“Your mother has certainly hired worse.”
“I can’t imagine what knowledge you would have of that.”
“I have much knowledge about what happens in your rooms,Duchess.”
Anastasia sucked in a surprised breath, shocked at how direct he was being with her — and resenting how refreshing that she thought it was.
Each fool and acolyte that her mother had paraded in front of her to encourage her to use her magic was cruel, abusive even, but they were always somewhat afraid of her. No one had spoken to Anastasia candidly in years.
“You can address me using ‘Your Grace,’ Mikhail.”
“You can address me as Rasputin,Your Grace.”
“Why? That’s an awful name. A terrible one. It frightens me even to say it.”
“Maybe that’s best, Your Grace,” his face curled up in a smirk as he leaned against the doorframe. Anastasia sat back in the chaise that she was sitting in, Mikhail’s eyes going directly towards the papers in front of her.
“How often do they have you transcribing pointless spells?” He nodded in her direction and Anastasia cursed her heart for skipping a beat.
“How do you even know what this is? I can’t make heads or tails of it,” she shrugged and wrote out a few more lines. “It’s just easier to give them what they want sometimes.”
“Do you give everyone what they want, Your Grace?” Mikhail pushed himself off of the doorframe and took a few more steps towards Anastasia, squaring off.
Anastasia caught the sarcasm dripping off of his tone and subconsciously began rubbing her fingers together, causing more sparks. Mikhail’s eyes went directly to them and started mentally logging away every tick, every reaction, and how her magic responded.
“You have no idea what people ask of me,Mikhail,” her voice was still as she stared up at him.
He chuckled darkly, a sound that sent Anastasia’s pulse fluttering on command and the magic between her hands buzzing. She tried to act subtly as she pulled her hands from the desk and slid them into her lap, out of view.
“I’ve asked you once not to call me that.”
“I will refuse. I don’t know why you’d want to go by a name that some priest gave you.”
“You don’t care for priests, do you?” Mikhail grinned. “Good thing I’m not one.”
“You don’t go by the name they gave you?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Why wouldn’t you want the name your mother gave you, Mikhail?” Anastasia quipped, getting more frustrated with this man’s presence in her apartments.
There was an immediate change in Mikhail, whose good-natured grin vanished, replaced by a stone-cold expression that froze over his face. The transformation made Anastasia’s eyes widen.
Mikhail sat there and fought the sudden urge to take out his revenge at that moment, to leave the room and burn down the entire Winter Palace and everyone in it.
Her family must have told them that he was Asya’s son — and this spoiled brat wasmockinghim. Anastasia knew no such thing and had assumed anyone would prefer their family name over one-handed to them in a pompous, overinflated religious ceremony.
“Do not call me by that name,” his voice was low and threatening. “You speak of things that you do not know,Your Grace.Do not mistake me as a pawn of the Tsarina’s or someone who gives a fuck about the golden cage you’ve grown up in.”
Anastasia’s magic sparked between her fingers, and she stood up for the first time, only coming to Mikhail’s shoulder.
“Youspeak of things you do not know!” Anastasia’s cover broke, and fifteen years of pent-up anger came to the surface. “How dare you assume anything about the life I lead — the life I’ve been imprisoned in.”
“What could you know about imprisonment?!” Mikhail roared, turning around and waving at the settings around them. “It certainly looks like you’re struggling,Duchess!Tell me, are you cold at night? Is your little belly full?”
Anastasia bit down on her lip and crossed her arms, burying her hands close to herself to keep her magic at bay.
“You know why they sent you then,” she shrugged, matching him in tone. “Am I cold at night? Only when they force the windows open to see if the weather affects my magic. Am I full? I haven’t been, not for fifteen years, in case hunger drives its potency. I’ve been caged, kept, and pushed to the edge of desperation and back to see what makes me tick — and fuck you,Mikhail,if you think I’ll listen to a word you have to say!”
