The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

The Winter Palace

The light coming from Sasha's window was too damned bright. He decided that it was the window's fault: the apartment that Anastasia had put her up in was a lot nicer than anywhere he'd ever lived, before, and the window was actually... clean. This was the first time that sort of thing had ever really mattered all that much: he'd never cared all that much about cleaning glass to spend money on that sort of thing when he could buy food and things that actually mattered to his life. It was strange, knowing that he might actually start cleaning windows now that he didn't have to worry about starving to death.

Now, if only the reason behind this new lease on life wasn't because he was working for a mad woman.

He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. It was strange: he'd only had a couple of shots of vodka before he went to bed the previous night, and he still felt like he might vomit. He wasn't getting that old, was he? It sure made him feel old: just a couple of years ago, he could've taken a hell of a lot more than that without having too much of a hangover.

He stood up, walked over to the basin on the other side of the room, and splashed some of the cold water on his face. He had to get up: one of the Czarina's runners would come get him, soon, and he'd better be ready when they came. The last thing he wanted was for the runner to be punished because he'd slept in way too late.

There was a knock on the door. "Mr. Kozlov? Are you there?"

Oh, hell! Too late.

"I'm here," Sasha said as he yanked on the pants of his regular uniform, which one of the Anastasia's runners had brought over the other day. It was just a standard, gray uniform, similar to the ones he'd worn in the trenches. "Let me guess: the Czarina 'humbly' requests my presence?"

"Yes, sir," the runner said from their spot on the other side of the door. Was that a man or a woman? In all honesty, he couldn't really tell. "You're to come with me, immediately."

Of course, he was.

"I'll be out in a minute," Sasha said as he pulled on a battered, white shirt. "I just need to get dressed, real quick."

He buttoned up the shirt. He thought that he heard the person outside his door sigh as he did. "Mr. Kozlov, I hope you aren't planning on going out the window."

Sasha paused from putting on his suspenders to look out the window. He had to admit: he hadn't thought about that. "I'm not. Why do you ask?"

"Because there's men on the ground out there that will detain you and possibly beat you up if you try."

Sasha sighed as he pulled on the tunic of his uniform. Of course, there were guards hanging out under his window. They had to make sure they had every avenue of escape covered, just in case he tried to escape, didn't they?

Well, it was probably a smart move: he knew just as well as they did that he would be more than happy to run off and hide in some God-forsaken corner of this world, waiting until they forgot all about him.

"Mr. Kozlov, can you let me in?" the runner asked as Sasha grabbed his boots and yanked them on.

Sasha grabbed his gun and his ammunition bag, and slung them both over separate shoulders. "Why? I'm almost done getting dressed."

The door to his apartment opened just as Sasha was grabbing his hat to go. Standing on the other side wasn't just one of the usual runners that Anastasia usually sent to his apartment. This one was a soldier, dressed in the same uniform as Sasha. He was a tiny, skinny thing: he must have either had some sort of special talent that Anastasia was rather interested in, or she was in very short supply of people loyal enough to take that role.