Chapter 30
The rest of the night passed in a blur. It was nearly dawn, and the exhaustion was settling into her bones. She couldn’t imagine that Mikhail felt much better, but she was more than content to let him lead her through the palace.
In a grand twist of irony, the quickest way they could escape the remnants of the burning building was through the old side door.
“Do you want to get anything?” Mikhail asked her gently, looking back towards the hallway where her rooms were, “We will probably never return to the palace again.” Anastasia shook her head, looking up at him.
“Let it all burn, Mikhail. Let it all burn.”
He nodded and escorted her through the door for the last time as they slipped across the courtyard, still covered in glass.
Once they passed the fragments of the shattered gate, the exhaustion and emotional turmoil caught up with Anastasia. She let out a tired sob, overcome with the events of the evening, and started to sink to the ground.
Mikhail caught her in one smooth movement, scooping her up to his chest. He held her tightly, letting her adjust so her head was in the crook of his shoulder.
“Rest, sweet Anya,” he said gently, pressing soft kisses to her face, “You’re safe now.”
“We’re safe,” she corrected him with a sleepy grin, “Don’t think I haven’t been keeping track of how often I’ve had to save your ass.”
“It’s because you’re very fond of my ass.”
“Guilty,” Anastasia giggled slightly, making Mikhail’s chest tighten as the events of the past day started washing over him.
They had made it. The tsar was dead.
They didn’t know what would happen to Russia, and they didn’t care. That was for politicians and the people to figure out.
If he had his way, they would leave Russia entirely, but he would do whatever Anastasia wanted. He looked down at her, asleep in his arms, and his chest tightened.
He had nurtured the Romanov magic, but Anastasia found it on her own. The woman he was carrying away from the ashes of the palace wasn’t someone who needed him, lest he ever forget he was only holding her because she’d allow it. She was magnificent when she burned.
Mikhail walked them through the streets, now quiet, as the people, dispersed throughout the city, spread the word of the tsar’s death.
Embers still smoked in some of the city’s corners, but most of the damage was concentrated at the palace.
Mikhail let his feet take him exactly where they needed to go.
As always, the innkeeper was waiting for them. She tossed the door open once more as Mikhail climbed up the steps, her eyes wet with tears and her smile bright.
“How did you know we were coming?” Mikhail smiled warmly at the woman, who had now shown them kindness thrice over.
“Your mother told me you were coming,” she said with a wink, making Mikhail’s heart seize.
Tears sprang to his eyes as he thought of Asya fondly, his mother, not her death, for the first time in years. The woman looked at him as if she knew, then took a step back and waved him towards the stairs. “Your room is ready for you.”
Too stunned to say much, Mikhail only nodded and made his way up towards their space. Anastasia didn’t stir. The door shut behind him, and he moved over to the bed, lying down together.
They were exhausted and overcome, but as Mikhail leaned back on the pillows and pulled Anastasia to his chest, there was only peace in his heart.
Anastasia’s eyes blinked open as she stirred, wriggling herself closer to Mikhail’s body. “Where are we?” She said through a sleepy daze.
“It doesn’t matter,” he kissed her once, softly, hurtling towards sleep. “It’s you and me now, Anastasia.”