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(True facts here: all the Romanovs did keep diaries. The girls did share rooms, one for the oldest pair, one for the youngest.) Anyway, sorry for the slight delay. Here's chapter three, takes place about six months post-non-seige, just barely long enough for everyone to be the next age up, not that exact timing really matters here because it's still a dream... Without further ado....

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Maria, the second-youngest of the Romanov daughters, always enjoyed waking up quietly and peacefully in the morning. It was unfortunate, then, that she shared a room.

First she felt two elbows on her bedspread. Then came the whisper. "Pssst. Mashka."

Maria rolled over and pretended to be deep in sleep. She regretted that in a second, though. This time wasn't a whisper.

"Mashka!"

The eleven-year-old duchess bolted up, coming face-to-face with her nine-year-old sister. "What, Anastasia?"

"Tatiana and Olga went for a walk with mama. Let's sneak into their room and find Olga's diary!"

"That's stupid, Anastasia. I'm not doing that," Maria said, laying back down and pulling her pillow over her head. "Why don't you get your little friend to help you?"

"I don't need help, I just want the company. And he's your age," Anastasia pointed out. She changed the subject, knowing her fraternization with the servants wasn't exactly encouraged. "Anyway, I'm going with or without you," she informed, arms crossed.

"So go, then."

"I will."

"Fine."

With a shrug, the girl slipped from the room, leaving her sister alone in the silence she'd been wanting all along.

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Alexandra was not a patient woman. Good actress, yes. Fair, yes. The Empress, the Tsarina of Imperial Russia, yes. But patient, no.

Still, she postponed tea and sat calmly until her two tardy oldest daughters entered the room.

"Sorry, mama," Tatiana and Olga both said, almost in unison. They hurried to their seats.

"What kept you?"

Tatiana looked down, breaking eye contact with her mother. "I...I...misplaced my diary."

Alexandra looked to her eldest. "And you?"

"Well, I...must have misplaced mine too, I guess." Now it was Olga's turn to look away.

While the Tsarina prepared her tea, Maska whipped around to face Anastasia and mouthed the words 'You took them both?'

The littlest duchess tried not to giggle.

"You girls must learn to be more mindful of your posessions," Alexandra was saying.

Olga glared discreetly at her youngest sister. The one whose shenanigans were infamous. "Oh, we have some idea where they might be."

"Yes, Anastasia," Tatiana added, stirring her tea, "where were you this morning?"

Anastasia averted her eyes, dodging her sisters' questions. But Maria had no intentions of being subtle. A grin spread over her face. "I know where she was this morning."

Anastasia shot Maria a look, but she was too smug to stop now.

"Oh? And where was she?"

"She was---"

A foot connected with her shin under the table.

"---with me. All morning."

Anastasia smiled her innocent smile, triumphant.

"So," Alexandra began, looking to each of her young daughters. "Have you girls any plans this afternoon?"

"I planned to begin my advanced lessons with Monsieur Gillard," Olga declared, obviously proud of the privileges that came with being the oldest.

"I was going to paint with mama," Tatiana informed her sisters.

"If it's okay," Maria said next, "I was thinking of taking a book from Papa's study and reading down by the fountain."

"That will be fine," Alexandra decided with a nod of her head. Then she turned to the youngest of them again, and the girl found herself wishing she wasn't next. "What about you, Anastasia?"

"Oh, I'm just going to play in the gardens for a while," she said, being as nonchalant as possible.

The Tsarina, however, knew her daughter. "Promise me there'll be no mischeif, Anastasia."

Anastasia crossed her fingers under the table. "I promise."

"Are you...meeting anyone?"

The young duchess gulped---her mother knew more than she'd expected. "No." But seeing Alexandra give her that look, she took a different route. "Well, I mean, Dimitri was going to come out for a little while, but..."

"Who?" She knew, all right, but she could at least hope for a different answer.

Olga set her teacup down and picked up her napkin, the very definition of 'ladylike.' "The servant boy, mama."

"You mustn't keep him from his duties, Anastasia." Lord, not that boy again.

"But he's finished! He doesn't have to go back until almost supper." She wasn't actually sure whether or not that was true, so she kept her fingers crossed just in case.

"Wouldn't you rather paint with Tatiana and I?" Alexandra tried.

"That's okay, mama. I sort of had plans. It's okay with you, right?"

No, no, no, no, no.... "Of course, dear," she managed, but it still didn't sit well with her.

The rest of the tea was sipped in silence, and after a polite amount of time had passed each girl stood, kissed her mother on the cheek, and left the room.

Anastasia followed suit, but not before pulling a folded note from her sleeve and slipping it into her empty china teacup.

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"Honestly, the way you behave. And after all the Romanovs have done for you. They've fed you, they've clothed you, they've---"

"Kept a roof over my head," Dimitri droned. Scrubbing dishes with Kharitonov was never his favorite activity.

Kharitonov glared down at him. "How is it you can remember all that, but you can never remember that pots go on the left, china goes on the right?" He pointed to the stack of washed and dried dishes Dimitri had just finished. "Do it again."

With a sigh, the boy dismantled the pile and built it over, and no sooner had he finished that than the new set appeared on the counter.

"These are from the Empress' tea---they need washing, and maybe a quick polish would do," the serving maid informed no one in particular.

The kitchen autocracy being such, the tray was wordlessly deposited in front of Dimitri, the youngest on staff under fourteen.

"Get to it, boy."

Get to it, he thought as he worked his way through each plate and spoon and cup. Yeah, I'll get to it all right. YOU get to it. One day you'll be calling ME sir---what do you think of THAT?

But then, as he reached for another one, his hand brushed up against a small piece of paper. A smile came over the boy's face, and, turning his back to the others, he plucked the sheet out of the cup and unfolded it, reading every word.

Three-thirty? I can do that. It was a good thing, he decided, that he knew all the exits.

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So basically this just shows life carrying on as usual, at least so far....;) Please review, I wanna know what you liked. Thanks.

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