Worrying's Not Like Me

Anastasia leaned back in her chair, alone in a small sitting room, closing her eyes as she tried not to think about the impending private meeting to which she'd reluctantly agreed. The day after her awkwardly public reunion with Dima, parliament had reconvened. Dimitri Popov had attended to give his official statement, rescinding all the claims Vlad had been making on his behalf and explaining his full support of the princess Anastasia. Then, he'd disappeared.

Court had moved smoothly enough without him, but as the days passed, Anastasia had realized that she'd never be free of him. His name was whispered in every hallway, and she couldn't even walk the bridge without remembering the warmth of his presence by her side. She'd managed to avoid discussing the details of their relationship even with Nanna, but everyone knew the gist of it. And now, she was waiting in a sitting room, failing to pretend that Vlad Popov wasn't about to walk through the door for a private chat.

"What do you want?" she asked bluntly when he arrived.

"To retire."

Anastasia surveyed him more closely, then. He didn't seem to have said it for the sole purpose of shocking her, but she wasn't sure what his motive could have been. He didn't exactly need her permission. Of course, she'd need to be informed, but it was hardly the sort of thing that required a private audience.

"That wasn't what I expected," she admitted.

Vlad eyed her cautiously, as though he couldn't quite believe that she'd admitted surprise so easily.

"I've found that being blunt is the only way to survive interactions with your family," she explained.

The count coughed.

"With respect, Your Majesty…You're not very polite in private, are you?"

Anastasia couldn't help a startled laugh, but she didn't think it came off too unkindly. If anything, Vlad looked pleased, but she tried not to think too hard about the implications of such a reaction.

"I'm polite to those who've shown me they deserve it," she said, but she kept her voice light. "In any case, you've shown me you're not easy to get rid of. Have a seat."

She waved her hand, and he bowed slightly, sinking into the chair across from her.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"You're welcome. Now, tell me why you're really here."

Vlad frowned, hesitating, then began, "As I said before, I'd like to retire. But, Dimitri doesn't want to take my place."

Anastasia felt her face harden, almost of its own volition, as she retreated behind an emotionless mask.

"And you expect me to make him do it against his will?"

Vlad shook his head.

"This is a…recent development. He's only reluctant because he's afraid- Well, he doesn't know how you'll respond to him, you see."

"I see," Anastasia echoed.

Did he expect her to hold a grudge? She wasn't sure she didn't, but what could she do to him? He'd done nothing illegal. She could even understand his position. He'd seemed as surprised as she, at first. But, then he'd gone straight for the jugular, trying to use her most vulnerable moment to shake her when it mattered most. When he'd suddenly accepted her, and with such a dramatic gesture, she hadn't known what to think. She wanted him to explain himself, to help her understand. She wanted to know where they stood, after everything that had passed between them. But, he hadn't said a word directly to her, neither that day nor the next. He hadn't even looked her in the eye. She'd had no chance even to read his expression, with his head constantly bowed like that.

Taking a deep breath, Anastasia reminded herself that now wasn't the time to sort out her feelings. Ultimately, the question that had ben posed was a simple one to answer.

"I'm sure half the court thinks we planned it all, anyway. Just an extra little flourish to endear me to them."

"Nowhere near so many as half, Your Majesty. Most are smart enough to realize you wouldn't have needed such a trick without a real opponent."

"Well, that's something, then. In any case, you're aware he made quite the impression. He won't be unwelcome in court. If I'm the only obstacle, I shouldn't be. Tell him I don't wish him any harm."

"No, I don't believe you do," Vlad said softly.

He met her eyes with a soft look in his own and took a deep breath, as if to brace himself, before saying, "He's miserable, you know."

For an instant, Anastasia forgot how to breathe. Her heart beat in her throat, and she swallowed it down, finally clearing her airways.

Well, that makes two of us.

Of course, she was sure Vlad was exaggerating. If Dima – Dimitri, she corrected herself firmly – really regretted losing their friendship, complicated as it had turned out to be, he would have done something to regain it. The little boy who'd chased a carriage down the street so a princess would notice him, the man who'd followed a belligerent drunk woman to make sure she got home safely, the minor courtier who'd challenged the grand duchess Anastasia for the throne of Russia because he hadn't believed she was who she'd claimed to be…He wasn't the sort of person who sat idly by when he wanted something.

"If he expects me to change that," Anastasia said calmly, "he can talk to me as easily as you did."

She rose, then, officially ending the interview.

Vlad stood as well, preparing to leave, but added with his parting bow, "With respect, Your Majesty, in one way, at least, I'm not entirely sure that's true."

In one way, at least, Anastasia had to admit he was right. The prospect of talking to him, dismaying as it had been, seemed far less daunting than speaking with his stepson.

Anastasia heard no more on the subject until the parliament session in which Vlad officially stepped down and Dimitri took his place. If she'd thought his new proximity would make it easier to decide how she felt about him, she was wrong. It was a thousand times worse than hearing his name whispered in the hallways. Physically, he was present, but that didn't make him any less unreachable. He was almost always silent, and when he did speak, he directed his words to another member of parliament or to the assembly in general, never to her. He still wouldn't even look at her.

At first, she thought time would soften the distance between them, but nearly a month passed with no change. She tried to forget him, then, to focus more intently on the business at hand. But that was difficult when all parliament seemed interested in discussing was her coronation. She'd accepted it as inevitable – she knew what it would mean to the country, after the recent violence – so she generally left them to their plans. But, she couldn't stay silent when Baron Sobol suggested homage after the anointing.

"That isn't a Russian tradition," she said tightly.

"No," he agreed. "We'd be borrowing it from our British cousins."

"It might not be a bad idea," Count Ipolitov added, "A firm reminder of loyalty and duty to the Crown, after our recent…difficulties."

The idea of so many empty promises made bile rise in her throat. Barely a month ago, some of these men had still doubted she was even a Romanov, had argued endlessly over whether she should be allowed to assume the throne. Now they all were clamoring to pledge her their undying loyalty?

Anastasia stood. She knew her composure was slipping, ever so slightly, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Do you seriously think that some ceremonial oath would have stopped the men who shot my father? Who killed not only his son but all my sisters, who tried to kill me, to ensure there would never be another Romanov heir? The men who killed the dogs because they wanted to erase anything connected to the symbol of my family?"

She slowly scanned the room, noting the gazes that dropped as her hard eyes met theirs.

"Would it have stopped you?" she demanded. "No."

A murmur of discomfort rippled through the room before Sobol argued, "With respect, Your Majesty, no one is suggesting that it manufactures loyalty. It's only a way to assure you – before God and the people – that we have it."

"Based on what? I don't want professions of loyalty I haven't earned."

It was rare to shock a room filled with so many into complete silence, but she seemed to have managed it for at least the second time – until a familiar voice said, only just loud enough to be audible, "You shouldn't assume it's unearned."

Anastasia turned to face Dimitri, only just catching sight of his guarded expression as he added, "Your Majesty," and immediately lowered his gaze. She bit her lip to keep from cursing out loud. Every time she thought she knew what to expect from him, he flipped her world upside down.

He'll be the death of me, she thought.

That's the plan, her own voice echoed, far too cheerily, from a night not far in the past.

Anastasia reseated herself as Count Ipolitov added, "He's right, Your Majesty. You've done more than you realize in the last two years, even before your accession."

"Thank you – both of you," she added, glancing pointedly at Dimitri, who was still avoiding her gaze, "for the thought. But, a prescribed ceremony is no way to prove genuine loyalty."