No, no, no.
The Tsar stood, standing over Mikhail’s body like a man on a hunt. He wiped the bloodied knife on his trousers before tossing it to the ground. He nodded to two of the soldiers, who grabbed Mikhail’s arms and began pulling him out of the room.
“Where are you taking him?!” Anastasia screamed, her face twisted into a holy rage that momentarily sent a pang of fear down the Tsar’s spine.
She was scorn, she was fury, she was wrath. She watched in prolonged agony as the men took minutes to pull Mikhail’s heavy body from the room, his back leaving bloodied streaks along the floor.
She paled when the last of him disappeared from view. He hadn’t moved.
The Tsar stared at his daughter, slowly returning to his unaffected state. “Go look outside,doch,”he jeered. “The people are furious as to why God has abandoned them. They wonder how this Rasputin has managed to escape death and bewitch the Tsarina.”
“That has nothing to do with why they’re starving!”
“Bah,” the Tsar waved a hand in front of his face, “They don’t know that. They are starving… they’ll eat up anything I give them.”
Anastasia’s blood ran cold. “You won’t.”
“I will feed them the man who has distracted the Romanovs from their greatness,” his smile was exuberant, “And I will let the people decide what to do with what is left of your dear Rasputin.”
“He’s just a man! They’ll never hurt him!”
“They will act as jury and executioner,” the Tsar hissed, “and you will have a lovely view from your window.”
The smile left his face as he descended into his madness. He looked at the guards holding her.
“Make sure that she watches. Don’t let her turn away — she will watch as she learns what happens when you cross a Tsar. You think you know power, Anastasia? You’re about to learn what it truly looks like.”
26
Anastasia bit back another scream as her father exited the room, and she was alone with a handful of guards.
She turned to look at them, the fire inside of her feeling like it had been dosed in gasoline, refusing to consider the possibility that Mikhail was dead.
One of the guards gripped her elbow and tried to force her over to the window, Anastasia digging her heels into the ground. She spun towards him, and spit in his face.
“I will go,” she hissed, “You would do well to remember that I am still Romanova.”
There was something that had changed in her voice. The way that she was standing. She didn’t have Mikhail with her, and she didn’tneedhim — shewantedhim.
She was going to get out of these manacles and burn everything to the ground on her way to get him back, to finally get her revenge against her father. They had been dancing around one another for too long. It was time.
The guard’s eyes widened as he released her and took a step back, wiping his face with his sleeve. Whether her magic was bound or not, she realized that they were still afraid of her.
Good.She thought to herself, looking around the room.I will make sure that they all fear me. Fear what they have taken from me.
“Go on then,” one of the other guards lazily waved a pistol in her direction as someone else pulled the heavy curtains open. Anastasia took a few steps towards the window and gasped.
From her vantage point, she could see the front doors and the lawn of The Winter Palace. The city looked like it was burning. In the past day that she and Mikhail had been held up in their quarters, the Tsar had not been exaggerating. St. Petersburg’s revolution had begun.
As far as the eye could see, smoke and flame rose from different parts of the skyline. It was the crowd.The crowd.
Thousands of people were pressed up against the iron gates of the Winter Palace. Some had torches, others waved knives, rifles, even sticks or pieces of metal.
It was as though the entire city had grabbed whatever they could find and was posed ready to rip down the luxury that stood in front of them.
The contrast that it provided was stark; the Winter Palace, with its gilded inlays and hundreds of rooms versus the thousands of people in front of it wearing shoes with holes and torn coats. Anastasia couldn’t help but find herself hoping the crowd would break through.
There was a sudden, rising cry from the crowd. It sounded like a natural disaster, the sound of a thousand desperate, angry people.