“It’s beating, Anya,” he kissed her softly, coaxingly. “It’s beating for you.”
23
The fact that they were back in The Winter Palace felt wrong. Anastasia had openly attacked the Tsar earlier that day. They both understood that the Tsar tried to have Mikhail shot coming back to the palace, likely to get at Anastasia once again.
As they sat in front of the fireplace, Anastasia had fallen asleep in Mikhail’s lap. He went over their options in his head, but there weren’t many.
They needed to seek out the leader of the resistance, Ruzsky, and hopefully join forces. If Anastasia didn’t want to leave the palace because she was afraid they'd draw fire onto the people… Mikhail didn’t like either option. Regardless, they were sitting ducks, even more so in the palace itself.
“Anya,” Mikhail murmured, shaking her awake. “We need to talk,malyshka.” He waited until her eyes blinked open and she sat up, a confused look on her face.
“What you did today…,” he sighed, knowing that the conversation was not going to end well. “You can’t do it again.”
Anastasia tensed, sitting straight as her back went as firm as a rod. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t do it. You can’t stop, ever. You can’t turn back for me, Anya.” His chest hurt as he got the words out.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t I? What are you trying to say?”
“It isn’t best for either of us. This isn’t going to be the last attack on us, and if we end up in trouble again, you need to just keep moving —“
“Do you notwantme to turn back for you?” Anastasia felt her blood run cold. The thought of rejection, of broken trust, crept back into her mind and settled in. Mikhail wanted to scream. Every time he thought that they had made headway, the smallest of things would cause Anastasia to fall back into mistrust. She could never believe — never trust — that he wanted her the way that he did.
“No, no, no,” he sighed and shook his head, adjusting her in his lap. “Don’t go there, Anya. Don’t do this every time. Trust me when I say that I love you.”
Anastasia nodded, attempting to pull her thoughts back. Mikhail continued.
“It’s because of how much I care about you. I need you to look after yourself. I couldn’t watch you die,” he said quietly, dropping his lips to her ear as if he could speak the words into her bones. “And Iloveyou. I need you to believe two things. Can you do that? Just two.”
Anastasia nodded, staring straight ahead as his voice did wicked things to her.
“I need you to believe that you can do it. Whatever it is, whatever happens. Whomever you’re with. Can you do that for me?”
Anastasia nodded her head, and Mikhail shook his. “Not good enough. Say it out loud.”
“I believe that I can do it.”
“Whatever it is?”
“Whatever it is.”
“Good girl,” Mikhail squeezed her body once more, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Now, the second part. I need you to believe that Iloveyou, Anya. More than anything in the world. Can you please believe that? Can you trust me?”
Anastasia nodded, more resolute this time. She pulled away from him slightly, looking up into his eyes. He saw the fire there once more as she nodded again.
“I trust you. I believe you.” For the very first time, there was no hesitation in her voice as she stared at him. “I love you.”
Mikhail grinned, leaning down and capturing her mouth in a kiss. One of his hands began to drift down her leg, searching for the end of her skirts… when suddenly, the doors to Anastasia’s rooms burst open. The two ripped apart from one another but not away. They looked up as both of their arms tightened around the other. Anastasia stifled a gasp.
The Tsar was standing in the middle of the doorway, looking as calm as she had ever seen him, and it was terrifying. The next moment, a stream of soldiers began pouring into the room.
Anastasia and Mikhail struggled to separate their limbs from one another as they jumped to their feet.
Soldier after soldier filed in and began lining up around the walls until they were surrounded. They both looked around and quickly realized there was no escape or weak spots.
Anastasia slowly turned her head towards her father, raising her chin and meeting his stoic stare.
“Moi Tsar.” There was no emotion in Anastasia’s voice. The Tsar chuckled. It was a sick sound, the kind of sound that a predator made before devouring its prey.
