“What shall I do with the one that they call Rasputin?”
“Execute him!” The cries were impossible to ignore. It was a crowd that was starving, for both food and violence, who had lived off of political executions more often than bread.
“Do you know what he has done?” The Tsar yelled out to them. He leaned down and ran his hand down Mikhail’s exposed back before flinging his blood out towards the iron gates like a perverse priest and holy water.
“He has avoided death. He had corrupted my darling Anastasia. He has seduced the Tsarina with his wickedness!”
“Execute him!” The crowd was officially lost to their madness as they gave in to the mob mentality. The hunger ate them alive, and they were thirsty, but in a crowd of thousands in a burning city, they could no longer tell that they wanted food and drink.
The Tsar turned and looked at Alexandra, “I am innocent of this man’s blood. They chose him over you. If anything, you shall bear the responsibility.”
His grin was infectious as he turned back to the crowd. He raised his hands in the air, and a cheer went out. He was a master manipulator, able to take advantage of each wayward emotion.
Mikhail heard the roars and his only thoughts were on Anastasia. He could barely remember where he was, hissing in pain when he felt the Tsar’s hand on his back. He didn’t know how much blood he had lost but it wasn’t going to improve.
For the first time in Mikhail’s life… he prayed. He prayed for Anastasia. He prayed for the time that they did not have and what little they did. He prayed for her magic, and he prayed for her heart. That the two would never be separated again.
He prayed for her future and her past, that the latter would never intrude once more on the former. He prayed that he would be nothing but an encouraging footnote on her destiny, on the full life that she would live.
In his heart of hearts, as he heard the crowd of people on the streets twisted and manipulated into calling for his blood — the blood of a name that he had never taken — Mikhail prayed.
The Tsar turned on his heel and walked back towards Alexandra, nodding towards the front door.
“Get the fuck inside and be grateful I’ve saved your reputation.”
There was a moment where it looked like she was going to push back against him, but Alexandra took one fleeting look at Mikhail, her eyes filled with pity, picked up her skirts, and fled inside.
The crowd cheered and hissed as the Tsar grinned, turning back around to the masses, and waving to the soldiers who lined the gates. Two of them stepped forward, and once again, Mikhail found weaker men dragging him by the arms away from where he needed to be.
The crowd was growing toward a fever pitch, rattling up against the iron as parts of it creaked. Guns shot into the air. A flaming torch was thrown over the top. They got louder and wilder, their voices and stomachs clamoring for blood.
The Tsar didn’t show a moment’s panic as they pounded at the gates, some of their hands reaching through the bars to grab for Mikhail’s body as it came closer.
The soldiers could barely pry the metal apart, multiple soldiers holding it in place, so it opened just enough for them to toss Mikhail into the crowd.
His body disappeared from view like dark magic, hands grabbing at him from everywhere, in every which direction, raining down on him as the last of the light absconded from his eyes.
He was in the middle of a crowd, torn down and pressed up against bodies all around him. He didn’t hear the clanging, empty sound of the gates as they locked behind him, only managing one last glimpse of the sky as he angled his head to see if he could spy Anastasia’s apartments — the crowd descended, and breath left him as the earth shook.
???
Anastasia watched from her bedroom window. She refused to believe that the people were going to call for the murder of Mikhail - she couldn’t. They had been so focused on her father that they hadn’t considered the seeds he was planting behind their backs.
Neither of them could play the court game of intrigue like he could, warping all gossip that arose around Anastasia and Mikhail's magic usage. All that was left was a twisted, dark, cruel reputation for the man Rasputin. A man who didn’t even exist.
When her mother appeared on the palace's steps, she felt a dangerous hope for a moment. As she watched her father ask the crowd who they would rather take, her heart sank.
Anastasia had been unable to keep her eyes off of Mikhail, muttering prayers under her breath. Genuine prayers for the first time in her life. Her chains rattled against the glass panes of the window as she slammed her fists against it, watching her father torment and touch Mikhail’s broken body.
I will murder him — I will murder him and I will end everything that he has ever brought about.
Anastasia felt her heart slowly disintegrating and rip apart in her chest, a panicked feeling threatening to consume her.
She was tired of her own idle threats. She was tired of affirming that she would do something against her father. She was tired of saying one thing and doing nothing. She was tired of letting herself slide backward in his presence, of letting his fear overtake her.
It didn’t matter that Mikhail wasn’t with her now. She knew who she was, and it was time forvengeance.
She watched in horror as time slowed down. Her father’s soldiers grabbed Mikhail and pulled him towards the iron gates.
