Anya risked a glance behind her and muttered apologies to people she bumped into as she hurried through the crowd. The backfiring truck had scared her enough, causing some kind of buried trauma to resurface. Now it didn't help that the guy who helped her up might be following her.

Tightening her grip on her broom--her only weapon, and a somewhat ineffective one at that--she continued to push her way through the crowd. Ducking into a narrow side-street, she collided with someone.

"I'm sorry!" she yelped, continuing to walk. However, a hand grabbed her wrist, halting her. She turned to gaze into a pair of dark brown eyes.

"Are you okay, Miss?" the guy asked. He seemed to be around her age.

Anya learned from experience not to trust strangers or share a lot of information, but the way he was looking at her seemed to say he was genuinely concerned.

"I think I'm being followed." Tears welled in her eyes.

The guy took off his coat and hat, offering them to her to help disguise herself. "C'mon, I know a safe place for you." Before she could protest, he placed his hand on her back and guided her down the small walkway. It was empty except for them.

"I'm Dmitry," the guy said. He looked over his shoulder, then back at Anya. "Do you know who's following you?"

"I-I think a government officer. He helped me up after I got scared from a truck backfiring." She avoided his gaze. "I know I'm probably putting you in danger, so if you want to leave me, I understand. My name is Anya, by the way."

"We're almost to my place," Dmitry replied. "We'll be okay there."

Anya had to admit she was a bit nervous around Dmitry. She had had many unpleasant experiences with guys on the streets. Dmitry was a good head taller than her and buffer. What made her believe she could trust him? He could easily be just as bad as--or worse than--the officer. Still, something told her that he may be her only hope.

The pair stopped. "Why are we at the old Yusupov Palace?" Anya asked.

Dmitry grabbed her hand and led her down a narrow niche between an older part of the palace and a newer addition. They reached a six-foot stack of barrels and milk crates, everything shoved up against the left wall.

The tall, darked-haired boy fluidly moved everything out of the way like it was second nature to reveal a busted out window, the frame scraped clean of glass shards.

He ushered Anya through before climbing inside behind her, pulling the crates back up against the window before turning to see her surveying the room. It was stripped bare, the marbled floors coated in a thin film of dust. Cobwebs hung in the corners. Dim light came through the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

"Follow me," Dmitry commanded, leading her out of the room and down a hallway.

"Hang on a minute. You live here?"

The boy shrugged. "Why not? It's rent free. We get by."

"We?" Anya asked, her stress escalating. More men to outnumber her? Just what she needed. Or maybe he had a lover. With a guy as attractive as him, she wouldn't be surprised. His clean-shaven, smooth face and brown eyes could make any girl swoon, along with his disheveled brown hair.

Don't let your guard down just because he's cute, Anya reminded herself. She tightened her grip on her broom, following Dmitry down a hallway. He still hadn't answered her question.

They climbed a staircase, the hallway lighter at the top since the windows on the second floor weren't boarded up. They stopped at a room that actually looked lived in. A pair of makeshift beds rested along one wall. There seemed to be makeshift furniture along the other wall made out of milk crates: a knobless door straddling about 8 crates for a makeshift desk, six crates turned sideways in two vertical stacks with clothes folded inside for a makeshift dresser, and others filled with various trinkets. A window on the wall opposite from the door overlooked a snowy St. Petersburg.

"I'm sure Vlad will let you stay the night here," Dmitry said, turning to her. "We could probably set a bed up in a nearby room.

"Oh, well, that's very kind of you, but I don't think I'll need to stay the night," Anya replied, taking Dmitry's hat and coat off and returning them to him. She decided it would be best not to stay since there would be another guy there soon.

"Well, I'll walk you home after dinner, then. Where do you live?" He put his hands on his hips.

Anya lowered her head, knowing her answer wouldn't satisfy him. "Wherever I can."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Do you have any family around here?"

"I-I don't know. I don't remember my family." Red colored her cheeks as she rubbed her eyes. "Look, I know it sounds silly, but I've had amnesia for, well, as long as I can remember. The nurses at the hospital told me I was around eight when I turned up."

"Well, since you don't have any family, and definitely since you can't remember anything, there is no way I'm letting you spend the night out on the streets. Not with a perfectly empty palace for you to stay in."

"I was afraid you'd say that." She sighed.

Dmitry stepped forward and hesitantly grabbed her hands. "Look, I know you don't really know me, but it really does concern me that you're such a young woman living on the streets, especially with an officer following you."

"Do you think I can't take care of myself!?" Anya retorted, twisting her hands from his grasp.

"No, it's just that I want you to be safe--"

"I walked here from Perm. I think I can fend for myself just fine, thank you." She crossed her arms and turned away from him.

"There's always going to be someone stronger than you, someone you can't fight, Anya." Dmitry said in a low voice. Chills ran down her spine. Being rude and prideful might be her downfall.

Anya felt the room was closing in on her as Dmitry gazed at her intensely. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so rude when you're offering me shelter."

Dmitry's gaze softened. "I just don't want you to get hurt. Enough people already have." He sat down on the closest makeshift bed and patted the spot beside him. "Um...make yourself at home?"

She slowly lowered herself down beside him, still tense. "So...who's this Vlad?"

"A friend of mine. Basically my father-figure. We teamed up after I saved him from a Bolshevik firing squad." Dmitry stared at the opposite wall, gesturing with his hands as he talked.

"You saved him?" Anya asked, blinking at him in surprise. "That's amazing!"

Dmitry shrugged. "He didn't deserve to die. Not like the Romanovs."

"Romanovs..." Anya muttered. "Remind me how they died?"

"They were taken by the Bolsheviks and shot in a basement in Yekaterinburg. There's no way they would've survived, but yet they didn't find the bodies of Anastasia or her brother, Alexei. Some may believe they're still alive--Anastasia, mainly. Alexei had a blood disease. Now the Dowager Empress from France--her grandmother--has issued a reward if Anastasia is found." Dmitry looked at Anya in confusion. "How have you not heard about this? Rumors have been circulating through St. Petersburg for over a month! And the family died around 10 years ago."

Anya shrugged. "I guess I've been too focused on earning enough money to get to Paris."

"Why do you want to go there?"

"I don't know. I just feel like something or someone is waiting for me there. I was hoping I'd remember on the way."

Dmitry studied her closely. "How old did you say you were when you turned up at that hospital--"

They were cut off by footsteps echoing up the stairs. Dmitry jumped up and closed the door silently, turning a key stuck in the inside lock. He leaned against the wood.

Anya held her breath, eyeballing the window. That would be her only means of escape...

A series of rhythmic locks sounded from the other side of the door. "Dmitry! Let me in! What's all this nonsense about!?"

"Well, you're about to meet Vlad," Dmitry muttered, turning the key. "I'm just following protocol!"

The door opened to reveal a bearded, middle-aged man in a maroon shirt, a worn, dark brown trench coat, and matching trousers held up by suspenders.

"Oh..." Vlad adjusted his spectacles, peering at the girl in his presence. "Dmitry, you dog, you could've said you were busy." He winked.

"We--that's not--Ugh!" Dmitry facepalmed. Anya could've swore she saw him blush.

"Vlad, this is Anya," he grumbled.

Vlad bowed. "Nice to meet you, Anya. Vladamir Popov at your service."

"Could I talk to you outside?" Dmitry asked.

The man nodded, and they both walked out, Dmitry closing the door behind them. Anya could hear their muffled voices and snatches of words: amnesia, Paris, —lost princess?—, Anastasia, stay the night, exit papers, train tickets!?

Anya spotted a weird, shiny sphere amongst random trinkets in one of the crates across from her. She walked over and moved a cylinder tin aside, her hands touching the sphere's jewled surface. It looked expensive. It also looked very familiar. She quickly withdrew her hand when the door opened again.

"Well, Anya, today is your lucky day. Vlad and I have agreed to let you stay the night. We'll set up a room for you next door--or wherever you want." Dmitry smiled, then walked to their makeshift dresser. "We should have some extra blankets here somewhere. In the meantime, go pick out a room."

An hour later, Anya stood outside with Dmitry, watching the sky turn pink from the sunset. She happened to pick a room with a balcony.

"So, you really think I could be royalty?" she asked skeptically, leaning against the concrete rail. Dmitry and Vlad had a crazy discussion with her after she got her room set up, which helped the earlier snippets of conversation she'd overheard make sense. She was still processing it.

Dmitry shrugged. "It's a possibility. You don't remember who you are or what happened to your family. You appeared at the hospital around the same time the Romanovs were killed. You're looking for someone in Paris, which is where the Dowager Empress happens to live...A lot of things add up, really."

Anya leaned toward him. "And just how would I prove to her that I was Anastasia if I can't even prove it to myself?"

Dmitry spread his hands in an arc. "That's the beauty of being friends with Vlad. He used to work for the royals! He could tell you what you need to know and hopefully...jog your memory!"

"And if I'm not Anastasia?"

"Then it would all be just an honest mistake. Either way, it gets us out of Russia." Dmitry said the last line hopefully.

"Hm...I guess." She put her chin in her hand, her elbow propped against the railing, as she stared down on the city. Anya gasped and stumbled back.

"What is it?" Dmitry rushed foward, steadying her.

"He's here," she squeaked.

"Who? The officer!?"

Anya nodded, her eyes glued to a figure walking on the street almost two stories directly below them. His gait was smooth, his head held high. He gazed around at the old palace.

Dmitry ushered her inside and closed the balcony doors as quietly as he could. Anya fell onto her bed, her breaths growing shallower and shallower. She ran her hands through her hair. "What if he finds a way in!? He could arrest us for being here! Do you think he knows I'm in here!?"

Dmitry sat down beside her, gently squeezing her shoulders. "Hey, look at me," he said calmly. "I'm confident that he won't get in here. He's probably just doing an evening patrol. If he wanted in here, he would've been in here with soldiers by now to find you if you were really a threat. You're going to be fine. Vlad and I are here to protect you. Okay?"

Anya nodded, trying to take deeper breaths.

Dmitry took one of her hands and placed it on his stomach. "Here. Breathe when I breathe. In...out...in...out..."

The pair sat like that for a few minutes until Anya's breathing finally returned to normal. "Thank you." She gave him a brief hug.

"You're welcome," Dimitry replied, flustered by the gesture. He wasn't going to complain, though. "If you want, I could sleep downstairs tonight in case anyone does try to come in. But it's also a big palace."

"I think I'd rather have you stay closer to me."

Dmitry smiled. "As you wish. Plus, once we start training you to become the princess, the sooner we can get out of here."

"That sounds nice." Anya pulled her knees up to her chest, rocking back and forth slightly. "Thank you again for saving me today and letting me stay the night here. I haven't had this much compassion from strangers since, well, since the hospital."

Dmitry grinned warmly. "It's not a problem. I'm just glad I found you before someone worse did." He stood up. "Now, we should probably get some sleep. You'll start learning tomorrow."

"Alright." Anya stood up. "Goodnight."

Dmitry cautiously went in for a hug, then relaxed when she accepted it. "Goodnight." He left her room, closing the door behind him.

Anya laid back on her bed and listened to Vlad and Dmitry's muffled voices through the wall next door. She watched the light shining through the balcony window fade on the door on the other side of the room. Her eyes grew heavy as she realized that this was the safest she had felt in a long time.