Anastasia turned her head and found her mother, on the other side of the room, staring back at her.
The Tsarina looked small and frail. She was down to just a dressing gown and underskirts, her jewelry having been tugged off of her neck and out of her ears.
It pleased Anastasia, potentially a bit too much, to see her disposed of the finery that she depended on.
“Anastasia,” her mother gasped, with a shock that couldn’t quite be deciphered. “You’re alive.”
“What did you think happened?” Anastasia scoffed, taking a few more steps into the room as the revolutionaries followed in behind her. “I’m certainly not alive because of anything you did.”
The Tsar then turned, his eyes raking over Anastasia as he let out a deep, disturbing laugh. “I see you couldn’t save yourself after all. The people have risen against you,” he sat back down, and Anastasia could see him fighting to keep his composure. “You never should have stood against the family.”
“You say that as though there was a family to stand with,” she hissed, her voice full of venom. She walked right up to her father, standing in front of him while he sunk further into the chair, looking deflated.
“I was never yours,” she spat. “I hope this means they have taken everything from you.” She let a small flickering of her magic out, the flame dancing across her fingertips and making the Tsar’s eyes flash in something resembling fear.
“That’s enough,” one of the boys snapped, waving his rifle around. “Separate chairs, all of you.”
“Let us go,” the Tsarina wailed like a child, “By God’s graces, just let us go — you can take everything…”
“Silence, Alexandra,” the Tsar’s voice was cold. Anastasia was sad to see that it still greatly affected her mother, who obeyed and averted her eyes. “There is nothing that they can take from us. Russia belongs to us from God — and the rest of the country will see us restored!” Anastasia turned to look at her father in bewilderment.
He was gone, entirely lost to his delusions of grandeur, his eyes red and wild. He now paced in front of the small fireplace in a ripped jacket, dressed in the remnants of his empire.
Anastasia’s desire for revenge was slowly seeping out of her. She had it; watching her father locked in his rooms as she had been for years… Anastasia had a heavy realization that these men would likely never let the Tsar see the sunrise.
She turned and looked at her mother. “Alexei?” She tried to keep her voice down. The Tsarina shook her head and Anastasia’s eyes widened. The Tsarina realized what she had implicated and shook her head harder.
“No, no, he’s alright,” she kept her voice low. Anastasia moved closer so her father and the other men wouldn’t hear. “I sent him away before the gates broke. I couldn’t bear it.”
“He’s safe?”
“He is safe. He took some money and I told him to disappear.” The statement hit Anastasia… hard. Her mother was not expecting to survive this and her father was waiting on the rest of Russia to show up and declare him their one true Tsar.
“Your magic,” her mother shrugged, looking up at Anastasia with a shocked expression. “You could get us out of here…” The Tsarina reached for Anastasia’s hand, but she pulled it away in disgust.
“Of course,” Anastasia let out a dark chuckle, “Now is the time that you want me to use it. No. I won’t have any of these people harmed.”
She was pulled from her thoughts as the doors to the apartments swung open again. A handful of men stormed in, much older than the teenagers who had been keeping an eye on them. They pushed in the room, barking commands. Whoever they were, they were the ones in charge, and they had no fear.
Anastasia counted five of them, swallowed thickly as they dispatched the teenagers. She didn’t want to use her magic, but if she was forced to… she would not die next to her father.
Anastasia quickly scanned over their faces, stopping at the last man who entered the room. She fought to keep a grin off her face.
Mikhail stepped inside — dressed now, much to Anastasia’s disappointment — standing a head above the rest of them. He was holding a rifle in his hands, looking every bit the furious revolutionary as the other men.
His gaze flickered to Anastasia for just a moment, sending her a wink, before one of the men broke the tense silence in the room.
“Nicholas and Alexandra,” his voice was gruff and heady with exhaustion. “Consider this your trial by fire. Your reign is over. Accept it, and you will be taken as prisoners of the new state. Deny me, and you will die.”
The Tsarina shrieked, her hands covering her face. Nicholas was frozen. It was the first time in her life that Anastasia had ever seen her father taken by surprise.
He stood slowly, his eyes burning with hatred as he looked over the men. There was contempt in his eyes and Anastasia knew he was evaluating them as “lesser” men, even when they had toppled his dynasty.
“Never.”
The man grunted, turning with military precision on his heel and cocking his rifle at the Tsar. “I will give you one more chance, which is more than any grace you have given Russia or her people. Hear me now, comrade, I will shoot.”
The Tsar’s eyes started to move over the men once more, his gaze finally settling on Mikhail. He began to sputter, his face turning red.
