Sorry this chapter took so long! I didn't feel justified writing it until I had done a ton of background research. I bent history a little here and there, but hopefully not too much.
JUST PRETEND THESE RAILWAYS WORK OKAY.
Translations/Notes:
'Malenkaya'- little one, common nickname used for Anastasia Nikolaevna.
'Nastya'- diminutive used for Anastasia Nikolaevna.
'Alyosha'- diminutive used for Alexei Nikolaevich.
'Tanya'- diminutive used for Tatiana Nikolaevna.
'Mashka'- diminutive used for Maria Nikolaevna.
'Olya'- diminutive used for Olga Nikolaevna.
Anastasia did own a King Charles spaniel named Jimmy, who died with the family, and Olga seemed to have been a lover of cats.
The city mentioned, Troppau, is now known as Opava. It is located in the Czech Republic.
Slight Outsourced reference. Points if you spot it. (I don't own that show either, but it's awesome.)
Alek uses 'Our' in the royal form. (I.E, We are pleased.)
SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF SARATOV, RUSSIAN REPUBLIC, JANUARY 13, 1922 (Gregorian calendar)
How does one put worst fears into words?
How does one describe nightmares?
Every royal in control of a country fears revolt, revolution. Anastasia Nikolaevna knew this, had felt it in her bones since she learned how to feel.
And then, how to shut it off.
There had been a time when her mother and father and older siblings had hidden the world from her. She knew now that they were ignorant too, all of them fools, her father especially. But he was dead, and speaking badly of the dead was heartless. Alyosha had died years ago, and if Tanya and Mashka hadn't joined her parents and her brother by now she would be very surprised. They had split the Pairs- knowing them, they had done it on purpose.
But Olya was here. Olya was here, and Olya was leaving this country, her beloved country, even now, and Olya knew what was going to happen to her. Anastasia loved her and hated her, all at once.
The oldest and the youngest surviving, how funny was that?
She would not cry. She would not give them that. Her guards, these young boy-soldiers, didn't deserve to see that. She hardened her heart and looked away from the door.
"Malenkaya, come help me with my dress."
How was her voice not shaking? How was she still able to call her sister over without yelling and screaming and cursing her captors, like Anastasia would have done if she dared open her mouth.
"Nastya, I cannot reach the buttons."
She had been caught in her own thoughts for too long. She murmured an apology and hurried over to her sister, reaching for the high buttons on the back of her dress. She would not see her sister for a while after she left. She was being selfish by not enjoying this time and sending her sister off with happy memories.
"They say he is kind, Nastya. That he works for peace. They say the palace is beautiful. He has offered to let me bring my cats- do you remember them- we do not have them anymore, but how would he know? If you visit-" Olga paused here, and went on. "When you visit, I will make sure to have a King Charles spaniel for you- not a fabricated mutt of course, a real one, like Jimmy-"
"They say he loves men." Anastasia cut her off there with a quip as she pulled a little more on the fabric to get it to button, moving her cold fingers deftly around the layers of lace. How could they not have found a good dress for her sister? It was far too gaudy and low cut for a woman of her stature. If they wanted her to look nice, they should have chosen something else. Perhaps they had done it on purpose, but it was likely they had just been ignorant.
"... wives must deal with what they must deal with, Nastya."
Olga smiled sadly, her hands folded in front of her as she stared out the window of the train. For a moment, she looked so much like Mother that Anastasia's breath caught in her throat as her fingers froze.
The guards had started to laugh at her previous comment. Anastasia frowned, and resumed buttoning the dress. They were not allowed to whisper, for fear of them planning escape, so they spoke as if the guards were not there. Honestly, escape to where? The train was going too fast, and it was too cold outside to try anything in these thin clothes. And who would take them in, even if they did get away?
"... Olya," Anastasia started as she finished buttoning, gave the fabric a quick straightening with a few tugs, and stepped back to admire her work. "I'm sorry." She was being harsh and impish to her sister, mindless of what Olga must have been going through.
"Oh, yes! Mother's necklace! Thank you." Olga waved it off with a smile- "It's nothing-" and spun around, the dress belling as she turned, and began to dig in her small bag. Most of the jewelry had been taken, even the ones Mother and the servants had worked so hard to stitch into the clothes, but they still had some. It seemed they still felt the need to present Olga nicely, like a lamb off to slaughter. Anastasia swallowed heavily at that remark, remembering the look on Tanya and Mashka's faces when they had been led away three months ago.
"Will you do the clasp for me?" Anastasia nodded, mute.
"Olya, I want you to be happy." Her fingers slipped as the thin metal clasp slipped under her fingernail as she tried to undo it. She winced and went on. "Tell Grandmother I said hello, and tell all of the family that I love them-" She was getting a little choked, but went on, quiet and mindful of the guards, who weren't looking at them just right now. "When you have a son, try and raise him like father raised us- but make sure he knows how to shop, and make sure he is nice to his tutors, and that he knows our names and where he comes from."
Olga laughed nervously. "Nastya, you make it sound like we will not see one another again."
Anastasia's hands had started to shake, but she just shook her head. The guards were looking at them again, and it wouldn't do to have them hear this. She spoke cheerfully, hiding the fear and uncertainty in her voice. "Oh, Olya, only God Himself knows where we will be in a year."
Olga nodded and crossed herself. "Indeed."
The officer that was overseeing them today chose that moment to arrive, stepping through the guards and speaking to neither of the sister, yet both of them, looking over the tops of their heads as if they were not there.
"You will switch trains in an hour. Anastasia Nikolaevna, you will come with me. Olga Nikolaevna, these men will escort you to your next train. You will be ready to leave in forty-five minutes."
Anastasia glanced at Olga as the officer left, and reached for her sister's hand. As the guards resumed their positions, she gave it a squeeze, and was surprised to find that Olga's hand was shaking just as hard as her own.
TROPPAU, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY, JANUARY 15, 1922
Alek was terribly fidgety. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, folded and unfolded his arms, and watched Volger's breaths as they puffed out and turned to frozen steam in the air.
"Relax, boy, she'll be here. God knows we'll come down on their heads if she isn't."
And by we, he meant the country, and the various Romanovs that had gathered here today. After word had spread that Alek had accepted the ambassador's proposal, requests had come pouring in from all over Europe to visit Alek's court- invitations that certainly wouldn't have arrived otherwise. Various countries began to recognize his government in more than name, and Germany had warmed up a little bit in their international relations.
Alek turned to Volger, fussing with the heavy winter clothing he wore. "Yes, but-"
"But nothing, your Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty."
Alek had to laugh at that, and noticed the small smile on Volger's face. The man knew just when to tease him, how to balance out his moods when he worried. He needed that more than ever today. He sighed and shook his head, and then spoke softly, so that the circle of bodyguards waiting with him at the station wouldn't hear.
"... Count, do you think I did the right thing?"
Volger paused, and then nodded, adjusting as he held his arms behind his back. "Of course. She's one of the most- if not the most- suitable ladies, and any sons she bears will be eligible for Russian succession once the mess there is straightened out."
Alek nodded and, not for the first time that day, thought of Deryn. He thought of his hands, and how they had held her own when he had said goodbye a month ago.
"Nothing will change between us, I promise. I love you."
He remembered how she had looked away.
Alek owed it to the Grand Duchess not to be thinking about Deryn right now, just as he had owed it to Deryn not to think about her while they had been together.
"Count," he started. "- tell me what you know about her again."
"Very well," the man replied. "Her former tutor has said how smart and driven she is. She seems independent-" Alek was grateful for that, and nodded at Volger to continue. "She likes to read, and we've been warned she has a bit of a temper."
Like Deryn, Alek thought, but internally shook his head. No, no one will ever be like Deryn.
"Really, your Majesty, you'll meet her soon enough and I won't have to answer your questions."
His words seemed harsh, but Volger shot him a sympathetic look.
It wasn't like this for his parents, Alek knew. They had fallen in love, gotten to know each other before they had married. He had read a book that had said that love marriages were like hot soup that cooled overtime, while arranged marriages were like cold soup that warmed up. His parents had gotten along well enough, though, hadn't they?
His thoughts were interrupted by the screech of a train slowing down and the hiss of stream. They were comforting sounds, especially as his encourage had come closer and closer to the Darwinian countries and had heard less and less of the hisses and clanks he was accustomed to.
"It is time," Volger said, and Alek nodded and took a step back on the platform.
The rest of the assembled people also took several steps back. Alek thought he heard some mumbles from the assorted royalty about 'Clankers and their noises', but he chose to ignore them. His Russian wasn't that good anyway, he could have been mistaken.
The train roared into the station, whipping up a warm wind that was quite welcome. Alek sighed in relief from the cold, and only then noticed he had been holding his breath.
The door opened, and as the guards exited Alek caught the first ever glance he had of his wife-to-be that wasn't from photographs. She was pretty- no, elegant was a better word, in a dress that really wasn't flattering or quite fitting for the weather. The Grand Duchess was carrying her own bags, and none of the men with her offered her their hand to help her step down.
It seemed as if everyone there but the Russian guards were holding their breath, waiting for someone to make a move and break the silence.
Alek frowned, and moved forward, striding quickly to her. She looked up, shocked, as he held out his arm for her to take and leaned forward to take her bag from her hand.
Alek only hesitated slightly before speaking, loudly, in carefully practiced Russian.
"Welcome, Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna, to Austria-Hungary. It is Our pleasure to have you here."
And then, much more quietly. "Please, may I help you with those?"
The cover of most of the papers in the next few weeks were that of Emperor Aleksandar helping Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna off the train. The photo was credited to one Eddie Malone.