He covered her hand with his and gave it a small squeeze, before gently rolling out from underneath her and straightening up. Anastasia looked at him, the tears still drying on her face, hurt and confusion contorting her features.
Mikhail stood and shook his head silently, trying to do the best thing for both of them.
“I think we both should get some sleep after… tonight. Your Grace.” He nodded his head to her in an abruptly formal manner and all but ran back to his room.
Anastasia stared after him, too shocked to move, as she felt her heart breaking. The beginning threads of trust she had towards him snapped.
Fools.Asya muttered disapprovingly, from the ether, always.
???
Anastasia was awake for the rest of the night, unable to keep her mind from attempting to cave in on itself. When she saw Mikhail dying, she’d experienced a fear that was new to her, different from anything she had ever experienced.
The idea of waking up the following day without him in her rooms, across the hall, circulating her… facing that reality had made her want to follow him into death.
After he recovered enough, Mikhail had left her for a second time; he had made his choice. His actions made it clear that he didn’t want to be near her in the way she craved.
The fragile foundation of trust that she had begun to lay for him now lay fractured.
She never returned to her rooms. She was still sitting on the couch, hoping against her better judgment that Mikhail would come back.
He’s probably still sleeping… It's early. He did die last night… I think.He was usually an early riser; her rational mind was trying to convince her that he wasn’t, in fact, hiding from her in there, that he hated her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging on her doors, startling Anastasia out of her anxious rumination. She was about to stand when the doors flew open with a massive bang.
In walked the Tsar, the Tsarina, and his threedvoryanstvobehind them. Anastasia stood, her heart beginning to race at the sight of her family as she braced herself.
She fought the temptation to look over her shoulder at Mikhail’s rooms and found herself desperate for him beside her. Despite their aggressive entrance, the group almost looked remorseful.
“Darling Anastasia,” the Tsarina began, her face contorting in what could be described as sadness that looked and felt fraudulent. “We’ve heard what happened. How traumatic for you.”
Anastasia froze. It didn’t take long for her to realize that they expected Mikhail to have died the night before.
Oh, God. Mikhail. They’re assuming the poison was successful… they’re betting that it happened at the ball, and there were witnesses. They probably saw us both leaving in a hurry… They don’t know what I can do… They’re bluffing.
“I’m sorry?” Anastasia cocked her head in a mocking sense of confusion. “I don’t know what you could have heard.” The Tsar and Tsarina’s facades flickered for a moment but didn’t go out.
“Oh,” the Tsarina chuckled awkwardly, “We didn’t want to be the ones to tell you…”
Incredible. Are they so blind to see that this plan didn’t work? They didn’t even bother to confirm it with anyone before bursting in here.
“It seems that your tutor met an unfortunate end last night,” the Tsar stepped forward, his political chagrin in full swing. “I’m terribly sorry. It seemed you two were close. Maybe it is for the best.”
Anastasia gritted her teeth, wondering how far they were going to take this charade. She found herself sitting down on the couch in shock, staring at her parents with a confused expression on her face.
They were here, once again in her rooms with their lap-dogdvoryanstvo, attempting to manipulate her. Her parents looked at Anastasia, assuming her disbelief was at Mikhail’s death and not their floundering attempt to gaslight her.
She sat back for a moment and attempted not to be overwhelmed by the realization of how many times her father must have tried to manipulate her like this in her past.
“It seemed I had a very eventful evening.”
Every head in the room turned as Mikhail stepped out of his apartment and into the sitting room. As much as she wanted to see her parent’s reaction, Anastasia was unable to keep her eyes off Mikhail.
He looked well-rested, even if his hair was half-up and his shirt was rumpled from sleep. She couldn’t fight the desire to push them both back into his room and abandon the outside world forever.
Mikhail stood there defiantly, crossing his arms over his broad chest and staring down at her parents.
Her parents… the Tsar and Tsarina of all Russia. Anastasia, feeling emboldened by Mikhail’s presence at her back, turned to face them and stood.
