“Do you want to get anything?” Mikhail had asked her gently, looking back towards the hallway where her rooms were, “We will probably never return to the palace again.” Anastasia shook her head, looking up at him.
“Let it all burn, Mikhail… let it all burn.”
He nodded and escorted her through the door for the last time as they slipped across the courtyard still covered in glass.
Once they made it past the fragments of the shattered gate, the exhaustion and emotional turmoil caught up with Anastasia. She let out a tired sob, overcome with the events of the evening, and started to sink to the ground.
Mikhail caught her in one smooth movement, scooping her up to his chest. He held her tightly, letting her adjust so her head was in the crook of his shoulder.
“Rest, sweet Anya,” he said gently, pressing soft kisses to her face, “You’re safe now.”
“We’resafe,” she corrected him with a sleepy grin, “Don’t think I haven’t been keeping track of how often I’ve had to save your ass.”
“It’s because you’re very fond of my ass.”
“Guilty,” Anastasia giggled slightly, making Mikhail’s chest tighten as the events of the past day started washing over him.
They had made it. The Tsar was dead.
They didn’t know what would happen to Russia, and they didn’t care. That was for politicians and the people to figure out.
If he had his way, they would leave Russia entirely, but he would do whatever Anastasia wanted. He looked down at her, asleep in his arms, and felt his chest tighten.
He had nurtured the Romanov magic, but she had found herself. The woman he was carrying away from the ashes of the palace wasn’t someone who needed him — lest he ever forget he was only carrying her because she’d allow it — and she was magnificent when she burned.
Mikhail walked them through the streets, now quiet, the people dispersed throughout the city, spreading the word of the Tsar’s death. Mikhail let his feet take him exactly where they needed to go.
As always, the innkeeper was waiting for them. She tossed the door open once more as Mikhail climbed up the steps, her eyes wet with tears and her smile bright.
“How did you know we were coming?” Mikhail smiled warmly at the woman, who had now shown them kindness thrice over.
“Your mother told me you were coming,” she said with a wink, making Mikhail’s heart seize.
Tears sprung to his eyes as he thought of Asya fondly — his mother, not her death — for the first time in years. The woman looked at him as if she knew and took a step back, waving him towards the stairs. “Your room is ready for you.”
Too stunned to say much, Mikhail only nodded and made his way up towards their space. Anastasia didn’t stir. The door shut behind him and he moved over to the bed, lying both of them down together.
They were exhausted and overcome, but as Mikhail leaned back on the pillows and pulled Anastasia to his chest, there was only peace in his heart.
Anastasia’s eyes blinked open as she stirred, wriggling herself closer to Mikhail’s body. “Where are we?” She said through a sleepy daze.
“It doesn’t matter,” he kissed her once, softly, the both of them hurtling towards sleep. “…It’s you and me now, Anastasia.”
Epilogue
The cottage overlooking the sea was small. After escaping The Winter Palace, Anastasia didn’t want anything bigger. It was warm, perfectly fit for the two of them, and always had a pleasant breeze no matter the time of day.
Mikhail and Anastasia had wasted no time leaving the city after the descent of madness around them. They would return to Russia eventually, but both of them felt they needed time and space to heal away from St. Petersburg.
The morning after their departure, Anastasia had revealed a few small gems that she had hidden in her clothes — they sold them and used the fare to book modest travel to Paris.
From Paris, they made their way to the coast. As fate would have it, once they arrived in Èze, someone had posted for a groundskeeper. The couple laughed at the surprising versatility of Mikhail’s work history at the monastery and applied immediately.
Most days, Mikhail stayed busy on the property while Anastasia helped wherever she could. When there was nothing that Mikhail needed her assistance with, she’d go into town, developing a new reputation for helping people with small tasks and chores. It was a humble existence, one that was lazy for the soul but not on the body.
Some days, Anastasia sat back with a smile on her face as the realization of their freedom settled into her bones. For the first time in a long time, no one was chasing them; no one wanted to hurt them or see them destroyed.
Before the fall of her family’s empire, she had spent every day looking over her shoulder — the absence of that feeling was exhilarating.
