by M J Marstens
One might even consider them. . . humble.
She laughs at something Vadim is saying and it reminds me of her in the gardens, working alongside the cook to dig up carrots. She was rambunctiously flinging up dirt to accomplish the task, but Nastya never shied away from getting her hands dirty. She didn’t consider herself above anyone merely because of the station that she had been born into and that is the reason I respect her so much.
“Your Highness?” I call out, making her look up and scowl at my formal title that I know no one uses.
“Yes?” she returns in a haughty voice just to irritate me, but it makes me smirk instead.
“May I have a word?”
“You may have many for all I care.”
Next to her, Maksim covers his mouth to disguise his chuckle. He’s clearly enjoying this, but I refuse to grovel in front of the others.
“Alone?” I clarify.
Nastya ponders me, not saying anything for a bit—probably to punish me—before nodding and getting up. She’s wearing an outdated dress that’s a little loose on her, but she still looks lovely. Her blue eyes are the brightest that I’ve ever seen and they pick up the hints of violet in the fabric of her clothing.
I walk her to the room she is staying in and politely open the door while simultaneously trying to ignore the onslaught of memories that come flooding back from when I last stood here. Watching her between the two Beliye had been. . . arousing, but I’m greedy and covetous. I wanted all her orgasms for myself, but I’ll admit watching her crest was a beautiful sight, even if it wasn’t me pushing her over the edge.
I cough to clear my throat—and my head—before addressing the scowling woman. Although she barely reaches my shoulders, Nastya certainly knows how to fill a room with her presence. It shouldn’t surprise me since her regal bearing is a direct product of upbringing, but I’m always surprised by the poised façade that she presents when I know what fiery emotions lie underneath.
“I have something important to tell you—about your parents, but first I owe you an apology. I swear it on my soul that I never meant to deceive and hurt you.”
“But you did,” she confutes.
“But I did,” I agree. “And that guilt will forever live within me, even if you do find it in your generous heart to forgive me. Nastya, we come from different worlds, but we are two halves to the same whole. I’m not complete without you—I realize this now. I love you. Please, forgive me.”
Nastya huffs impolitely, but I know that face—she’s frustrated with herself and not me. The one thing I know about my girl is that her anger can burn, but it dies quickly. Anastasia Nikolaevna is no grudge holder—she’s fair to a fault, something I’m told she gets from her father, but I can’t attest to that.
“You said you had important information about my parents?”
“What about what I said?”
“Ilyushka, you already know that my heart is yours—I never would have given you my virginity, otherwise,” she admits.
My own heart soars at her confession.
Of all the princes and dukes in the world, the grand duchess gifted me with her body and her love. I suddenly don’t feel like a dirty commoner—I feel worthy that Nastya has bestowed such a priceless blessing to me.
“And you forgive me?” I press.
Another huff.
“Yes—but quit pushing me! Now, my family!”
“Yes, yes,” I say, sobering up against the giddy feeling of being in her good graces again. “My father says that they’ve been moved to Yekaterinburg. He’s requested for them to be pardoned at best—exiled at worst—”
“Lenin requested?” Nastya interrupts with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, princess, requested. Our party isn’t a dictatorship. My father started the movement and is head of our political group, but that doesn’t make him irrevocably in charge. Everything still must go to vote and everyone still must be in accordance with whatever we are trying to do.”
“And. . . no one else wanted to pardon or exile my family?” she asked quietly.
“No. There’s a faction within our movement that’s gaining popularity—as well as power. They are militant and fanatical. These are the men that stormed Alexander Palace in December on that hateful night. They want to kill your parents. . .and your siblings.”
Nastya nods sadly
“I heard a man tell my father that night that he would not rest until all Romanov blood was erased from the face of the Earth.”
“I’m sorry, princess. They see even Alexei as a threat.”
“Alyosha is just a boy—a sick one, but I’ve dreamed of him becoming a man and taking my father’s place someday, but the reality is that is unlikely with his illness. There is no need to kill him.”
“These are not honorable men, Nastya. They do not care that they will have the blood of women and children and other innocent people on their hands.”
“We have a name for people like that,” Nastya says flatly. “They’re murderers.”
“They are,” I agree. “I’m telling you so that we can stop them—together.”
“Together?”
“Would the Anastasia I know settle for anything less?” I wonder with a smirk.
“Never,” she rejoins with a grin of her own. “So, where are my parents, sisters, and little brother now?”
“On a train to Yekaterinburg. A few of your personal servants, including Dr. Botkin, have been taken with them, but the rest. . .” I trail off, ashamed of what the Krasnyye have done. “They were shot,” I finally admit.
Nastya’s face pales. The men and women that worked at the palace were genuinely like family to her, and I can’t imagine the pain my words bring to her.
“Is Anya alright?” she finally manages.
“Yes, but only because everyone thinks that she is you—which is currently sparing her life.”
“Until these men decide to kill everyone,” she mutters bitterly.
“Or, worse,” I add darkly, watching her eyes widen.
“Worse?”
“Worse,” I confirm.
I can only imagine what these men will do to the tsarina and her beautiful daughters. But, rape is the least of the tsar’s and tsarevich’s concern as they will most likely be brutally tortured.
“We have to save them, Ilya. We have to—they are counting on me.”
“I know, my princess. Let’s go tell the others. Unless I’m wrong, they’re going to want to help, too.”
Nastya stops me when I start to turn around.
“Yes?” I question.
She rises up on her toes to kiss me—sweetly, deeply, passionately—a testimony of her love. I return it with all the longing I feel for her and revel in her little moan of pleasure.
“Soon, moya lyubov'1, I will have you just how I want you.”
“And how’s that?”
“In every position possible,” I growl hungrily.
Nastya’s cheeks blaze red, but her eyes dance with desire.
“Ya lyublyu tebya2, Ilyushka,” she whispers before leaving the room.
I wait to follow her out until the sudden wetness in my eyes disappears. I’ve searched all these years to find my true home—my true calling—funny that it was with this slip of a princess the whole time.
* * *
1 Russian for ‘my love’
2 Russian for ‘I love you’
Chapter Twenty-Six
ANASTASIA
Ilya tells Maks, Zav, and Dima where my family is and what’s happening. No surprise, everyone is on board to go save them from their inevitable fate of death. What is a surprise is how willing the Krasnyye and Beliye seem to be to work with one another. Dima is neutral, but I know that the feud between the other four men runs deep—even deeper, maybe, than the resentment toward the tsardom.
“We need to take a train to Yekaterinburg,” Maks announces.
“We’ll have to get everyone papers,” Ilya states. “The Krasnyye control the rails, and
if you don’t have the right papers, you cannot board. Hell, if you don’t have the right papers, you’ll probably be arrested. But, I can get everyone passes.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually grateful for your connections at the moment,” I confess to him. “How soon can you procure the papers needed?”
“Tonight. I will go back into the town. My father already is getting everything set into motion—I just need to give him the names and then numbers.”
“You’re going to give him my name?” I ask incredulously, making Vadim and Ilya laugh.
“He already knows about you, duchess,” Ilya reminds, “but no. The papers will be fake, except from Vadim’s and mine.”
“Won’t they suspect something if you’re going to Yekaterinburg” Maks wonders.
“Not if I’m going under my father’s orders to officially execute them.”
“What do you mean?” Dima queries.
“When I go to get the papers tonight, my father will also give me an ‘official decree’ to kill the remaining Romanovs. Although fake, it will explain our—my—presence in Yekaterinburg,” Ilya explains and Dima nods.
“Well, you best be on your way. It will be dark soon,” Zavid cautions.
“Night is the safest time to travel now,” Ilya counters and I shudder.
Night in Russia—in winter—can often be a death sentence itself, marking how truly dangerous it is to travel by daylight right now.
“I will go with you,” Zavid offers and Ilya hesitates. “I can be a new recruit. Who will question you?”
“If he goes, I go. Most won’t recognize me since I’ve been in exile until a few months ago,” Maks adds and I bite my lip.
I already worry about Ilya, must the other two join him?
“That would be best, actually. We can take an actual photo of you both to add to the papers. Dima will not be scrutinized as much given his profession.”
“Then, it’s settled,” Zavid announces. “Hopefully, we will return tomorrow morning.”
“Be safe,” I whisper, my heart in my throat at the thought of them leaving.
“We will be,” Zavid promises.
“Vadim, make sure Nastya takes the medicine we brought back,” Ilya commands and Vadim gives him a mock salute.
Dima says a quick prayer of safety as the three men disappear into the night.
“Come, princess, sit by the fire,” Vadim urges when I continue to stand at the open front door.
Dima closes it and guides me to the warmth emanating from the hearth. Vadim is sitting in a chair and, before I can protest, he pulls me into his lap and nuzzles my neck through my thick hair. Dima makes a strangled sound and I shoot him a look, but Vadim just appears amused at the monk’s discomfort.
“Will you not sit with us, Dima?” Vadim offers.
“I. . . should pray,” he politely refuses.
“If you insist. I personally find the fire to be very. . . stimulating.”
Dima cheeks tinge a rosy pink at his words and I wonder why they embarrass him so.
“Is there something wrong with the fire?” I query, confused.
“No,” Vadim answers lazily. “Sometimes it’s just nice to have other people feed it. Dima is most adept at stroking the fire.”
“Stoking,” I correct.
“Isn’t that what I said?” he asks innocently, but I can see the mischievous twinkle in his eye.
He’s taunting Dima, but why?
Over what?
Poor Dima is the very picture of indignation and it makes me giggle a little.
“Don’t listen to him, Dmitri—he’s trying to get under your skin.”
“And he’s trying to get in yours,” Vadim sings.
I wrinkle my nose.
“What does that even mean?” I demand.
“Nothing,” Dima rushes to say. “It means nothing.”
“Liar,” Vadim jeers playfully.
“Enough,” I scold. “You’re being cruel. Dima, you can tell me. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Vadim reassures me for Dmitri. “You’re right. I am being unkind. Forgive me, Dima.”
The monk nods his head in acceptance, his dark hair blending in with the shadows of the room. I think about Vadim’s strange words and something clicks inside my head.
“You’re mistaken, Vadim; Dima has already confessed everything to me this morning. There is no need to shame him, for he already feels guilty,” I scold my swarthy friend.
Vadimir’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline and he gives Dima an incredulous look.
“You told her that you touched yourself to the sight of her naked body and came into the fire?”
Now, I choke on my tongue that I managed to swallow in my shock.
“WHAT?!” I screech. “He confessed to finding me. . . alluring, but was concerned that his feelings might be more involved than that; not what you said!”
Vadim doesn’t say anything for a second, clearly confused, but bursts into laughter a second later.
“I’m a terrible friend, Dima!” he chortles. “I thought that you told her!”
Dmitri appears torn between absolute humiliation and jocundity. He finally settles for a small chuckle when he sees there’s no judgement on my face. His cheeks are still tinged pink, but his almost black eyes dance with merriment. I lean forward in Vadim’s lap to assess him. I know what it’s like to have your heart feel one way and your head tell you that you should feel another.
“I would have watched,” I confess to him with a blush of my own.
Dima’s stares at me from the bottomless depths of his inky eyes in stunned wonder—did he not think that I reciprocated his feelings?
“I. . . must go pray for the others. Good-night, malenkaya. Good-night, zachinshchik1.”
“Who do you think is ‘little one’ and ‘instigator’?” Vadim the Trouble-Maker wonders and I elbow him playful while Dima just shakes his head ruefully.
“Good-night, my friend!” I call out to Dmitri before turning in Vadim’s lap.
The action makes him groan and grip my hips more securely to him as if I might get up and run. I love looking at Vadim. His features are so different than everyone else’s—darker, earthier, unique.
“If you keep staring at me like that, princess. . .” he warns.
“What will happen?” I taunt right back.
A dark smile lights his face.
“Let me show you.”
* * *
1 Russian for ‘instigator’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
My breath catches in my throat when Vadim purposefully stands up and lets me slide sensuously down his body. The fire to my back stokes the heat already raging inside of me. Vadim lightly runs a finger between my breasts to my navel, stopping right above the apex of my legs.
“Take off the dress,” he commands softly.
For some unknown reason, I want to rile him up.
“Make me,” I order right back.
His eyes light up with delight.
“Happily,” he growls.
“Be gentle!” I rush to add. “This is Dima’s sister’s dress.”
“Fine, I’ll be gentle with it—but not you.”
My stomach clenches at his words and the burning inferno in my body ratchets up a few more notches. Vadim carefully pulls the fabric up over my hips until he can grip the hem and yank it over my head. He folds the clothing and sets it aside before resolutely turning back to me.
“I love watching the flames cast shadows over your naked body,” he confesses huskily. “It makes me think of other regions that are shadowed and hidden.”
Feeling coy, I step up and rub myself seductively against his hard and muscled body.
“What, pray tell, areas are you alluding to?”
He grins as when I play along.
“Let me demonstrate, my naughty princess.”
He spins me around to bend me over Dima’s long wooden table. Vadim positions my h
ands out flat in front of me and directs me not to move—or else. A twisted part of me sort of wants to find out what ‘or else’ means, but I do as he’s says—for now.
I’m greatly rewarded when Vadim sinks to his knees behind me and parts my zhopa to reveal my manda. I feel him fingering the sensitive flesh there and I bite my lip to keep from moaning. I don’t want Dima to hear what we are doing. . .
Or, do I?
As if to test me, Vadim leans in and licks my manda lightly from top to bottom. I couldn’t stop my cry of surprise and pleasure if I tried. But, Vadim is just getting started. His soft kisses turn into fast-pace licks interjected with arousing nibbles and teasing bites. It doesn’t take long before I can feel my body tightening in preparation for my release.
“Vadim—wait, I’m—”
I can’t finish my sentence because I’m already falling into the most intense orgasm of my life. My nails scratch against the wooden table, trying to find purchase so that I don’t fly away in a dozen pieces. Vadim stands to bend over me and pulls my face to the side to kiss me. I gasp when I taste myself on his tongue.
It’s so intimate and wrong, but I love it.
“Do you want to move to the bedroom?” Vadim suggests graciously.
“N-n-no,” I stutter. “I want you to continue. . . like this.”
“Like how we are standing, bent over the table, ready to fuck like wild animals?”
His coarse words make my heart slam against my chest in renewed need and anticipation.
“Say it then, princess. Tell me you want me to fuck you raw.”
“No!”
Duchesses don’t speak like that.
“This duchess does,” Vadim whispers in my ear seductively and I’m convinced that the man can read my mind.
I shake my head, but Vadim just laughs. I won’t say it—ever, but I keep my protests to myself. Vadim is bad enough to make me eat my words. I hear him undressing behind me and my body tingles with eagerness. Without preamble, he thrusts into my welcoming center and I cry out at the physical pleasure of him filling me.
