the boys. Mikhail let out a grunt of surprise, his arm moving to grab Anastasia.
“What are you doing?” He hissed. “They want to execute you with your father!”
“I will not harm innocents,” Anastasia whispered back, looking up at Mikhail. “I won’t become him. I won’t let them shoot me. They’ll take me to him.”
“This is a bad idea,” Mikhail shook his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly on her arm. “Please. They’re desperate, trigger-happy men. They aren’t thinking clearly and you’re a royal.” Anastasia put her hand over Mikhail’s, her fingers gently stroking him as if to soothe.
“I am a royal,” she nodded, “I am no fool. Do you trust me?” Anastasia met Mikhail’s gaze.
He bit back a sharp retort, letting out a long breath. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like this plan for a moment. He had only just found her, and now, Anastasia was ready to play prisoner to some revolutionaries with rifles they had stolen off bodies of her own family’s dead guards. The answer to her question was simple.
“I do.”
Anastasia gave him a wink before turning and moving slowly toward the steps. She raised her arms and kept her magic sequestered.
When she reached the top of the staircase, one of the boys reached forward and grabbed her arm. Mikhail felt his chest tighten as he fought to keep his breathing in check and obey Anastasia’s wishes. He trusted her.
She wasn’t the woman that he had met just a few short weeks ago. She was entirely self-possessed. If she had a plan, he believed it. That didn’t mean he had tolike it, especially when it involved anyone else laying a hand on her.
One of the boys kept a gun trained on Mikhail as the others pulled Anastasia out of the ballroom, letting the broken door swing shut behind them.
Mikhail chose that moment to let out a strain of curses, once more separated from Anastasia. He counted to twenty before he went running after them.
29
Anastasia followed the group of boys through the palace, looking around at the remnants of what was once.
She couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was perverse to grin at such devastation, but when it had represented everything that fought to keep Anastasia in a cage her whole life, she was thrilled to see it burning.
Partygoers and priests were still being smoked out of their hiding places as they passed, more than one of them accosted and stripped of his bejeweled garments by revolutionaries. She laughed, causing other boys to turn and look at her with a confused look on his face.
Finally, she saw that they were winding their way through the palace to the Tsar’s chambers. She bit back her shock. Evenshehad never been inside the Tsar’s private rooms. If they had made it that far, then her father’s grip on his dynasty must have collapsed entirely.
Once again, Anastasia only smiled. She was in a slight predicament at the moment, but the idea of her father running for his life at the sight of the people who he had willfully starved only elicited joy.
“In there,” the boy commanded, pushing the door open with one hand and keeping his rifle raised with the other.
Anastasia took a few steps inside, observing the room at a glance. It was the waiting room of her father’s apartments, all lined with mahogany paneling, looking more like a hunting lodge than a statesman’s suite.
Her father was sitting on one of the large chairs, facing a lit fireplace. He seemed to be unaffected by the fact that half of the palace was on fire.
He was staring deep into its flames as if they could predict the ashes of his empire falling around him. There was hardly a hair out of place on his head, and he was still wearing his damn jacket.
Although, Anastasia noted with an internal smile, all of his medals and sashes had been ripped off of him. Even the Tsar himself had been looted. He was so deep in his concentration, he didn’t hear her step into the room.
