What a Dream May Bring

The morning of her coronation, before she left her room, Anastasia laid on her bed and cried.

"This should be your day, Alexei," she whispered in the darkness.

She couldn't postpone it forever, though. She washed all evidence of tears from her face before admitting her attendants to her room and letting them dress her in elaborate finery that weighed her down. They chattered excitedly, and Anastasia forced a smile. After all, it was a festival day. There was no room for mourning.

When her Nanna saw her, the old woman's eyes widened, filling with unshed tears above a genuine smile. Anastasia braced herself to hear how much like her mother she looked, to be reminded of all that she had lost, of all she had to live up to in the future. But, her Nanna only hugged her close, filling her lungs with the refreshing scent of orange blossoms, and whispered, "My Anastasia, all grown up. What a beautiful tsarina you are."

"Thank you, Nanna."

It was the last moment of true peace she had until she entered the church that afternoon. She'd held her breath throughout her appearances that morning, forcing a smile for all to see. Her mother had always insisted that the people didn't want to see softness in a monarch. She'd scolded her and her siblings into looking stern and aloof. But Anastasia had at least one reason to believe that smiles made a more decisive impact – and, in her opinion, it was a good one.

When she first entered the cathedral, she felt unsure. Was it inappropriate to be crowned in a place where you'd clambered onto the roof in the dead of night? But, as the Orthodox bishop anointed her, she remembered the view she'd had of the city that night, of the way of life she was vowing to protect for her people. And, for the first time that day, her heart settled. She might never get used to the formalities and rumors and lack of privacy, but this was a responsibility worth living up to, and for the first time, it felt like hers – not her parents' or her brother's or her Nanna's. She wasn't just their substitute; this was her role. She closed her eyes, imagining someone looking down on her the way she'd looked down from the top of the cathedral, and prayed, Please, tell me I can do this right.

She hadn't expected anything dramatic, but when had life ever gone as she had planned? Just as she thought the ceremony was ending, Count Ipolitov rose from his pew and began making his way down the aisle toward her. Confused, Anastasia glanced at the Bishop, who flashed her a dignified smile. Her spine itched with the distinct impression that she was the only one unaware of what was happening.

Her mind caught up as the elderly man leaned heavily on his cane and lowered himself to his knees before her. She fought to keep her face impassive but felt hot blood rushing to her cheeks.

"I thought we'd agreed not to do this," she said tersely.

"It isn't insincere if it isn't prescribed, right, Your Majesty?" Count Ipolitov asked cheekily.

The old man actually winked at her, and her foul mood evaporated at the sight of the humor twinkling in his eyes. She laughed quietly, the old, childish sound that had made people say she sounded like a squirrel. She could imagine how her mother would disapprove, but she'd decided what sort of empress she would be, and this was it.

"There's nothing really organized," the old count said softly, and she relaxed at his reassurance. "I just wanted you to know that you can depend on me. No ceremonial expectations – just loyalty, freely given. I know a few others feel the same."

"Thank you, Count Ipolitov. I'll gladly depend on anyone so determined to contradict me. You'll never let me get away with a mistake, that's for sure," she said, smiling wryly.

The old man laughed softly as he rose and hobbled back to his seat.

Anastasia took a deep breath, but true to the old man's word, she wasn't overwhelmed by what followed. Baron Orlov approached, as did a handful of others, but each was mercifully brief and shockingly sincere. She scanned the faces of those who stayed away and surmised that they'd taken her words to heart. Some seemed to be reserving judgment, but many met her eyes and smiled – a commitment, it seemed, to spare her the empty promises and prove themselves through action. There was only one face she avoided. She couldn't think about him today.

A long moment passed, and she prepared to rise, relieved that it was finally over. Then, a flash of movement caught her eye, and she struggled to breathe evenly. For once, she was grateful for his reluctance to meet her eyes, even as he walked toward her, and she focused on expanding and contracting her lungs until he knelt in front of her. She watched him hesitate and fidget. Falling into old habits, she filled the silence for him.

"Didn't you do this already?" she whispered lightly.

"I wasn't sure that counted," he said, his voice no louder than hers.

"Everything you do counts, Dimitri."

"In that case," he paused, clearing his throat. It was probably the only part of their interaction that could be heard by anyone else. "This wasn't supposed to be so hard. Just- you're the only one I've ever bowed to. The only one I ever will."

Well, that certainly meant something. Anastasia wasn't sure she'd ever understand exactly what, but it definitely deserved a response.

"I believe you," she said softly.

He looked up sharply, and for the briefest second, she met his startled eyes with her own. The moment passed too quickly to process, and he lowered his gaze before she could react.

"I'll spend the rest of my life trying to earn your trust," he said.

Anastasia wondered if the answer to his distance was simpler than she'd imagined. She'd been angry when he'd thrown her confidences back in her face, accusing her of deceit even while he proved her trust in him had been misplaced. But, she hadn't expected him to worry about it so long, especially not after he'd undone the damage. Was this really the reason he'd kept her at arm's length?

"In that case," she said archly, "You can start by talking to me again."

This time, when Dimitri looked up in surprise, she was prepared for it – she smiled. Immediately, she realized it must have been the wrong thing to do. A troubled look flashed through his eyes, and he bowed his head again.

"Your Majesty," he murmured, excusing himself.

Anastasia wondered if there had been a right thing to say at all.

The ball that evening was stifling. She'd grown used to ballrooms filled with courtiers and foreign dignitaries, but until now, she'd always been a secondary attraction. Between a few obligatory dances and brushes with the rumor mill, she'd always been able to fade into the background or even slip out for a breath of air while the diplomats swarmed her grandmother. Tonight, however, there was no escape. She was the center of attention, and she couldn't end one interaction without immediately being pulled into another.

The worst part was the lack of subtlety. Did all these neighboring dukes and princes think she was unaware of the marked change in their demeanor? For the last two years, she'd been a curiosity at such functions – theoretically eligible but without clear prospects. After all, the rumors never ended. But, now, with a crown, she meant the acquisition of a country. Only, she wasn't about to give up the nation she'd only just gained.

After a short eternity, she finally begged off dancing for a while, claiming to be winded from the constant demand. Her relief was short-lived, as the ploy only kept her standing still while a small crowd gathered around her, pinning her down in a conversation full of pitfalls. Just as she thought she was going to lose her mind, her lady-in-waiting appeared at her shoulder with a curtsy.

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but you were wanted in the gardens," Lily said.

Anastasia turned, trying to hide the surprise on her face. She certainly welcomed the reprieve, but summoning a monarch away from her own party was highly irregular. She could only think of one person who seemed so constantly determined to shock her.

"He asked me to tell you an old friend was waiting by the Venus fountain."

"Of course," Anastasia said.

She turned back to the interrupted conversation to find all its participants unabashedly staring at her.

Probably trying to gauge my reaction. I'll have to make it seem like this was planned. A hint of weakness, and they'll smell blood in the water.

Smiling, she said, "You'll have to excuse me, friends. I've been waiting quite a while for this meeting, and I'm afraid I can't postpone it any longer. I'll return as soon as I can and hope to see you in good spirits when I do."

That seemed to satisfy them. After all, it wasn't untrue. Anastasia briefly thanked Lily before gratefully stepping out into the bracing, nighttime air. With a lighter heart, she reflected that, if all went well, she'd be returning to the party with a dancing partner she actually wanted to talk to. Navigating the narrow garden paths, Anastasia let a hand trail through the high hedge wall beside her. She closed her eyes for a split second, just to enjoy the moment – and ran straight into someone turning a corner. They both tumbled down into the dirt, and Anastasia's eyes flew open.

Idiot. She should have known to look where she was going. But, she'd expected the gardens to be mostly empty.

"Are you okay?"

Anastasia glanced over at the familiar voice and laughed.

Someone was impatient. After all, they were nowhere near the fountain.

"You're all dirty," Dimitri said lamely, and Anastasia noticed a tense note in his voice.

Of course, demented giggles probably weren't the most normal reaction to knocking someone over and falling down with them because you couldn't be bothered to keep your eyes open. She took a few deep breaths, getting a hold of herself as he stood and helped her up.

"It's fine," she said, grinning. "Having to change will give me a good excuse to miss more of the ball. Anyway, Lily said you wanted to see me?"

"She…what?"

Dimitri's confusion sank into her stomach like a stone, and her mind put the pieces together instantly.

"Oh. Nevermind, she must have made it up to give me an excuse to get some air. It's fine."

She swallowed the urge to cry rising in her throat and sidestepped, preparing to walk away, then stopped abruptly, turning back to face him.

"No," she said firmly. "It's not fine. I'm done playing this game, Dimitri. Why won't you talk to me anymore? God, you still won't even look at me!"

It was true. Even now, he kept his eyes politely averted as he said, "Your Highness-"

"No! Stop hiding behind formalities! God knows we did just fine without them long enough."

Anastasia laid a soft hand on his cheek and gently tilted his head until their eyes met.

"What changed?" she asked.

They were close enough now that she could watch the emotions flashing across his face, too fast to read. He gently grabbed her wrist and lowered her hand before stepping back, increasing the distance between them. For a moment, she didn't think he would answer. But, he was still looking at her.

"I don't want to be in love with someone I can't have for the rest of my life," he said finally.

Anastasia almost couldn't believe it. If Dimitri was in love with her, he had a funny way of showing it. But, his voice was heavy with sincerity, and she could see the dull pain in his eyes. Slowly, everything began to make a certain sort of sense, but one question still plagued her.

Whatever made him think he couldn't have her?

She'd been silent too long, and she could see him retreating, once more, behind a civil mask.

"Do you know why I smiled?" she blurted.

"Today?" he asked, and she winced at his disinterested tone.

Stay with me.

"When I was eight. I wasn't supposed to, you know."

"Amusement," Dimitri suggested, shrugging, "that a dirty little boy from Petersburg thought he deserved a princess's attention?"

He was speaking facetiously, she felt sure, for the sole purpose of being contrary. He was pushing her away. Apparently, he'd forgotten how hard she could push back. Even arguing with him was better than being ignored.

"Do you really think me so unkind?" she demanded.

"That isn't what I-"

"We were dressed up like perfect little dolls, trained to keep on our impassive masks. Just ride along and look pretty for the people. Then, you came along. And, you didn't care about any of it. You called my name, just mine. No titles, just Anastasia."

"Novelty, then," Dimitri said tersely.

Anastasia frowned at the response to her earlier question but pressed on, determined to make her point.

"And the way you looked at me – like I was a person. You made me feel human, Dimitri. What happened to that little boy? The one who didn't care about boundaries or formalities? Who just chased what he wanted, no matter what got in his way?"

Dimitri looked her dead in the eyes, and she knew he was aware of what she was trying to do. And he was having none of it.

"He remembered that princesses don't marry commoners," he said harshly.

"And what's to stop a tsarina from marrying a count?" she countered.

"There's a ballroom full of more appropriate suitors in there," he said, gesturing to the palace behind her.

"Her Imperial Majesty, Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov would beg to disagree, Dima."

His old pseudonym slipped out without her permission, but she didn't bother to correct herself. After all, that was what it boiled down to, wasn't it? She'd fallen for a man who didn't seem to exist anymore, and she wanted to know where he'd gone.

Stalking forward impulsively, she closed the distance between them, placed her hands on his shoulders to pull him down, and kissed him firmly on the lips. He was stiff as a board, but she didn't wait to see if he would soften. On fire with emotion, she barely registered the sensation, and it only lasted for an instant before she immediately stepped away, breathing heavily.

"I know what I want," she said. "Let me know when you figure out what you want."

Then, she stalked off into the night, leaving him silently behind her. She paced restlessly through the gardens; she couldn't head back to the palace like this. Her head was still spinning, and she'd lost all control over her facial expressions. Her heart beating a million times a minute, she finally stood still and tried to regulate her breathing.

The slow splash of water helped to calm her nerves, and she looked over to see the Venus fountain flowing beside her. She laughed bitterly as she realized where her feet had unconsciously taken her.

"It's been a long time," a voice said beside her, and she gasped, whirling to face the man who'd been waiting for her there.

"Gleb."

Her voice shook as she recognized him, and she silently cursed Dimitri for frying her nerves. She cursed herself for leaving the ballroom in the first place. She should have just stayed inside.

"Hello, Anya – or should I say Anastasia?"

She took a deep breath, trying to stop her shoulders from shaking as she met the soldier's dark eyes in the moonlight.

"I'm the same person," she said firmly.

Gleb grimaced.

"If that were true," he said, "We wouldn't be standing here."

"Why are you here, Gleb?"

"Can't you guess? Damn it, Anya, how many times do you expect me to fall for your act of naivete?"

Anastasia was sick and tired of being accused of subterfuge.

"I never meant to deceive you," she said coldly.

Gleb hesitated, then pulled a gun out of his suit.

"It doesn't matter now," he said. "I have a duty to perform."

Anastasia shivered. Gleb was deadly serious, and she suddenly realized how helpless she was. If she tried to fight him, he'd pull the trigger before she even got close. She could scream for help, but she'd be dead by the time anyone arrived. The worst part was knowing she'd die by a hand that had once held hers in kindness.

"We were friends once," she said.

"We could have remained friends. This was your choice, Anya. I was willing to keep your secret, if only you'd let Anastasia die! Why couldn't she stay dead?"

Gleb's eyes were wide and pleading, as if some part of him still thought they could go back to the way things used to be, if only she gave the right answer. Anastasia drew herself up to her full height and held her head up proudly.

"You have your duty," she said. "I have mine."

"Duty," Gleb scoffed, "What duty? To play dress-up and throw lavish parties while people are starving in the streets?"

"Your revolution didn't stop me from starving in the streets of Leningrad! Just see if I don't do a better job than your own government before you judge me too harshly."

"Unfortunately, there won't be time for that."

Gleb shifted his stance, raising his gun, and Anastasia knew there wasn't much time left at all.

"Why now?"

"There cannot be two Russias," Gleb replied. "The old woman was no threat, and any other heir would have been weak, having to fight parliament for every inch of recognition, placating factions that preferred other claimants. But, you, my dear – a true Romanov! A strong young woman to take the throne. You've become dangerous, Anya."

"Then do it! Look in my face, and see my family. See their pain and terror! Try not to botch it, like the soldiers that left Maria and Olga moaning in pain for what felt like hours! Pull the trigger, Gleb, and I'll be with my parents and siblings in that cellar in Yekaterinburg all over again! But, my people will survive. They're stronger than you think."

"I suppose we'll just have to see about that."

Gleb cocked his gun, and Anastasia flinched at the noise, but still he hesitated.

"I didn't want it to end this way, Anya. I bought you as much time as I could to come to your senses."

Anastasia chuckled darkly, shaking her head. Throwing caution to the wind, she took a step closer to Gleb, who stiffened.

"You were the first one to recognize me, even before I figured it out myself. And, you still don't understand. Just who do you think I am, Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov?"

"Anya-"

"Wrong! You didn't come all this way to assassinate Anya Nobody from the streets of Leningrad!"

She lifted her chin and walked proudly toward him, stopping only when the muzzle of his gun was an inch from her chest.

"I am Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov. And I am my father's daughter."

She spoke deliberately, knowing what the words would mean to him, and watched as his eyes changed, his expression settling into one of stone.

"And I am my father's son!"

Anastasia closed her eyes.

For the first time since he had recognized her as Anastasia, Dimitri desperately wanted to strangle Anya. Well, really, he wanted to kiss her, properly this time. But that didn't change the fact that he'd just been forcefully reminded of how easily she could make him angry. How could she do something like that and then run off?

Let me know when you figure out what you want.

He snorted, thinking back on her parting words. What he wanted had never been in question. He simply hadn't believed it would ever be within his reach. And then she'd reminded him that that had never mattered to him before. He wouldn't let it stop him now. He still couldn't believe that she'd forgiven him so easily and that, despite ample opportunities for more advantageous matches, she chose to love him. But, he could take a hint.

And then, the moment he'd started to believe her, she'd run away.

"You really will be the death of me," he muttered, pacing out his nerves in the empty garden paths.

He'd assumed Anastasia had gone straight back to her rooms to change, leaving the gardens empty except for him. But, he heard raised voices and followed them through the winding halls of hedge walls. The sound was indistinct at first, and he took a few wrong turns, but he finally got close enough to discern the words.

"You were the first one to recognize me, even before I figured it out myself. And, you still don't understand. Just who do you think I am, Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov?"

Dimitri's breath caught in his throat at Anastasia's voice, and he started running along the wall, searching frantically for an entrance while the ghosts of past conversations beat against the inside of his skull.

Who's Gleb?

A man I used to trust…

He tried to kill me…

He realized who I was, even before I'd admitted it to myself…

"Anya-" a man's voice said on the other side of the hedge, and Anastasia cut him off, her voice strong and proud.

"Wrong! You didn't come all this way to assassinate Anya Nobody from the streets of Leningrad! I am Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov. And I am my father's daughter."

Dimitri finally stumbled through an open archway to see Anastasia standing near a fountain. A man held a gun to her chest, but she stood tall. She'd closed her eyes and lifted her chin, apparently impervious to fear. Proud and serene, she looked every inch the empress.

"And I am my father's son!" Gleb declared.

Realizing what was about to happen, Dimitri shouted, "Anya!"

He was too far away to get there in time, but his body started moving before his mind could object. Anastasia's eyes snapped open, wide and terrified as she watched him run straight toward the assassin. And in a split second of distraction, Gleb turned to face the newcomer, pointing his gun at Dimitri.

"No!" Anastasia screamed, throwing her entire body weight against Gleb's arm as a gunshot rang through the air.

The bullet went wide as Anastasia and Gleb tumbled to the ground, and the gun skittered away from them. Dimitri cursed as he neared the brawling pair, grabbing the gun as they rolled farther away from it. A small part of him wanted to smile at the sight, but that part was quickly overwhelmed by naked fear. This wasn't Anya brawling with some witless drunks. This was a trained soldier trying to assassinate an empress.

Gleb threw Anastasia off him, and she hit the ground with a sharp cry. Immediately, he dove toward her, holding a knife in his right hand- and stopped short as Dimitri fired two shots into his back. Anastasia trembled as the body fell limply on top of her, and Dimitri held his breath until she'd crawled out from beneath it, and he could clearly see her tear-stained cheeks. He dropped the gun, forgotten, on the ground as he rushed to her side and took her in his arms, his eyes fixed on the blood staining the bodice of her dress.

"Anya? Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

"It's his," she said, referring to the blood.

Dimitri sighed in relief and pulled her more tightly into his embrace.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he whispered roughly.

Anastasia shook more violently, and he realized she'd begun to giggle through her tears.

"You know," she teased, "If I'd known almost dying was all it took to get you to hold me like this, I would have tried it weeks ago."

Dimitri stepped back, bringing his hands up to either side of her face, so he could look her in the eyes.

"You're insane," he said bluntly.

Then, he took a deep breath.

It's now or never.

"And, I love you."

Anastasia's face froze in shock, and then she grinned.

"About time," she said.

He didn't bother to answer, instead leaning toward her until their lips met softly. They sprang apart as loud footfalls and shouts sounded nearby, but Anastasia kept a firm hold of his hand. In only a second, they were surrounded by a clamoring mass of guards and busybodies. Anastasia looked from face to frantic face as everyone spoke at once, and her expression wavered. Recognizing her trepidation, Dimitri squeezed her hand. She glanced at him, and he met her eyes with a small smile.

I'm here. You can do this.

She took a deep breath, then smoothed the worries from her face and turned back to the small crowd that had gathered. She'd stopped trembling, and her posture had straightened. Her gown was torn, dirtied, and bloodstained, and her cheeks still glowed wet in the moonlight, but when she spoke, her voice was firm and even.

"Everyone, please remain calm. The danger has passed. I will answer all of your questions in the morning, but for now, this man needs a burial, and I need to get cleaned up."

She made eye contact with a guard and nodded at him. Thankfully, he seemed to get the message and took charge of the crowd as she and Dimitri slipped away. The moment they were alone, she collapsed into his arms.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm here. You're safe."

"I know," she said. "I just…"

"One thing at a time," Dimitri reassured her, absently stroking her hair. "What next?"

"Well, I think I have a pretty good excuse not to return to the ball," she said with a shaky laugh.

"Did you have somewhere else in mind?"

"I might have an idea," Anastasia said slowly.

"It's not the cathedral," Anastasia said, leading him onto the roof of the palace, "But, it's still a nice view."

Dimitri looked out at the lights of the city, then back at the smiling woman beside him.

"It is," he agreed.