The Imperial Revenge

Chapter 1

July 17, 1918

I think there's a time in every man's life where he wants to get revenge. Either if it's by ruining someone's reputation or simply succeeding in life. Whatever it is, it feels truly like freedom. But I can't start there. I have to start at the beginning.

The morning of July 17, 1918. I was almost fourteen-years-old. My family, servants, and I were supposed to be dead. Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov was supposed to be dead. The Bolsheviks and the other Russians had decided that it was time the Romanovs left their rule. So on March 15, 1917–My father, Tsar Nicholas II, was forced to abdicate the Russian throne. Which meant that my mother was no longer Tsarina, my sisters were no longer Grand Duchesses, and I was no longer the Tsarevich.

I had grown up normally in Petrograd, Russia. It had been St. Petersburg, but we decided to change it because of the Great War. My sisters: Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova and I loved each other very much and always played together. Olga was our bookworm and was very mothering over me. My favorite sister of all. Tatiana was very bossy and strict, but still very kind. She made an excellent nurse during the war. Maria was third and probably the most beautiful girl in all of Russia. She was so sweet but did have her moments and bellowed at people. Maria was truly the idea of perfect in most people's eyes. Lastly, there was Anastasia. She wasn't even like a sister but my best friend in the whole world. We created mischief together and we liked to climb trees. I loved her very much.

But those days were forever gone. The basement floor was cold and the air was hot. Many Bolshevik guards brought us into the basement of the Ipatiev House and tried shooting all of us to death. Commissioner Yurovsky tried to stab me several times after the two rounds of bullets. But when that didn't work, he tried to shoot me in head. If you're going to do something: do not do it sloppy like him. He hadn't even shot me in the head. He simply blew off some fabric of my jacket. I couldn't move however. I was paralyzed now from a sledding accident back in April. I was also in complete shock. My papa's blood was splattered on my face and I saw him laying on the floor. His eyes were wide open and the Tsar was surrounded in a pool of his own blood.

"Check their pulses. Make sure they're all dead." Yurovsky grumbled to someone. I could hear a gun being moved to someone's hand.

"Yes sir." Another man said more clearly. It wasn't Ermakov who replied. I couldn't make out who it was. I heard the clicks of boots walking around. I was only staring at Papa. The man bent down and held up his wrist. "Dead." He said to himself. He stood and walked over to the chair with Mama. I couldn't exactly see her face but I did see her bloody skirt. "Dead." He said to himself again. That's when it hit me. I was an orphan. I accidentally sniffled and tried to hold back my tears. Unfortunately, I think he heard me.

He came next to me. The guard used his boot and moved me on to my back. My accidental tears rushed down the sides of my face. I had also blinked. It was over and he would now finish it. I finally did recognize the guard though. He was a bit young and even after Yurovsky replaced the Ipatiev guards, some of them were still infatuated with my sisters. He often smiled at Maria and sometimes she smiled back. He also liked to smile at Anastasia but she just rolled her eyes at him.

"Dead." He said to himself and stared right at me in the eyes. This young guard slowly walked away until he was forced to break eye contact with him. He had to be mistaken. I wasn't dead. The guard must've just seen me wrong. Unless, he was going to spare my life.

Afterwards, more guards came in and started to pack us on to stretchers. That same guard automatically claimed me and packed me on to the stretcher as fast as he could. Him and one other guard came and took me upstairs. As they walked up, they started to lightly jog down a different hallway than other guards.

"Put him in the back of the other truck in the back."
"What will we do with him?"
"I'm not sure. We could drop him off at an orphanage."
"We shouldn't do that without-"
"Just shut up and we can think in the truck. It's a shame it wasn't one of the girls instead. I'd have loved to whisk Maria Nikolaevna away."
"Or Tatiana Nikolaevna. Though, she was quite stubborn. A difficult woman to please."

I couldn't listen anymore. I felt like vomiting. There was so much hurt and pain. But next thing I knew, I was in the back of a truck without a clue on what I would do.