𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐀, 𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒

𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝 𝑖. 𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭. 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠

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St. Petersburg was gloomy, bleak, and bloody cold. Thus was the summation made by one Mr. Colin Bridgerton as he clutched his shivering arms beneath his three layers of coats. Beside him, a chuckle sounded off, the breath of its owner visible in the frosty morning air.

"Not used to such frigid temperatures, huh, Mr. Bridgerton." Teased the accented voice of Vladamir Popov. 

Tilting his head in mild annoyance, Colin huffed. "I can't say I have ever seen so many blue noses before, Vlad. And once again, it's just Colin."

"You're the one who wanted to get the local experience, Just Colin," Vlad bit back, striding forward across the town square the pair found themselves in, the Brit following suit. 

For the past seven months in counting, Mr. Colin Bridgerton of the London Ton's Bridgerton's had been traveling Europe and the Mediterranean in his grand tour; his great chance to see the world before being tied down to his dreadful society. His journey began in Athens, where he stayed for a month immersing himself in the cultures and customs of the locals, and visiting sights many in London would never dream of seeing like the Parthenon. 

From there he toured much of lower Europe, crossing into Austria-Hungary, and then onto Viena where he had the pleasure of seeing Mozart perform a cadenza. Upon recommendation from some of his acquaintances at a gentlemen's club back in London, he went further north toward Russia for the next leg of his journey. Also due to recommendation, and partly because of his lack of familiarity with both terrain and language, Colin searched for a proper guide to accompany him during this leg of the trip.

During this search, he met his current companion, Vladamir Popov. A cherry fellow with a lack of an indoor voice, Colin had heard whispers during a drunken night that Vlad had once been a high-ranking noble before the ousting of the Romanovs fifteen years ago. Now, he worked for a company of guides to Englishmen who came through Russia on their grand tours; a surprisingly lucrative profession he was told.

Thus far he had been a most commendable companion, a dare he says, friend. Always looking out for him, giving him the best tips, and immersing him in the culture. However, this did not prepare the young sir for the biting cold of an Eastern European day. 

"Honestly," he huffed, "how do you people stand this weather year round?"

"This?" Vlad scoffed. "You are simply precious my boy; this is but a little chill, nothing to fret so much over." By now they were crossing into a more crowded area of town, opposite the royal's now dilapidated winter castle. The morning sun had begun to wake from slumber, its golden glow bathing the streets in a near-ethereal light. 

Colin was in awe of the sights around him, things he would never see in London if he wished. People crowd outside of factories in a hustle to punch their work cards, and vendors set up shop for a day's work. Coupled with the steady falling flaked powder falling from the sky, it was an idyllic day for adventure. 

The wares on display at various stands were no less unique to him; vases decorated with ornate carvings and food that emitted the scent of foreign delights. This was what he longed for, why he had left England. For adventure and experience!

The noise in the square grew by the minute as more people began to hound him and the other street-goers into purchasing their items. One such lady, offering jewelry by the handful caught Colin's attention. Rubies, emeralds, and sapphires all glimmered on chains, some bulkier than others, in her wicker baskets. The price itself was equally appealing he found, making his way over to the women to purchase a few units, before Vlad placed a firm hand on his shoulder, locking him in place.

"What is it? I'm just going to buy a gift for my sisters" he asked, slightly miffed at his companion's sudden intrusion, to which Vlad signed and rolled his eyes in a teasing manner. "You, my molodoy (little boy), are lucky I am here indeed." Turning him towards the lady once more, Vlad subtly pointed at her basket. "See how the gems don't catch the light, and how some like those rubies are chipped."

How could he be so stupid, Colin internally groaned. "Glass?"

Patting him on the back, Vlad nodded his assent. "Indeed. Listen, Just Colin," a smirk came across his face as the two continued on their way through the streets, the hustle and bustle only increasing. "I know your life in England was ruled by...well, rules. But here in the greater world, rules are something that not many play by. If you want to get by, then you must stay on your toes and think twice about everything, kapish (understand)?"

"Um..."

"It means, 'Do you understand'."

"Ah! Well, kapish then." 

Suddenly, the clamoring sounds of a crowd brought the duo out of their reveries as they looked at a nearby newspaper stand. It was a modest little stand, and certainly not designed to cater to some fifty persons gathered around it. Amongst the crowd, they seemed to be relentlessly passing around that morning's paper, gossiping about its contents. Colin could not catch a lick of what was being said, but Vlad was happy to solve this.

The pair sauntered towards the stand, shuffling past the crowd to purchase a paper for themselves. On the cover, Colin could see the printed picture of a young girl, barely senior to Hyacinth; an aristocrat no doubt. The caption above, however, was what caught his attention. ANASTASIA ALIVE? 

Although he had no recollection of her likeness, Colin could have sworn that her name, Anastasia, rang a bell in his memory. With his curiosity piqued, he turned to his trusted guide. "Vlad, who is the paper talking of?'

Taking a glance at the sheet to see what he meant, Vlad turned to his ward to respond. "I'm not surprised you don't recall; you would've been five and ten at most when it happened."

"When what happened?"

"About ten years ago, the Romanov family, our country's rulers were deposed by revolutionaries. The family was killed and nobles such as myself scattered, settling into common life for safety." He pointed at the picture of the girl amidst his explanation, Colin's eyes turning to meet where his hand was.

"This girl, Anastasia, was the youngest daughter, our grand duchess. She was about eleven when the revolution happened. To make a long story short, not too long after the new government came about, rumors started around the country that she had somehow survived and was wandering the streets unknown. I suppose the gossip had begun anew now that the anniversary is coming up."

Colin, with this new knowledge, was nothing short of horrified. When he was young, news of the revolution in France was all the rage in the Ton. He vividly remembers the fear cultivated among the peerage of a similar occurrence echoing across England, but to be standing in a locale that had seen such bloodshed, and of children no less, was indescribable. 

This little girl whose life was stolen from her, who reminded him so much of his younger sister, served to put things in perspective for him. St. Petersburg was a land of picturesque snow and bustling streets, but some years ago, those same snowy streets were paved red with blood. 

He was suddenly thankful for the security he had known all his life; his home in Mayfair and the people within it were a constant. If the rumors were true, then this girl was likely without such things.

Glancing at Vlad whose gaze was pinned on the picture of the princess, he dared his next question. "And what of you Vlad? Do you believe such rumors of her escape?" 

Taking a deep breath, the former noble in question seemed to contemplate the question as if trying and answer in a way that would make sense. "It is...complicated. For all I know, she could have gotten away in time, but she just as easily could have met the same fate as her family." Suddenly, a small smile peaked through in the curve of his mouth. Placing the paper down, he turned to Colin fully. "But who knows? After all, this is St. Petersburg; mysterious things happen every day."

The pair began to trod away from the stand, an even greater mass of people beginning to grow around it. Today had been a day for sightseeing before scheduled activities Colin had planned, and it seemed that everywhere he went, one thing echoed. 

Anastasia.

Her name was on the lips of every person he passed, pervasive like the summer sun. A noble name he considered, complex, regal, yet warm like an ember. 

To his side, a vendor was yelling out the sale of his wears in a mix of Russian and butchered English, yet Colin could make it out all the same. "Fur coats from the palace! Real Romanov coats!"

Vlad let out a chuckle next to him; "That bastard likely skinned a bear or something of the like, and had his wife stitch it together. From the palace, my arse!"

"But these people don't know that, Vlad" Colin commented, "After all, he could sell it for a fortune if he said it belonged to her."

Letting out a belly laugh, Vlad slugged his arm around Colin as they walked. "Now you're thinking like an enterprising man, Mr. Bridgerton. Maybe the coat business is waiting for you back in England."

"I'm not that much of a cad."

"I did not say you were," Vlad responded with a barely concealed smirk. "I only meant that even gentlemen like you can never resist a good venture, be it in sales, betting, or the fairer sex."

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Colin ducked out from under Vlad's arm with an exasperated chuckle. "We've been over this Vlad; the "fairer sex" as you call them are the least of my concerns lately."

"Why; did one broken heart tear you up that bad?"

Vlad was a blunt creature deprived of a filter from birth. Colin knew this of him more than almost any other trait, and it was something he admired. At times, this nature was good for a laugh, at others for getting them out of a sticky situation. But in times like these, it only gave him pause.

His friend, while not knowing the specifics of his dalliance with Marina Thompson, knew enough to gather, correctly, that his broken heart had not yet healed. On the mend, yes. But whole, no. 

It was why he considered his grand tour to be so special. Travel, the idea of seeing the world, had always been of interest to Colin, but after the last social season, it also became his source of escape. From the rumors perpetuated by Whistledown's gossip paper, and the sympathetic glances of his family that bordered on pity. 

In the weeks following his and Marina's estrangement, they would all walk on eggshells around him, refraining from even mentioning the topic of marriage lest they send him into shock. Benedict was notorious for being the most sentimental Bridgerton brother, but it was Colin who was known as the wearer of his heart on his sleeve.

To them, a woman had taken advantage of him. Ripped his heart from his arm and threw it to the fire. 

He could understand; they loved him and didn't know the story. He, on the other hand, had been left reeling in the comfort of his room where pitying glances could not follow. She had been right in that her deception was her only true option, but it didn't make her deceit any less painful. An unrequited love if he ever knew it. 

In these sequestered days, the idea of his tour came to mind. It was customary that all English Gentlemen of a certain age embark on one before being wed or donning a title, and he had been in the period of his life where it would be encouraged. Anthony had never partaken, due to his accession to Viscount so young, while Benedict had spent a month in Florence. 

Colin wanted, no needed, more. More than a month, more than one city. He wanted to see the world in all its splendor. 

It had been a blessing, he decided. If he had wed Marina so young, he not only would have lived a life without the love he desired but also without being able to fulfill his ambitions. 

An adventure is what he craved now, and an adventure he would have. Yet for all his globetrotting, while improved, he still felt a longing. If only he could find an end goal. 

Looking back at Vlad, he was now wincing, realizing the damage of his statement. Colin merely smiled, knowing it was all in good humor. "It did tear me up a bit Vlad, but I'd say that since then, I've started to piece myself back together. Slowly but surely."

Giving him a small smile of acknowledgment, Vlad placed his hand on Colin's shoulder in a supportive manner. "Well then, that's all you can hope for. Slowly but surely."

The moment of solidarity broke, and the cries of the crowd around them seemed to infiltrate Colin's mind yet again as Vlad perked up, a particular call piquing his interest.

"You said you wanted the local experience, yes? Well, nothing says local quite like a real Russian spirit." Beginning to walk off towards what he assumed was a beer stand, Colin gave a small laugh as his companion scampered off to purchase them a pint. 

Now left to his own devices, Colin turned to admire the market in full. The people rush past each other on their way to work. The fish mongers stringing up their catches, and the merchants laying out their wares.

The markets in London, in contrast, felt almost sterile. This was chaotic, different, and what he desired. 

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a booth selling herbal tea indigenous to the region. This reminded him of the tea he had purchased in Greece, a pound of which currently resided in his suitcase at his lodgings. 

Strange stuff it was, but oh so calming.

In interest, Colin strode up to the tea stand with the intent to buy at least an eighth of a pound for later; souvenirs, Vlad had said were important. Well, it seemed a collection of teas would be his. 

Looking at the options, he was fascinated by a brew that resembled seeds and bamboo leaves; genmaicza, the label read. Likely from China, he considered.

Piquing his interest, Colin caught the attention of the seller with some of the limited Russian he picked up from Vlad. "Izvinite!" (I beg your pardon).

The man turned around and let his gaze wander over Colin's clothing, no doubt assessing his wealth. The Englishman did not catch it; he was many things, but street smart, certainly not.

Hoping to get his meaning across, Colin held up eight fingers and gestured to the tea he desired, and the man began to pour it into a tiny satchel for him to take. Once he had completed the process, he snapped his gaze to Colin rather aggressively. "pyat'sot rubley!" He said or rather shouted.

Colin was completely lost, as was no surprise to him, and the man simply rolled his eyes before rephrasing "Five hundred."

Giving his ascent, Colin began to rummage in his waistcoat for the necessary amount, extracting it to hand to the seller.

However, before he could deposit the coins, a small hand clad in fraying mittens clasped his wrist tightly.

"Don't give him the money," said a voice, a females, in decent English clouded by a heavy Russian accent. "Now hold on, miss, I.." he began.

Turning to see who had interrupted his transaction, Colin was left silent. 

By his side was a girl who could not be more than seven stone soaking wet, with a short stature to match. Her clothes were old, to say the least, her grey coat having obvious patchwork, brown boots scuffed to death, and a hat that had seen better days.

By all means, she was no different than any of the other factory girls who had passed him today, but her face caught his attention.

Inlayed in her stare were a set of blue eyes, aquamarine, he decided. Light yet cold. Although her profile was marred by soot and ash marks, the soft red of her hair overshadowed it, looking like a dim fire in the winter air. 

Unassuming was what she was, but on the inside, he had a feeling, was an inferno. 

He was staring he realized, too little too late; she noticed too. She released his arm at a lightning pace and took a step back, averting her aqua gaze. Her stance, however, remained authoritative. "You heard me," she relented in a stiff tone. "Don't pay." her tone was demanding, the accent serving as punctuation.

Stunned by her statement, Colin remembered himself and straightened up. "Why ever not," he asked, a bit too indignant.

She sensed his reluctance and rolled her eyes. Rolled her eyes; he was in shock, for never had a lady rolled her eyes at him. 

She began to stride over to his tea bag, still on the counter, practically stamping her feet through the snow. "Eight kilos, yes?" She asked. When he nodded, she then pointed to the price tag. "It should be less, he's overcharging you. 1.6 per kilo is the actual price."

Colin took a moment to absorb her words, for the encounter was just so strange. This fire girl came out of nowhere it seemed. But then he remembered, this bloke was trying to scam him. Turning his gaze to the tea seller, he raised his brow as if to ask, "Is this true."

Hanging his head in shame and giving a small nod, Colin made it easy and took back the necessary amount, paying the man and leaving with his tea. The girl was still there it seemed, watching as if to make sure he wasn't again tricked.

"Thank you, " was all he could think to say to her. Any more, he gathered, she would not appreciate. Giving a small nod, the girl's firelocks shook in a mesmerizing pattern. Her name, Colin wondered, what name could fit such a woman?

"Colin!? Colin!?" 

The shouting of a voice, unmistakably Vlad, came from the other side of the street, and Colin turned to look at his companion bounding over with two beers in his possession. With a fond smile, he turned to address the girl once more only to find she was gone.

Glancing around quickly, he saw her bounding the corner and went to follow, only for Vlad to interrupt. "I take it you never learned how to stay put," he said.

"What," the Brit asked before he understood the meaning. "Oh, yes. Sorry, but I saw this," he held up the bag, "and had to make a purchase."

"Ah," Vlad nodded. "And the lady I saw you with. Did she also catch your eye?"

"Oh, Vlad. Do you have to reduce every interaction to that?"

"Yes, of course, I do."

The pair began their stroll anew down the streets of St. Petersburg, the merchants yelling on every side. Their voices once again melded together into a single song for Colin; the song of a rumor.

A lady to his left, a fortune teller, was gathering a crowd near her booth, speaking in mixed Russian and English. "They say the Empress will pay a king's ransom for the return of Anastasia!"

That name again, Colin laughed. It seemed as if the city streets all shared the collective thought of the vanished princess that day. It was a warm and regal name, he still thought, but likely nothing in comparison to the name of that fire girl.

The princess and her life were a mystery, a rumor, and maybe if it hadn't been for Colin Bridgerton, it would have always stayed that way. 

On the streets of St. Petersburg, it would be repeated. 

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authors note.

getting a story started is always the hardest part, but now that summer's here, updates will be more frequent. Just how frequent, I can't say. 

Let's get a count going; Colin being a fool.....Strike 1!

Thanks so much for popping in and don't be a ghost reader ; )