The Last of the Romanovs

https://www.wattpad.com/user/AnyaDouc

This is for you, I hope you like it 🙂

Nicholas II POV:

Living in a new world was not easy on my daughter and I, especially when that new world was one we should not exist in.

I am Nikolai II Alexandrovich Romanov. I was a Tsar in Russia before my people decided that I was unfit to lead them. My daughter Y/n and I are the only survivors of an assassination made by the Bolsheviks in their attempt to eliminate our family legacy. My beloved Alexandra and our five other children were not as fortunate, and Y/n and I were forced to watch them die.

In fact, we would never have survived had it not been for a young woman named Mallory. She was from the year 2021, the year in which we live now. I still will never understand how she came to 1918, but I find myself in her debt when I reminisce about how she protected us from the bullets and bayonets of the Bolshevik officers. Her shield, however, was not strong enough to protect my oldest daughters, my wife, or my son, but somehow she managed to protect Y/n and I until she brought us to her time.

She called herself a witch, but I do not believe in it. In my faith, I was raised to believe witchcraft as being devil's magic. I believed in prayer, in God's will, in divine intervention that allowed for the healing of diseases and the salvation of mankind. But she was my savior, and for that, I would not condemn or question her.

Now Y/n and I remain here, 103 years in the future while all of Russia believe and rejoice in my family's perceived extinction. Sometimes I wonder if it is worse to be part of a time period in which we can never truly belong or suffer a terrible fate resulting from the unrest of a country I was born to lead and protect.

Being in this strange place with my beloved Y/n is a comfort, but I yearn for the family we've lost.

I know she suffers as well, perhaps even more. I hear her crying during the night and I can see that she is tired, a result of being unable to sleep well. She watched her mother and siblings be murdered; I understand her feelings. I just wish she would confide in me. I love all my children, but Y/n is my favorite, and it pains me knowing that my youngest daughter is suffering and I cannot help her alleviate it.

Mallory and her "sisters," as she calls them, have been accommodating as we take up residence with them. They understand our loneliness and give us as much support as they can, given the circumstances. Often, though, Y/n and I remain solitary. They are nice girls, but in ways, they remind us too much of our own fallen family members, their kind hearts similar to our innocent Alexandra, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei.

I lie awake one night in the bed of the room graciously given to me by our savior, contemplating the tragic turn of our lives when I hear movement. Sitting up, I watched as a pair of slippered feet walk quietly passed my door. Recognizing them as Y/n's slippers, I rose and made my way to the door.

Opening the door, I watched as my daughter entered the bathroom. She turned on the light, but I heard nothing else. My concern for my only living child rising, I left my room and followed her footsteps until I was standing before the white door.

I rose my knuckles, preparing myself to knock. I was raised to never intrude on a lady without obtaining her permission, but I heard a small cry of pain on the other side, and at once my fatherly instincts overrode my good breeding and I quickly opened the door.

Y/n gasped from her position on the linoleum floor, staring at me with shock and horror on her face. I, too, felt those very emotions, for on my daughter's once blemishless skin were wounds. Some were pink and faded and some were fresh and bleeding. In her other hand was a small razor, its sharp teeth gleaming red in the fluorescent light. I had caught her in the act of self-mutilation.

"P-Papa," y/n stuttered, her beautiful eyes wide with terror.

"Why?" I whispered, stepping into the room and kneeling before her. "Why would you do this to yourself?"

Y/n bit her lip and gazed down at the floor, rendered mute by my inquiry.

"Y/n!" My voice rose without my intention. My sweet angel was harming herself and I had no idea why.

"Because of what happened to our family," she whispered. She looked up at me, her face wet with her tears.

"They all died, Papa. Mama, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, Alexei...they're gone."

"Oh, my love," I pulled my daughter into my arms, holding her close as she wept. Running my fingers through her long hair, I rocked her from side to side, trying to calm her.

"I am devastated as well, my sweet girl," I murmured. "Your mother and your siblings were my world, but so are you. Please, Y/n, stop harming yourself. We can cope with our loss together."

I felt Y/n nod against my chest, her sobs turning to sniffles before ceasing completely.

"I'm sorry, Papa."

"Oh, love, there's no reason to apologize. What matters is that we are together."

***

It's been several months since that fateful day in which I witnessed my daughter's self-mutilation, and despite my best efforts, her health has only declined.

Much like my son Alexei's battle with hemophilia, my beloved Y/n has suffered from heart issues. Many times throughout her childhood, she had to be restricted from completing strenuous activities or she would experience palpitations that would result from stress. Unfortunately, this awful condition never lessened or disappeared, and now my precious girl, overcome from the grief of losing her mother and siblings, is in great danger.

"How is she?"

I turned to see Mallory standing in the doorway, her worried gaze falling upon my sick daughter.

"I believe she is dying," the words felt like Ash in my mouth.

Mallory's face was crestfallen at my response. "I'm so sorry."

"Is there nothing you can do?" I asked her desperately.

Mallory shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Nicholas, but no. Her body is too weak from her heart. If I tried to do anything, she wouldn't survive."

Any hope I had had instantly disappeared. My last living child was going to be ripped from me in a cruel twist of date and there was nothing more to be done.

"Papa..."

I looked down at my daughter. Y/n was holding my hand, her skin cold and clammy. She struggled to keep her eyes open and on me, but somehow she managed. She gave me a sweet smile.

"I do not want to leave you, Papa, but I have made my peace with what is happening to me. I am ready to meet Mama and my siblings again."

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I gripped her hand. "My brave girl," I whispered. "Give them all of my love."

"I will, Papa," my little girl's eyes closed and she gave my hand one final squeeze before her fingers went still, the rest of her body following suit. She was gone.

I sobbed, holding her hand up to my trembling lips and kissing it. I knew Mallory was still in the room, but I did not care. In that moment, all I cared about was that all of my family was dead. Only a few short months ago, she was all that I had left of my family.

Now, I was truly the last of the Romanovs.