Anastasia woke slowly, refusing to open her eyes. She could still feel her sister curled next to her, and even with both of their blankets piled on top of them, she was still freezing.

It was only the beginning of October but the leaves were already changing colors, much earlier than any of them were accustomed to. The daylight hours were still warm enough, but the nights had become colder and colder. Last night had been the worst so far, to the point where Maria had climbed onto the cot with her and cuddled close. And it still wasn't enough.

Mama had already asked Pankratov to allow them stoves in the rooms. Alexei had begun to cough, a dangerous thing for him, and they all held their breaths every single time. Pankratov had assured them he would try to secure a few for them, but it had been a couple of weeks now, and nothing had changed. Anastasia had a sinking suspicion that he was only telling them that to appease them.

Maria shifted and breathed deep, but didn't get up. Anastasia knew she, too, was awake but unwilling to leave the meager warmth of the blankets. She was sure Maria knew she was awake as well. But for now, they were both content to lie there. It wasn't like there was anything better to do.

As kind as Pankratov was to them, he was strict. There were so many things they suddenly weren't allowed to do "for their own safety." The time they were allowed to spend in the yard was cut down after a group of men were caught outside the fence testing its strength, and walking into town was out of the question entirely for their family. What didn't make sense to her, though, was that their servants were allowed to go into town as long as they were accompanied by an armed guard. Papa had already tried to question Pankratov about it but the Commissar had simply said that it was out of his hands, and that was that.

Anastasia supposed that allowing the servants to come and go was better than nothing. They were able to request things from shops and send letters through the servants, as long as everything was inspected first. She couldn't help but feel a little jealous of that small freedom granted to them that her family didn't have, but she could at least try to understand. The provisional government didn't want to take any chances with them. And Dmitry, either out of solidarity or stupidity, didn't take advantage of that freedom.

It struck her that perhaps she didn't fully appreciate what Dmitry had done for her family enough. He had served her family and her brother faithfully, unwaveringly, for years, growing closer to her family than even their most devoted friends. He always insisted that he stayed with them because he had nowhere else to go, but Anastasia had suspected for a long time that there was more to it than that. It seemed to her that even with nothing waiting for him outside her family and nowhere to go, he had given up an awful lot to follow them into exile. Truth be told, if it was her in his shoes, she wasn't sure if she would have made the same choice.

"Nastya?"

Anastasia reluctantly opened her eyes and turned her head slightly toward her sister. "Mashka?" Maria's eyes were also open, staring at her. She drew the blankets tighter around the two of them.

"I miss the winters in St. Petersburg," Maria said, shivering slightly.

"Me too. I don't think I have all my toes left." To emphasize her point, Anastasia grinned wickedly as she pressed her foot against her sister's shin, earning a startled yelp in response. Tatiana rolled over and shot them a look, and Olga sat up in her bed.

"Must you two yell so early in the morning?" Tatiana protested.

"Sorry," the Little Pair mumbled together, though Anastasia was still grinning. Tatiana huffed and rolled over again, pulling her blankets up to her ears. None of them moved from their beds; it seemed not one of them was willing to leave their blankets behind. Judging by how bright it was already, it was only a matter of time before someone came looking for them or the smells of breakfast would reach their room. Then, and only then, would they get out of bed and join their father and brother in the dining room to eat and receive their news from the world outside. Very often the newspapers that were delivered to them were days old, but that didn't stop Tatiana from reading them religiously or Nicholas from asking Pankratov for updates.

Anastasia had just settled herself in a comfortable position again when the door to their bedroom flew open and hit the wall behind it with a crash. All four of them sat up in bed with identical shrieks of shock. A guard Anastasia didn't recognize stood in their doorway, staring at them as they hurriedly covered themselves.

"Excuse me, sir!" Olga cried. "We're not decent. You could at least have given us the courtesy of knocking."

"What is this?" he demanded, staring at Little Pair's shared bed. Anastasia shrank back against her sister under his harsh gaze. "Is your own bed not good enough for you, Comrade Romanova?"

"No, sir, I-"

The guard continued talking as if Maria hadn't said a word. "Because if you're too good for that bed, perhaps we should take it away. It's clearly not needed here, and it can go to someone who will get good use out of it."

"You will do no such thing," Tatiana snarled, standing up. "It is too cold in here at night. It's no wonder they decided to share."

"I don't recall asking your opinion," the guard spat back, turning his head to glare at her. Even still, Tatiana didn't back down, and within seconds the guard took a step back.

"Be in the dining room in five minutes, Comrades." And with that, he turned on his heel and marched from the room, leaving the door wide open. Tatiana swept forward and closed it firmly.

"Comrades?" Anastasia asked as she finally rose from her bed and picked up her dressing gown. "Isn't that what the Bolsheviks call people?"

"Maybe," Olga said. "I can't remember."

"I didn't recognize him," Anastasia said. After two months, she thought she could recognize every single guard on sight, and even call a few by name. She turned to Maria, who was the most familiar with the guards and soldiers. "Mashka?"

Maria only stared at the door with wide, wild eyes as she shook her head.


Dmitry pulled the window open as far as it would go and clambered out, but stumbled when the toe of his shoe caught on the window sill. He pitched forward his hands outstretched and searching for something to grab onto, but before his scream could reach his lips, a hand reached out and yanked him sideways.

"You know, you were never this uncoordinated before," Anastasia remarked. "Maybe you'll be known as the clumsy one now, instead of me." Dmitry shot her a look before settling himself on the roof beside her.

"That's never going to happen," Dmitry said. "I can at least walk a lap around the yard without finding something to trip over." Anastasia frowned at him before crossing her arms and turning back to face the yard and the road beyond it. Dmitry rolled his eyes and nudged her with his shoulder, knowing she wasn't actually angry at him.

"No stories today?" he asked her after a minute or two of silence. She only shrugged half-heartedly.

"There's not much I can come up with right now," she said.

"Come on, that can't be true."

"Yes, it can," Anastasia huffed. "I'm not in the mood."

"That's never stopped you before," he said. "What's going on with you? Is this because of what happened this morning?"

Dmitry wasn't entirely sure of everything that had changed, having not been allowed in the room with the family as they were updated, but he knew the basics. Some time last week, the Bolsheviks had overthrown the provisional government and taken control of the country. Pankratov had been sent away by the new leaders, and though Kobylinsky was put in charge of them, everyone knew that he had minimal authority over the new Red Guards. Kobylinsky had been appointed to them by the provisional government, and Dmitry couldn't help but think that it was only a matter of time before he was forced to leave, too.

Anastasia snorted and shuffled away from him. "No, of course not," she said, her tone biting. "I'm perfectly fine with what's happened to Russia in the past few months."

"You don't have to be so rude," Dmitry said, feeling his temper rise. "I was only asking. It's not like this is my fault."

"I'm not saying it is," she snapped. "I know it's not your fault, but I'm allowed to be angry and upset about it, Dmitry."

"I know that, but why are you yelling at me, then?"

"Hey!" They both jumped, startled by the shout. One of the new guards was leaning out the window, his face contorted in anger and his gun pointed at the two of them. "What do you two think you're doing out here?"

"We've just been talking and getting some fresh air," Anastasia said simply. "We've been allowed to sit out here for weeks."

"Well there are new rules, now," the guard sneered. "Both of you are to come back inside the house this instant."

"But we're not bothering anyone," Dmitry protested. "What can we do from up here?"

"We will not be taking any chances, whether that be someone taking shots at you, or you signaling to someone else," the guard said. "Now get back inside."

Dmitry sighed, but began scooting toward the window anyway. As much as he wished he could stay outside, he wasn't eager to give the guard a reason to use his gun on the two of them. The guard stood back as Dmitry swung his legs through the window and climbed back in the house, but as he turned to help Anastasia he realized that she wasn't right behind him.

"Comrade Romanova," the guard barked. "I will not give you another warning."

"I'm coming," she said, though she was taking her time. She was gazing at the view they had from the roof as she slid herself toward the open window, as if she would never see it again. When she finally reached the window she paused, and that seemed to be the last straw for the guard. He grabbed her ankle and yanked hard, causing her to yelp in surprise and possibly pain. She fell through the window, amazingly not smacking her head on the bottom of the window, and Dmitry rushed forward to catch her as she stumbled.

"What was that for?" he snarled as he steadied her. Anastasia clung to him even after her feet were firmly on the ground again.

"You must learn that orders must be followed immediately," the guard said. "Not when you feel like it."


The ballroom window was nailed shut days after the incident. No one had dared to try and even open it after Anastasia reported what had happened, but it seemed that the Red Guards were truly taking no chances. Without their rooftop perch available to them, the only chances they had to get fresh air came in the hour before lunch, and occasionally for a while in the afternoons. But with winter rolling in, even that small freedom didn't seem so appealing some days.

Tensions began running high in the house. The family often butted heads with the Red Guards, though Nicholas encouraged them all to respond with grace and dignity. Tatiana excelled at it, choosing to quietly regard the guards' comments and laughter with a frosty indifference. Olga and Maria were able to ignore them for the most part too, though they muttered and complained about it in private. But Dmitry knew as soon as the words left Nicholas's mouth that Anastasia wouldn't simply roll over and take it. She had always been the outspoken one, and everyone knew it.

Dmitry often found himself wandering into the sitting room where a stove had been set up. It was the only one they had been allowed so far, and they all ended up gathered around it sometimes to keep themselves warm in the drafty house. Its presence meant more work for Nicholas and Dmitry, who were tasked with chopping the wood to keep it running, but Dmitry didn't mind the work if it meant he was warm.

On one particular day, though, when he was tasked with bringing the chopped wood up to the pile they had in the sitting room, he discovered Tatiana curled up next to the stove with her face buried in her skirt. He knew by the way her shoulders shook that she was crying.

"Tatya?"

Tatiana cried out in surprise and lurched to her feet, keeping her face turned away from Dmitry. She didn't sniffle or wipe at her face, instead choosing to pretend that she hadn't already been caught crying and that Dmitry couldn't see that her eyes and nose were red.

"Hello, Dmitry," she said politely, still keeping her face turned. "I didn't hear you come up. I'll get out of your way."

"You don't have to do that," he said. "You were here first, and I'll only be a minute. Stay."

"No, it's fine, I don't mind." She moved to walk around him, but Dmitry set the wood down and held an arm out in front of her.

"I said you can stay," he said softly. "I was the one who intruded."

"Let me go," she breathed, trying to side step him again. Dmitry reached out and caught her sleeve.

"No," he said stubbornly, and Tatiana looked up at him sharply. He felt his stomach flip as she stared him down, uneasiness rooting him to the spot and freezing his muscles, but he still held onto her sleeve. "Don't be so self-sacrificing." Tatiana wrenched her sleeve from his fingers, but continued to stare him down. They were both very aware that this was the first time in his life that Dmitry had talked back to her. And they were both very aware that he was terrified.

"Don't tell me what to be," she finally said. "I don't have the luxury of being selfish."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my duty to-"

"Bullshit."

Tatiana recoiled as if she had been slapped. Dmitry almost laughed out loud at the look on her face. Surely, she must have heard worse than that, having been nurse to the injured, broken soldiers that fought in the Great War, and yet she reacted as if it was the first time she had heard someone swear.

"Who else will take care of Mama?" she shot back. "And Alexei. And my sisters, for that matter. They all need support, someone to lean on in these troubled times."

"And who will take care of you, if you won't?" Dmitry asked. "You have to know that you can't take care of everyone."

"I can try," she said stubbornly. "Better me than someone else."

"But isn't that exhausting?" he continued. "You spend all your energy making sure everyone else is okay. You shouldn't treat yourself as an afterthought." Tatiana fixed him with another stare, but this time he didn't feel so frightened to stare back.

"Why are you even here?" she demanded.

"I only wanted to put the wood away," he said, lowering his gaze. "I'll leave you alone in a minute."

"No, I mean why are you here in Tobolsk?" she asked. "Why did you follow us into exile? Why did any of you follow us? You should leave and get on with your lives." Dmitry laughed, and Tatiana's mouth pressed into a flat line at being laughed at.

"What life?" Dmitry said, still laughing. "Don't misunderstand, I'm not complaining. But I don't have a life outside your family."

"So make one," she said. "I can't imagine this is what you pictured for yourself as a boy."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean I'd just abandon all of you at the slightest sign of trouble."

"Why not? Plenty of others did, and they had been with us for years. Longer than you have."

Dmitry chewed on his lip. "Do you really think I would just leave like that?"

"No," she said. "That's what I don't understand." Dmitry bowed his head for a moment, then looked back up at her.

"Your family has raised me since I was only ten years old," he said plainly. "You have given me a home and cared for me when I had no one. I won't turn my back so easily on that."

Tatiana nodded a few times, lowering her gaze. He knew she understood, though it was plain she still thought he might be better off if he did leave. He thought, though, that now she understood that he wouldn't. Over the years he had come to think of their family as his own family, though he would never say it out loud for fear that they would be offended.

"Thank you, Dmitry," Tatiana said. "You might be crazy for willingly putting yourself through this. But no one can say you're not a good man."