Dimitri was found wandering the streets of St. Petersburg as a child, and taken to the palace by a kindly woman who knew the cook, Vladimir. Dimitri was placed in his care and raised as a kitchen boy. What the woman hadn't known about Vladimir, though, was that he was cruel and vicious, often beating Dimitri and starving him as punishment for misbehaving, which, as a mischievous child, Dimitri was prone to do. Vladimir would also talk down to Dimitri, seeming to take pleasure in reminding Dimitri of his worthlessness, that he was nobody, an orphan, the scum of the earth.
Contrary to popular belief, growing up in the palace didn't afford Dimitri many opportunities to glimpse the royal family, as he was mostly confined to the kitchen. And whenever he was allowed out, it was always under constant supervision. Dimitri was clever, though, and would occasionally manage to evade his master, sneaking off in search of Anastasia, the one closest to his own age, and her family, his betters in every sense of the word. These escapades were always discovered, though, and Dimitri would be severely punished, the consequences of which he would bear forever.
Dimitri's most memorable 'spying expedition' was when he observed Anastasia throw his master in the brook that flowed through the grounds outside the palace wall. Dimitri couldn't remember what any of them were doing there, now, but he recalled finding great enjoyment in watching his master surface, spluttering, and slowly make his way towards shore. Anastasia had disappeared by that time, leaving Dimitri to bear the brunt of Vladimir's rage in her place. As a result, he couldn't work for a week, but he thought it was well worth having seen his master humiliated at the hands of the youngest princess, and he decided, then and there, that he would always be willing to suffer for Anastasia's sake.
The closest Dimitri ever came to Anastasia, since the brook incident, was on the night of the 300th anniversary celebration. He was caught, as usual, and given a decent thrashing, with the promise of more to follow once the night's work was done. Vladimir never made good his threat, though, for the revolutionaries who stormed the palace killed everyone they met—including the cook. Dimitri considered himself lucky to have escaped with only a headache and another scar.
So, once again, Dimitri was left to wander the streets, abandoned, however unintentionally, by the only 'family' he could remember.
Being found by Vladimir, a former member of the imperial court, was a stroke of luck, though it took some time for Dimitri to be able to meet Vlad's eyes and not shudder when being addressed—no one could have survived under Vladimir the cook and not been physically and mentally scarred.
The years passed and Dimitri managed to scrape a living for himself through stealing, begging (only when necessary—he had his pride!), and conning.
Now, he stood in a fancy Parisian garden faced with the realization that he had found the real Anastasia, the girl who'd held his interest all these years and had always been in the back of his mind, even when spending the night with other girls.
Oh, god, he thought in growing horror, All those times on the journey when I spoke down to her, belittled her, and condescended to her…when, really, I should have been bowing and scraping, catering to her every whim, and doing my best to protect her from the likes of me, rather than suggest she refrain from mingling with 'commoners.' Oh, god, what was I thinking?
Dimitri was stunned and stupefied that not only had he found the lost princess, but he was in love with her.
I don't belong in her world, though. Princesses don't marry kitchen boys. I'm nothing, and she…she'll always be everything, thought Dimitri, a tender smile playing across his face.
His internal monologue was interrupted by Vlad, exclaiming about Anya's spectacular performance.
"Vlad, she is the princess," Dimitri tried to tell him, but Vlad was too caught up in the excitement of it all to hear anything that Dimitri had to say.
At that moment, Anastasia appeared, thrilled at the opportunity to go shopping in Paris.
As Dimitri followed her and the others, offering to carry Anya's bags for her, he thought about what Anastasia had been through, herself. She hadn't been raised as a princess. She'd been told that she was nothing, just like him, when the truth of the matter was that she was an extraordinary woman who would make any man happy.
Once she meets the Dowager and convinces her of her identity, Dimitri thought morosely, she'll probably be married off to some prince who can give her the world. What would a simple kitchen boy like me have to offer in place of that?
Then, Dimitri's worst fears were realized when, during dinner, an attractive man swept Anya away for a dance.
Stay with me, Princess, thought Dimitri longingly. I love you.
Dimitri almost came close to telling Anya the truth before the ballet, but he backed out at the sight of her beauty.
If she knew, he reasoned to himself, what would be the point of having anything more to do with me?
In his life with Vlad the cook, Dimitri had been raised to keep his distance from those in the upper social classes. And if he ever did come into contact with such a person, he was to remain aloof but respectful—certainly no touching of any kind. If he failed to follow these guidelines, he'd been threatened with bodily harm.
However, at seeing Anya's distress at the notion of finally meeting the woman who was her long-lost grandmother, Dimitri, in a bold move for someone of his social standing, couldn't resist grabbing her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Everything's going to be fine," he said reassuringly.
Dimitri couldn't have been more wrong.
As he was thrown out of the Dowager's private box, landing on his knees at Anya's feet, he was reminded of exactly where he belonged. How could he have forgotten? He was the lowest of the low, after all, not worthy to even touch the hem of Anastasia's dress, much less claim her heart as his.
Though he pleaded with her, she refused to hear him out. And why should she? He was a servant and she was a princess. The two had never mixed and never would. Just as princesses didn't marry kitchen boys, they didn't listen to them either.
So, when Anya slapped him painfully across his face (Ouch, that's gonna bruise!), Dimitri felt it was nothing more than he deserved for having deceived her.
My place, he thought resignedly, will always be below her. I could never be seen as an equal. I'm nothing more than dirt on the sole of her shoe, and should be scraped off as quickly as possible.
Dimitri was nothing if not determined, though. He had promised Anya a meeting with her grandmother and he was going to see that she got it. He owed Anya that much, at least.
And, he was successful. Watching from the street below, he looked up at the room he knew to be Anastasia's, blowing a kiss to the wind as he pictured what was sure to be a tearful reunion.
Considering his and the Dowager's last encounter, he was surprised to receive a summons for him to appear at her home.
"You sent for me, Your Grace?" he inquired, bowing respectfully as he'd always been taught.
"10 million rubles, as promised, with my gratitude," she said, gesturing to a box that Dimitri could see contained more money than he'd ever seen at any one time.
"I accept your gratitude, Your Grace, but, uh, I don't want the money."
"What do you want then?"
"Unfortunately, nothing you can give," he replied, before bowing once more and turning to make a quick exit.
"Young man, where did you get that music box?"
Dimitri halted, apprehension flooding his veins. He didn't want the recognition of having saved the Dowager and Anastasia, not anymore.
"You were the boy, weren't you, the servant boy who got us out?" continued the Dowager. "You saved her life, and mine, and you've restored her to me, yet you want no reward?"
"Not anymore."
"Why the change of mind?"
"It was more a change of heart," said Dimitri honestly, more so than he'd been in years. "I must go." And with that, he bowed once more and was gone, missing the look of understanding that crossed Marie's face as she watched his hasty retreat.
Trotting down the stairs, intent on getting out as fast as possible, Dimitri was startled to hear Anastasia address him.
"Hello, Dimitri," she said coolly.
"Hello," he replied, attempting to sound indifferent, though he was sure that Anya could hear his heart pounding.
"Did you collect your reward?"
"My business is complete," he said, continuing on his way, only to be stopped by a stooped man who said, "Ahem, young man, you will bow, and address the princess as 'Your Highness.' "
"No, that's not necessary," Anastasia said, but Dimitri would have none of it.
"Please," he said, holding up a hand as he bowed to her, "Your Highness, I'm glad you found what you were looking for."
"Yes, I'm glad you did too," she replied, tone laced with exasperation.
"Well, then…goodbye," said Dimitri, bowing once more and peering up at her through his lashes for what would be the last time.
And with that, he ran down the stairs and around the corner as fast as was permissible, unwilling to linger while his heart broke at the knowledge that Anastasia hated him.
His mission complete, Dimitri prepared to return to Russia. Having nothing to lose, except his heart, by leaving Paris, he bade a fond farewell to Vlad, the man who had become somewhat of a father-figure to him.
But as he stood in line to purchase a ticket, his hand found a forgotten rose from the most memorable night of his life, and he started to doubt his decision to leave. A tender smile graced his features as he recalled Anastasia's breathtaking beauty, and how enchanted he'd been by her.
If I really love her, then my place is wherever she is, whether she wants me or not.
With that in mind, Dimitri turned on his heel and started to run as fast as his legs could carry him towards the palace.
He arrived, breathless and panting, and managed to find Sophie and Vlad, who directed him towards the Dowager.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing from the waist down, "Where is she?"
Marie regarded him thoughtfully, knowing very well who he was after and what he wanted, as well as what her granddaughter's response would be.
"She's in the garden," she replied at last.
With a hasty bow, Dimitri was off again.
Dimitri's heart was in his throat as he cleared the leafy shrubs to discover his Anya being threatened by a talking corpse, the sight of which brought back a long-suppressed memory of the night of the 300th anniversary celebration.
Rasputin! he realized with shock.
"Nobody can save you," Rasputin was gloating.
"Wanna bet?" Dimitri yelled, already having thrown off his coat and quickly removing his tie as he ran forward, ready and willing to die for the woman he loved more than life itself. He threw a well-aimed punch at Rasputin, before turning his attention to Anya, who was hanging on to the crumbling bridge for dear life.
"Anya," he called desperately.
"Dimitri, if we live through this, remind me to thank you," she said with difficulty.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Dimitri couldn't help but recall a frantic train ride where he'd said something similar.
I bet that was caused by Rasputin too, he thought with sudden clarity.
"You can thank me later," he said in a strained voice, trying to figure out how to get them both out of their current situation.
Without warning, though, Dimitri found himself being propelled through the air, away from Anya, and fighting for his life against a flying horse that had been nothing more than a statue mere minutes before. He lost sight of Anya, the horse's efforts to crush him claiming all of his attention. When he finally did manage to catch a glimpse of her, it was to discover her on top of Rasputin!
Anya! was his last thought before everything suddenly went black.
When he came to, he felt as though he'd been run over by a train. He sat up, groaning from the effort it cost him, only to be assaulted and then to feel as if his nose had become detached from his body.
Oh—Anya. That explains it, he thought wryly. That's not the first time she's broken my nose—or come close to it anyway.
"I know, I know. All men are babies."
He rose to his knees, taking in the sight of Anya in all her glory, who he thought he'd never see again.
And to think, that I was going to give her up—for what? To go back to a land of perpetual snow and ice?
"I thought you were going to St. Petersburg," said Anya, perplexed.
"I was."
"You didn't take the—"
"I couldn't," Dimitri interrupted.
"Why?" asked Anya, her hands reaching for his face as if of their own accord.
"Because I—"
As he spoke, the two leaned towards each other, only for Pouka to decide that that moment was the perfect time to bark, drawing their attention to the crown in Pouka's mouth.
Dimitri grimaced at their first kiss being disturbed by the mutt, before recognition dawning. He took the crown from Pouka, holding it out to Anya.
"They're waiting for you," he said dejectedly, knowing what was going to happen.
As he'd expected, Anya took the crown from him, and Dimitri knew that no matter what he meant to her, she would always choose her past life over him. It was her destiny, and who was he to hold her back?
Therefore, Dimitri was shocked when Anya led him to her suite of rooms and proceeded to write a note to her grandmother explaining that she and Dimitri were eloping.
"Wha—?" Dimitri spluttered, once more left flabbergasted by Anya's antics.
"Are you saying you don't want to marry me?" asked Anya in a dangerously calm voice. "Do you not love me?"
"No, I never said that. Don't put words in my mouth."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I'm just surprised that you would be willing to give up such a glamorous lifestyle…living in palaces, being waited on hand and foot…"
Anya's smile softened as realization struck and she immediately dropped her defensive attitude.
"Is that what this is about? Are you afraid you're not enough for me?"
Dimitri could only look at his shoes, nodding ashamedly. "Old habits die hard," he muttered.
"Look at me," Anya ordered.
Unable to resist, Dimitri raised his eyes to meet hers.
"You are more than enough for me, Dimitri. In fact, you are my entire world. I love you so much! Never doubt that, not even for a minute. Just as you risked your life to save me, so would I for you."
She finished by wrapping her arms tightly around Dimitri, who responded in kind, burying his head in the crook of her neck.
"I love you, Anya," he whispered fiercely, remembering the fear he'd felt at seeing Rasputin threaten her, and thinking that she might be lost to him.
"I love you too, Dimitri. Always have, always will."
With that, they grabbed hands and left Paris behind, boarding a boat that would take them away on a new journey. And as they danced on deck, stars rained down, as though blessing their union, and Dimitri swept Anya into his arms, each blissfully content at having found true love. Her laughter echoed in the night, and both were happier than they'd ever been before. Their souls were at peace and would remain that way, for they were together again and would be so for eternity.