The Betrayer's Reckoning
Grand Duke Kirill Vladimirovich. That name again.
Arthur Zimmermann. The man had resigned as foreign minister, and one of the reasons was the Zimmermann Telegram affair. He was the one who had cast that magical spell to Mexico—if you strike America, we will help you recover your lost territories—thereby helping push the United States into the war on the side of the Entente. After fleeing to East Prussia, he had apparently been sent out again as an ambassador.
The German Empire. Calling the single remaining scrap of East Prussia the German Empire felt ridiculous. Ahem. It would be more accurate to call it the remnant forces or the Kingdom of East Prussia. Still, the man had spared no oily flattery in my presence. I hadn’t paid much attention to the German side of things, but it was impressive he was still breathing.
“You’ve managed to stay alive quite well.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.”
I gave my head a small shake. They must have been truly desperate for personnel in East Prussia to employ even a man like this. That simple explanation sufficed.
“Indeed, Poland should never have been granted independence. His Imperial Majesty the Kaiser has publicly condemned Poland’s actions and made it clear that the German Empire stands firmly with Russia.”
The moment Poland did anything, this was how they responded. It seemed the Kaiser didn’t trust them either. They were cooperating for now, but the future he feared—one that would never come—must have weighed on him. For example, the possibility that Poland, having crushed communist Germany, might swallow the rest of it whole. Wilhelm II was probably anxious about that very scenario.
“Please convey my gratitude to your Kaiser.”
“Furthermore, regarding the Anti-Comintern Pact, our Kaiser views it positively. Should you permit it, he wishes to travel to Moscow himself to discuss the future of both nations.”
“Ah, that would be excellent.”
After all, you lot are a vital card in crushing communist Germany. To preserve Germany’s legitimacy and prevent Hitler’s Austria from unifying the country under Viennese leadership, East Prussia needed attention. Austria alone lacked the strength, but one could never be too careful. The Kaiser would have to salvage at least northern Germany later. Wouldn’t he?
Zimmermann spent a long while heaping praise upon me. It’s so obvious what you’re after, you fool. I couldn’t tell whether I was receiving the German ambassador or chatting with a talkative neighborhood auntie. By the time I finally sent the verbose diplomat on his way, the Prime Minister appeared, his face etched with annoyance.
“Your Majesty.”
“What is it?”
What could have happened to make him look like that? If he was about to ask me to grade more papers, I felt like I might actually die. Do your own error logs from now on.
“Grand Duke Kirill Vladimirovich has requested an audience.”
Grand Duke Kirill Vladimirovich. Nicholas II’s cousin. In the end, a man connected to me by blood. During the February Revolution he had sworn loyalty to the Russian Provisional Government and stabbed Nicholas II squarely in the back. Of course, Nicholas II had never possessed much luck with people, and he himself had been one of the causes of the revolution—practically a king of blunders. Still, to me—the daughter of that man and the one who had become Tsarina—he was nothing more or less than the person who had betrayed the Romanovs.
After Nicholas II and the next presumed Tsar, Michael, were both killed, he had fled and then declared himself Emperor. Yes, that same man. I had sent the Ohrana to gently adjust matters concerning his son Vladimir. After trying to seek asylum in various places and seeing the situation among the White Russians, he seemed to have returned to Finland. Since I had made it known that I considered his son my heir, the man would surely want something for himself.
“It must be about his child.”
It’s about time I settled accounts with him.
Grand Duke Kirill Vladimirovich. The moment the revolution overturned Russia, Nicholas II’s cousin had fled to Finland. Before that, he had betrayed Nicholas II during the February Revolution and pledged loyalty to the Provisional Government. When the White Army gained the upper hand in the Red-White Civil War, he had remained in Finland for some time. The reason was simple: his own son might become Tsar. In that case, wouldn’t Anastasia at least guarantee his own authority?
Of course Anastasia might still bear a child, but given her health, it seemed she would need to designate a separate successor. Just as he had predicted, the Ohrana had come with word that she intended to name his son Vladimir as heir. Although the Tsar’s throne itself might be impossible for Kirill because of Anastasia, his son would ascend to the Tsar’s seat. Considering Anastasia’s condition, she would not remain in that position for long. She had even recovered Constantinople. It appeared the White generals, hardened by the civil war, had reclaimed the city to restore the Tsar’s authority. At this rate, it had seemed possible.
Yet when he returned to Russia, he felt an icy atmosphere. The number of people welcoming him—or rather, welcoming the Romanov imperial family itself—was minuscule. Russia overflowed solely with voices praising Anastasia. Even when he tried to observe how the White Army operated, having once served in the military, the White forces treated him like an unwanted guest. One thing was clear: within the White Army, they sang Anastasia’s praises and it was she who controlled the military.
As Nicholas II’s cousin, he felt as if he were walking on thin ice. But Anastasia had clearly chosen Vladimir Kirillovich as her heir, and the Ohrana—now the secret organization guarding the Romanov imperial house—had personally escorted him here. In that case, they should not treat him this way. Therefore he had decided to request an audience with Tsarina Anastasia. He had to. At least she seemed capable of resolving this problem. Since he was treated as a symbol of the White Army, a single word from her would suffice.
Thus he was able to meet Anastasia, but she regarded him with a frigid gaze.
“Anastasia.”
“Have you no etiquette even toward the Tsar?”
“What?”
Had Anastasia always been like this? Kirill was slightly flustered by behavior he had never seen from her before. Was she always like this? Or has the civil war changed her?
“I am the Tsar elected directly by the Duma representing all of Russia. Yet you show not the slightest respect for the Tsar.”
“Ahem.”
She had changed enormously since he last saw her. They said position changes a person. With the military propping her up as Tsar, Anastasia pressed him with an expressionless face as though she had become someone important.
“I permitted the return of the man who stabbed my father in the back during the February Revolution, and now you want even more?”
“No, you said you would make my son your heir.”
Then wasn’t it natural that he should receive something as well? Shouldn’t she help restore the imperial family’s fallen authority for the sake of the Romanov revival? In reality, to rebuild the imperial house’s prestige that had crashed to the ground, Anastasia’s cooperation was essential. Why was she being so uncooperative?
“That is correct. I do intend to name him heir. But that does not mean I am giving you power. You betrayed my father—why? Do you covet your nephew’s position?”
“N-no, that wasn’t—”
Kirill Vladimirovich swallowed dryly and rolled his eyes. It was strange to feel this way toward a niece far younger than himself, but—
“It seems you believe I am Tsar in name only. That is not the case. While you were idling in Finland, I fought the civil war directly alongside the soldiers. The citizens of the United States—no, the people—ended their respect for the Romanovs in my father’s generation. Yes. If I must be precise, one should call it the New Romanov era beginning with mine.”
“T-then my son—”
If the imperial family’s authority had fallen so low, what would become of Vladimir? Surely she wasn’t planning to kill him? Just because his father had betrayed hers? No, that couldn’t be.
“I will indeed make him my heir. However, in that process, Grand Duke Kirill, you must not expect any special privileges or power. The imperial throne itself is out of the question. Only the successor I choose will receive the respect of the United States’ citizens.”
“He is my son!”
Grand Duke Kirill shouted in agitation, but Anastasia continued to stare at him with cold, sapphire eyes that betrayed no emotion whatsoever.
“Vladimir must learn the truth. What kind of person his father is. How incompetent the Romanov imperial house has been until now. How the imperial family and the Tsar must proceed from here on. I will teach him all of it.”
What on earth was she saying? What exactly did she intend to teach his son?
“Isn’t that too harsh! Even so, I—”
“Even so, I was going to let you live in comfort. Hm. Very well. I shall offer you another choice.”
Yes. That’s more like it. At last it seemed he might obtain something. He had only just begun to think that he and Anastasia could communicate, when she drew a pistol from her bosom and spoke.
“One is this pistol. The other is the cannon waiting outside.”
“Are you granting me command of the army?”
Anastasia’s face twisted as if to say, How did you reach that conclusion? Had she said something else?
“I remember clearly how my father, my mother, my sisters, and my brother Alexei were killed. The Bolsheviks executed them brutally right before my eyes.”
“That… is truly a heartbreaking matter.”
Kirill turned his head aside. Even he had not known the imperial family would suffer such a fate. That was why they had fled in panic to Finland, fearing they would meet the same end.
“Yes. So after we recaptured Moscow, do you know what became of the Bolshevik leadership?”
“What happened to them?”
Yes, he was rather curious. How exactly had those who murdered the imperial family met their ends?
“Because they had made the White Army suffer so much, the Whites harbored extreme hatred for the Bolsheviks. Whether a Bolshevik officer caught while fleeing or one who had surrendered, all were shot in the streets.”
“I… see.”
But why was she telling this story? Was she trying to make him feel guilt by recounting old tales? If so, it was easy enough to nod along and bow his head.
“Lenin and his cohorts—the main figures of the Bolshevik regime who killed my father, my mother, and my siblings—were executed by cannon without even the luxury of a trial. You must have heard how the British killed Indian rebels with cannons. We did exactly that.”
“T-then—”
“Would you prefer the firing squad or the cannon? I will at least let you choose the manner of your death.”
She spoke as if stating something utterly ordinary. The expressionless Anastasia uttered those terrifying words without the slightest change in tone. Choose where you will die.
“!!”
An invisible blade seemed to press against his throat. A chilling sensation seized Kirill Vladimirovich’s entire body.
“I executed the Bolsheviks who murdered my family in exactly that way. Those enemies of the Romanovs died like that—do you truly believe a traitor to the Romanovs would escape the blade?”
Can you endure it? At some point a knife had appeared in Anastasia’s hand as well.
“I-isn’t that rather harsh? I—”
“Does it look like a joke to you? Do you think I would hand power to a latecomer who only now seeks it and let him ruin Russia again?”
Anastasia snapped her fingers. Soldiers who had been waiting outside entered and surrounded Kirill Vladimirovich. Their attitude said, Go on, speak. Depending on his answer, they would kill him like a Bolshevik. Kirill felt cold sweat run down his spine.
“I-I have no such intentions! I do not desire the Tsar’s seat! I only… only wanted my son to—”
“Your son? Continue. This will be your last chance. Keep flapping that tongue of yours.”
She would at least listen to the ravings of a man before he died. That was the implication.
“P-please, spare my life… spare my life! I swear I will never, never seek power!”
Only then did Kirill Vladimirovich beg for his life. He had finally understood the situation. The instinct to survive forced him to his knees.
“You want to live that badly?”
“Never. I will never desire anything. Please… forgive me.”
He wanted to live by any means. Just as he had shrewdly betrayed Nicholas II during the February Revolution and sworn loyalty to the Provisional Government, in this far more desperate situation he simply wanted to cling to his life.
“All titles will be stripped from you. Spend the rest of your days with your family in Finland. Even while alive, you must live as if dead. You may send Vladimir only letters of greeting—nothing more.”
“I… I shall do so.”
Grand Duke Kirill could not even raise his head before the Tsar of all Russia. He could only nod. Even that might appear insolent, yet it was the only thing Kirill Vladimirovich could do now.
“The Ohrana will watch you. If you try anything foolish, you understand what will happen. As long as the White Army has won and I am Tsar, branding you a traitor who betrayed the imperial house and executing you would be trivial.”
“U-understood.”
Grand Duke Kirill Vladimirovich submitted completely to Anastasia’s authority. Now he would have to return to Finland once more.