Chapter Text
No Romanov can be allowed to live.
Gleb Vaganov’s grip tightened around the weapon. There wasn’t another way.
“It never should’ve come to this.”
“Gleb—” Anya took a step toward him.
He aimed the pistol at her through the tears that blurred his vision. “I lost my father because of you!” His finger clumsily found the trigger. “Why shouldn’t I finish what he started?”
“You don’t have to be like him, Gleb. You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m his son. I’m a Vaganov.” He did his best to keep the pistol aimed despite how much his hand shook. There was no point in making her suffer any further than she needed to.
“Gleb. Please.”
“There isn’t another way. I have to do this.” He forced his hand to still. He gripped his wrist.
“Gleb.” She sank to the floor.
He followed her with the pistol. Anya. His eyes closed. I’m sorry.
His eyes opened. The landscape whirled past outside. A distant whistle faded and he slowly parted from the cool glass window.
And yet Anya’s terrified eyes remained in his memory. They were always the last things he saw whenever that image returned to his mind. Her pleading gaze. Gleb mentally cursed himself for having that as the final memory he had of her.
Even now, he would’ve preferred the last time he sat on this train as it sped him onward toward his final destination. It had been years since he had thought to pay respects to his father’s grave. He had always told himself he would “get to it one day” for the past seven years. The last time he had visited was when he went to tell his father the news that he had been accepted into the army. He had been so proud then to follow in his father’s footsteps.
His gaze drifted toward the half-finished vodka before him. He tended to avoid drinking whenever possible. Gleb had always attributed drinks to royals who could afford to lose their wits while lesser men did the work for them. His relationship with the bottle had been further tarnished when Gleb placed the blame on vodka for his father’s death—at least, that was what he had told himself over and over again.
Only now it seemed he needed it. His work had slipped for the first time since he had taken up the role of Deputy Commissioner. Files had gone unchecked, slights were brushed under a rug; things that simply weren’t him.
“Comrade.”
Gleb looked up from the file. He rose to his feet. “To what do I owe the visit, comrade?”
“Lennigrad is beautiful this time of year, is it not?” His commander walked over to the window. “It’s so easy to be lost in this view for hours upon hours.”
“I suppose it is.”
“They say the countryside is even more beautiful than our cherished city. Take a holiday, Vaganov; one of the others can oversee your duties for a week.”
“Comrade?”
“You’re a fine man. You’ve done good work and your father would be proud of what you’ve done thus far. But even good men require a holiday now and then. How would it seem if I allowed you to remain Deputy Commissioner when you’ve misplaced files or allowed things to slip through the cracks?”
Gleb rose to his feet. “Have I done something to upset you? To give you any cause for belief that I—?”
He held his hand up. “You’re too paranoid. Even further proof that a holiday will do you good. I expect to see this office empty tomorrow and until next week.”
There was something in his voice that made Gleb only nod and mutter an “as you wish, comrade”. Being Deputy Commissioner had its advantages such as knowing when to speak and when to keep his head down.
And that was the first night he had sought out a stiff drink to drown his frustrations in. That was when he fully saw the date on the paper for the first time.
One year ago that day Anastasia had vanished into the night. Gleb had travelled home to Russia without the Grand Duchess. His comrades had considered it his biggest failure. After all, his father had been there that night the Romanovs were executed, and his son was the one who had allowed a Romanov to escape.
A few hours of restless pacing and more drinks in his flat, Gleb finally began to understand his father in a way he never could as a young boy. He understood why his father had turned to a bottle for comfort and why every spoken word with his mother turned into a shouting match. He understood why it was a better idea to leave the pistol on the table instead of in his coat pocket.
So Gleb purchased the ticket he needed and boarded the train for the first time in seven years. He collected his things and stepped out onto the platform along with all the other passengers. He breathed in the fresh scent of the countryside that was so hard to come by in St. Petersburg nowadays.
“Mama! Look at me, mama!”
A girl’s voice caught his ear. He watched as the mother smiled and the father shook his head.
A young girl with bright dreams and a future ahead of her.
But dreams are dangerous, a voice warned in the back of his mind. After all, it was a dream that led to that night a year ago. It was another man’s dream that set everything into motion.
One dream was all it took for Anastasia Romanov to be dead and buried at long last.
One dream from one girl was all it took for everything to change. One foolish dream that we never dared to imagine as anything more harmful that it actually was.
Gleb sighed. What happened, Anya? When did that one harmless dream turn into such a nightmare?