Petyr Antonov was not French. True, he'd lived in France for a great deal of his adult life, but the blood that flowed through his veins was Russian red through and through. When he'd been just a boy, he'd been separated from his parents, the only thing he could remember was the name of an enemy on his lips- Romanov.
France had been an unwelcome home. He had drifted from place to place, his political views earning him nothing but fear and disagreement here, where a large group of White Russians were populated. Talk of hate against the old Tsar was not tolerated.
And so, over time, Petyr had learned to keep his mouth shut, to melt his face into stone, to hide behind an endless array of masks. Even in front of these traitors.
And now, this girl had broken the walls he'd worked so hard to build.
This girl.
She'd first entered the palace weeks ago. He had seen her with the Dowager. She'd looked him in the eye and smiled, and he'd felt a wave of emotion cross over him.
Rage.
Why?
Petyr had searched his emotions to find what had set off an alarm inside of him. What had caused his instincts to react as such?
Promptly, he'd decided to follow her, letting fate guide his way.
He'd melted into the shadows, a familiar thing he'd come to learn. Stalking her trail, he had moved with her, and had not let her out of his sight. The path he'd followed led down a corridor and to a door that was shut in his face.
He'd taken a deep breath and swallowed his frustration. She had gone into the room, she would have to come out eventually. He'd traded another guard for a shift near the door and waited. Hours had ticked their time away, and still no one had exited. Looking around to make sure it was clear, he'd pressed his ear against the door. Silence.
'Damn!' he'd thought viciously. Slowly, he'd grabbed the doorknob and entered. The room was as empty as the silence he'd heard. There was a door at the other end, one they must have gone out through. 'I should've listened to what they were saying!' The thought burst into his mind, so rageful it was like a ball of fire inside of him.
However, just like every other moment he'd experienced, the past was firm and unchangeable.
Petyr had stalked away from that door and every day since, had waited for her again.
And here she was, looking so weak he barely recognized her. But, his instincts rang true. With just the briefest moment of eye contact between them, that rage was there again. And this time, he would find out why. He ever so cautiously trailed her, this time her being with the Countess- Lily. He hid behind a curtain near the door until Lily had exited, then once more scanned around him to make sure no one was near. Slowly, he leaned against the door.
"Nana, I've been having nightmares..." the girl was saying. A loud noise behind him caused him to snap away from the door. His heart beat loudly in his ears as he looked around. But no one was near, and he deemed it safe to listen again.
This time, it was the Dowager's voice he heard. "Oh, Anastasia," she said.
Petyr pulled away from the door, and he could almost swear he felt his blood pulsing through his veins.
Impossible. It was impossible.
The Dowager had announced the end of her search for her youngest granddaughter weeks ago.
But, really, it was not impossible.
The girl had referred to the Dowager as Nana. The Dowager had called her Anastasia. It was not impossible, and here this girl stood, mere feet away from him. A Romanov, alive and here.
Killing her would be his destiny.
…
As soon as she and Dmitry had returned from Nana's, Anya knew something was wrong. That feeling filled the pit of her stomach like a rock. Her hands shook, and she felt dizzy and separated from her body. Unfortunately, this anxiety was a familiar feeling to her, and it worsened every time she thought of telling Dmitry about the things she saw in her sleep.
'Just tell him now,' she thought. 'What's the worst that could happen?'
Her stomach lurched in reply. The more she urged herself to tell him, the more the feeling spread, until she felt as though it was suffocating her. Her breaths came out shallow and ragged, she was practically gasping. Against her will, tears started to come, rapid and nonstop.
"Anya?" she heard Dmitry ask. "What's wrong?"
She shook her head in reply, and felt him cautiously place his hand on her arm.
"Hey," he said calmly, rubbing her back.
"You're going to be okay. Whatever it is, I'm here."
She swallowed hard, braving through it, still unable to speak.
"Deep breaths, Anya. Deep breaths," Dmitry continued. "Everything is going to be alright."
His hand continued to rub her back comfortingly. She inhaled slowly, held the breath, then exhaled. Her heart rate slowed, and her panic started to disperse.
"You're all right, Anya, everything's fine," Dmitry said. "Like that, deep breaths."
She started to recover, but the tears would not stop. She broke into sobs, and Dmitry gently pulled her close. She sobbed into his shoulder, letting the sound of his voice calm her. He was still rubbing her back, murmuring soft things. A final sob wracked her body, and she held onto Dmitry's shirt, trembling.
They sat that way for ages, Dmitry holding her and occasionally saying comforting things, and Anya clinging to him.
When she finally got the strength to pull away, she found that she could not look at him.
"Anya," he started. "You don't have to tell me what's going on. If you don't want to, I understand. But, I'm here for anything. I promise." He slipped his hand into hers.
Giving his hand a squeeze, she was finally able to meet his gaze.
"Thank you, Dima," she managed.
"I love you, Anya," he said.
"I love you too, Dmitry," she replied.
She kicked the shoes off her feet and tucked her legs under her, leaning against him. He rested his chin on her head, rubbing her arm softly. She took his other palm and traced patterns on it with her finger. Eventually, a smile started to grow on her face, and when she looked over at Dmitry, he was grinning too.
"Should we get dinner?" she asked.
"Yeah, you feeling up to it?" he asked. "I could bring something back."
She slipped her shoes back on and took his hand.
"No, I'm alright," she told him.
He nodded, and they walked out together.
…
Petyr had followed the girl home. She and the man she'd been with had remained in the house for a few hours, then they had left together. He trailed the girl to a restaurant, watching her. He would not kill her, not yet. It was too open and public. This was a personal matter and would be done in private. Besides, he had not yet thought of what he would say to her. But he knew two things for sure, he would follow her until he had picked the right time to do it, and he would plunge a knife through her heart and watch her choke at his feet.
The two were talking about Russia now. His rage had gotten harder to control. Patience, he told himself. Your time will come.
They were traitors, both of them. But the man was not his to kill. Silence between them, now. Just silence. They finished up their meal and started to leave. Suddenly, the girl's head whipped around to where he was standing. Petyr didn't move, knowing that he was hidden. The girl- Anastasia, he corrected himself.
Anastasia stared out for a moment, then the man next to her said something. She responded, pulled him away, and they quickly left.
He continued to follow them.
…
Paris was a glittering jewel in the light of the sunset. They walked past the Seine, and found a restaurant with seats outside, so they could stare at the view.
"Do you think we'll ever stop missing Russia?" Anya asked suddenly.
Dmitry's brows furrowed, and he leaned back in his chair.
"I don't know. Probably not," he said.
The waiter brought them their food, and they both started on it.
Uncomfortable at the silence, Anya looked up at him. "I didn't think I'd miss it like this when we left," she murmured.
Dmitry chuckled. "I'd been trying to leave for years, but I guess it's always just going to be a part of me."
There was more silence, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable.
After they finished up and paid, they stood and started to walk. As she took a few steps away from the restaurant, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
Someone's watching you.
She quickly whirled in the direction of the stare, but she couldn't see down into the dark alleyway. Her heartbeat was so fast it was painful now, a constant pounding inside of her. She was trembling again. The two seconds she stared out into the dark seemed like a lifetime.
"Anya?" Dmitry asked. "What's wrong?"
"I…" She trailed off, continuing to look out into the darkness. "I thought I saw something."
Dmitry looked into the alleyway with her. "Do you want me to go look-"
"-No!" she cut him off. Anya was not sure if someone really was watching her, but there was one thing she knew for sure- she would not be able to handle losing Dmitry.
Dmitry looked startled at her outburst, but she gripped his arm and pulled him away. "Please, Dima, let's just go home," she begged him.
He looked back at the alley once more, then let himself be pulled away. They continued to walk towards home. The feeling of uncertainty still lingered around her like a veil. Suddenly, her senses pricked.
Someone's watching you.
She looked back again, and once more there was no one in sight.
Her pace became brisker. They took a left down their street, then Anya led them in the wrong direction, towards a cafe she knew.
"Anya, we're going-" Dmitry started to say.
"I know!" she said.
They continued down the street. There it was again.
Someone's watching you.
Her breathing was harder, she was almost running now. Dmitry was keeping up, looking at her in confusion.
Someone's watching you. Someone's watching you. Someone's watching you.
"Anya!" Dmitry yelled.
She stopped, bursting into tears.
Dmitry tenderly took a hold of her arms.
"Anya, what's going on?" he asked.
"Dmitry, there's someone following us. I can feel it," she said softly.
Dmitry looked back behind them. "Anya, I'll go look-"
She shook her head violently.
"Let's go home," he suggested.
She shook her head again.
He exhaled slowly.
"Anya, then let's go to the palace," he said.
"The palace?" she asked.
"There are guards there. We'll be safe, I promise," Dmitry told her.
She gave a nod, and together they left for the palace.
Dmitry talked to a guard outside. The guard went in for a moment, then came out with Lily, who led the two of them inside.
"We have guards searching the area outside to make sure no one is there. The Dowager is currently asleep, but we'll inform her what happened as soon as she wakes. If we find anyone, we'll let you all know. For tonight, we have a room for you two," Lily informed them.
"Thank you," Anya choked.
She left them at a room in a corner, and reported that there was clothes provided for them inside. The room was comfortable and secure, and Anya noted that she felt very safe here. She changed into her nightclothes, then looked out the window. All was clear and peaceful.
Dmitry sat on the bed, slowly taking off his shoes.
"Dima, I'm sorry," she said walking over to the bed.
He looked up, shaking his head. "Anya, you don't have to be sorry," he replied.
"But I am," she told him, sitting next to him. "Thank you, for understanding."
He placed his hand on the side of her face and gave her a soft smile.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. They stayed that way a while, just sitting together, until Anya drifted off. Dmitry gently picked her up and placed her under the covers, making sure the blanket covered her.
"Sleep well, Anya," he murmured.
…
Petyr's heart was racing, but at least he knew where the girl was. Damn her. She'd noticed him, and went straight to the palace. Now there was a lookout around the perimeter for anyone in the area, and he'd been forced to retreat back to his home. He'd have to be more careful from now on, stay further away. Losing the girl would better than being caught, and he knew exactly where she'd return to each night.
The obstacles he faced now would soon be forgotten, replaced by his one true act that would define his destiny.
He would kill her, no matter how long it took to plan out. She would die at his hand, and the line of Romanovs would finally come to an end.