Hello all you lovely people! I just wanted to give you a quick update before I disappear for a little while. I'm going to St. Louis for a national conference, and I'm super super excited about it. Once I get back though, I'm going to have to play catch up with a lot of schoolwork, so I might not update for a week or two.
Anyway, the main part of the story starts with this chapter. I should probably warn you that it's going to get a little darker here, given what happened to the actual Romanov family and I'm trying to keep it as historically accurate as possible. Buckle up kids!
Anastasia didn't care one bit that she was "acting childish" as Tatiana had teased her earlier, she didn't want her Papa to return to the war. She'd shadowed her father around the palace all day, even going as far as unpacking what she could when he wasn't looking. He'd laughed a little at her, calling her his little shvibzik again, and she'd let him write off her clinginess as a childish whim.
In truth, she was worried about her father's safety. Even she had noticed the new attitudes of the Russian people toward her father; how could she not? She thought she understood. The war was going nowhere, and supplies were spread thin. People were hungry and unhappy, and she didn't blame them for that. But she'd heard rumors from servants of riots in the streets. Her parents had tried to keep it from them, especially with Olga and Alexei getting sick, but Anastasia thought they all had a right to know.
And now, with her father leaving to go back to the war, she was worried about how safe he would be. How would they know if something terrible happened to him? Or worse, what if something did happen, and the Russian people came for them next?
"Please, Papa," she begged him once more, trailing behind him. "We need you here."
"But the country needs me more," he answered. Anastasia shook her head.
"But think about Olga and Alexei," she said. "And Mama, she'll have to take care of them by herself. Please stay. Just for a few more weeks."
"I'm sorry, Anastasia," he said sadly. "I must go. But how about this: I promise I will be back to visit in a few weeks. Maybe we'll all even take a vacation around Easter. I won't be gone as long this time, I promise."
It wasn't exactly what she was looking for, but even Anastasia knew a lost cause when she saw one. She nodded dejectedly, then left her father in peace. She supposed a few weeks wouldn't change much, and when Papa came back she would try again. For now, she would have to be content with that.
Dmitry couldn't believe how things had changed in just two months. Rasputin's death seemed to have sparked a fire in the Russian people that was refusing to go out. Everyone could feel the change, though many in the palace tried to pretend otherwise for the sake of the royal family. But in private, away from any of the family, they talked openly amongst themselves.
That's how he knew how bad the riots were getting, and how some regiments of the army were on the verge of mutiny. He didn't think the Tsar should return to the front lines either, but there was nothing anyone could say to convince him otherwise.
He found Anastasia watching wistfully from the window as her father's carriage pulled away. She was crying silently, and he knew he should have pretended not to see, turned, and let her have her privacy. But he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen her cry, and suddenly she looked very much like the little girl he met on a bridge on an early summer day.
"Anastasia?" She jumped and turned, wiping her tears away hastily.
"Dmitry," she murmured, standing up. "I didn't hear you."
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, stepping closer. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Of course I'm not okay," she snapped, feeling guilty immediately after. She started to apologize, but Dmitry stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, cutting her off. She sagged against him, glad that she didn't have to pretend to be fine for him.
"He'll be back," he tried to reassure her.
"I'm so worried," she admitted. "What if he doesn't?"
Dmitry didn't have an answer for her. So instead he hugged his friend a little tighter. He couldn't remember the last time she'd allowed him to hug her like this. He imagined it must have been a while.
He regretted that in the past few years they hadn't been able to spend much time together. She had grown increasingly busy with her lessons, and he had gone with Alexei and Nicholas to the front lines of the war. She felt almost like a stranger to him now, though he still considered her his best friend.
He wondered suddenly when they had both grown up so much. The last seven years had changed all of them so much, and now he was nearing adulthood. He figured he would continue to be Alexei's companion until the tsarevich was an adult, but then what would become of him? He'd often wondered about that at night, as well as a handful of times when it seemed like Alexei wouldn't recover from an injury.
And Anastasia was becoming a beautiful, regal young princess. Naturally she still had her rebellious side, Dmitry doubted that would ever go away. Perhaps it was the sorrow that had plagued the palace in the past two months, but Anastasia seemed more subdued than normal. He wondered if it was a permanent thing that had been changing while he was away, or if she would become her normal self once again with time.
After a while Anastasia shook less and less until she wasn't shaking at all. Reluctantly, Dmitry pulled back. He had a good idea of what her mother would say if they were caught, no matter how platonic the gesture was. Anastasia straightened up, her composure regained, and turned slightly away from him. She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so embarrassed in front of him. It was only Dmitry, her oldest, and only, friend besides her siblings. He had seen her cry before. In fact, she knew he had seen her much more distraught than this on a number of occasions, though she did have to admit that it had been years. She supposed it was simply because wasn't used to feeling so weak and powerless. She was the strong sister, the one who didn't shy away from anything. She hated the idea that anyone, even Dmitry, had seen her display any kind of weakness.
Over the next few weeks, though, Anastasia didn't have time to think about the war or the riots outside the palace. Dr. Botkin eventually diagnosed Olga and Alexei with measles, and Tatiana was forced to move into the Little Pair's room. Their mother stayed with her sick children, nursing them herself. Soon, though, Tatiana began showing signs of falling ill, and Maria and Anastasia followed not long after that.
Dmitry did his best to comfort the siblings and help the Tsarina as much as possible. He'd had the measles as a young child and didn't have to worry about catching the disease from them. Alexei in particular seemed to be having a rough time, as his joints were swollen and pained him again in addition to the rash that covered his body. He moaned constantly, complaining about the discomfort.
Dmitry often talked to the siblings, telling them of what went on in the palace and what he heard of the world outside. He knew that Olga, Tatiana, and Maria couldn't hear him, as they'd developed abscesses in their ears, and Anastasia and Alexei were too delirious to understand, but he talked anyway. Sometimes he told them stories his father used to tell him as a little boy, sometimes he told them of the harmless gossip he heard from the other servants. The day gunshots rang out, incredibly close to the palace, he told them stories of his past. Maria clung to his hand and asked why there was thunder if the sky was clear.
"Some of Nicky's advisors want us to evacuate," the Tsarina said in a soft voice, and it took Dmitry a second to realize she was talking to him. She looked up at him with a strangely blank expression. "They said it's becoming too dangerous for us here."
"But the soldiers outside-"
"The soldiers won't be able to hold off a mob," she said, gazing back down at her children. None of them appeared to be listening, too sick and delirious from fever. "There have been more riots, and people appear at the gates every day. If they chose to rise up, we would be at their mercy."
"Well then we have to leave!" Dmitry exclaimed, standing up.
"They are too sick." The Tsarina rested a hand on Alexei's forehead, whose eyes slowly opened but did not focus on his mother's face.
Dmitry stormed from the room in frustration. He wanted to understand why the Tsarina refused to do what was best for her family. Of course, he understood that moving the children while they were still so sick could be a bad idea, but they were sitting ducks in the palace. There were more gunshots and shouting outside the palace, and Dmitry felt sure that they were in more danger from the mobs than they were from the measles.
Crossing to the window, he was astonished at the number of people at the gates, waving their fists and clutching papers. Most were women, and even from here he could see that the soldiers were becoming uneasy. He wasn't sure what possessed him to leave the palace, but Dmitry found himself flying out the door and across the yard toward the fence. Outside, he could hear the chants about bread and ending the war.
"Get back, boy," a guard growled at him roughly, shoving him back. Dmitry skirted around him and climbed atop a bench.
"Please," he shouted over the noise, "calm down. The royal children are very ill and are frightened by the noise."
"Let them suffer!" a woman yelled back. "At least they are fed!"
"Get down from there!" A hand yanked Dmitry from the bench, and he landed awkwardly on his ankle. "Get back inside the palace, kid. We'll handle it out here." He was pushed in the direction of the palace doors. Dmitry ran as fast as he dared across the icy lawn and made a beeline for the kitchens. He gathered up all the bread he could find, ignoring the shouts of protest from the other servants.
"What do you think you're doing?" the cook said, looking scandalized.
"Someone has to do something about the mob," Dmitry said, gathering up whatever else he could carry. He wasn't even sure what food he was taking to the people; he only hoped it would appease them. "Start baking. They'll want more after this."
He charged back out to the gates and began distributing the food to the people assembled there. They clawed at him greedily, ripping the food from his hands and then shouting for more. Those who had been fortunate enough to grab something from him were mobbed as well, and Dmitry stood, horrified, watching the desperate turn against each other. Even when more bread was brought from the palace kitchens, the crowd didn't disperse. Dmitry couldn't imagine what would happen if the palace supplies ran out and prayed Nicholas would return soon.
But Nicholas didn't return at first. Days passed and brought news of more and more regiments mutinying against the Tsar, and the crowds outside the palace grew increasingly violent. Dmitry didn't dare try to reason with them again, and instead elected to help the kitchen staff however he could. They baked bread almost nonstop, and Dmitry was often in charge of bringing what they had to the guards outside so they could distribute it. But their supplies began to run low, too, within a few days.
Alexei, Tatiana and Olga were beginning to recover, but Anastasia was not and Maria had developed pneumonia. Both of them coughed constantly. Dmitry wished the Tsarina would at least agree to evacuate the three healthier children, but she refused to split her family up. She could no longer hide the grim truth from the three healthier siblings, though she told them not to speak of the revolutionaries in front of their sick sisters. Dmitry often sat with Anastasia and Maria while the Tsarina wrote letter after letter begging Nicholas to come home.
And then the rumors started reaching the palace. In the beginning was just whispers among the palace servants when none of the royal family was within earshot. Dmitry found he would often walk into a room and people would be huddled together looking at him, and at first he worried they were talking about him. He tried to brush it off as best he could. Then the soldiers and guards began talking amongst themselves, not bothering to shush each other when Dmitry wandered near. Then, finally, the crowds at the gates started chanting and yelling.
The tsar had abdicated and the monarchy was overthrown.
Dmitry couldn't believe his ears when Alexandra confirmed it to him in private. She told him only Olga knew so far, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she had to tell the other children. But Dmitry couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that Nicholas was no longer the ruler of the country. He had always seemed so convinced of his divine right to rule that he found it hard to believe he would give it up so easily. And on top of it all, no one had heard from Nicholas directly, though he had promised to return home soon.
When Alexandra finally did break the news to the rest of the children, she was met with yelling and disbelief. Maria wept openly, worried that the revolutionaries would come to take her mother away and not even Anastasia could console her. Alexei alone was quiet until Alexandra retreated to her room.
"What will happen now?" he asked quietly, turning to Dmitry and his sisters. "Are we going to be normal Russian citizens?"
"I don't think we'll be that lucky," Anastasia replied somberly.
"But what about my soldiers?" he said, clearly growing agitated. "What if I want to visit them and make sure they are all doing alright?"
"Don't you understand?" Olga said harshly. "Papa isn't the tsar anymore. You're not the tsarevich. We won't be allowed to do the things we used to anymore." All of her siblings seemed taken about by Olga's outburst. They knew she was prone to moodiness, but she had never snapped at Alexei like that before and it was unsettling.
"But if there's not a tsar anymore," Alexei asked slowly, looking at his sisters, "then who will govern Russia?"
