October 20, 1904
The air in the palace was thick with unease, a heaviness that clung to every corridor Alexei wandered through. Since the fateful declaration of war against Japan, it felt as though Russia had been trapped in an endless winter, cold, brittle, and unforgiving. The walls themselves seemed to whisper of looming disaster, as whispers of defeat after defeat from the Far East traveled faster than any victory could. Beyond the palace gates, the city simmered with unrest. Revolutionaries plotted in the shadows, their anger swelling against a government struggling to hold its ground. Inside and outside alike, tension coiled like a storm on the verge of breaking, and Alexei could feel it pressing in on him with every step.
He walked carefully toward his destination, the office of his father. A meeting was underway inside, and Alexei was determined to know what was being discussed. The constant stream of grim news about the war unsettled him. The newspapers he read were filled with criticism of the government's failures, yet he knew much was hidden behind censorship. He wanted the truth, unfiltered.
As he approached the office, he deliberately slowed his pace. Just before the corner leading to his father's door, he paused before a wall adorned with mounted hunting trophies, proud stags, boars, and bears. He reached up and carefully tilted the ear of a deer's head downward. A faint click followed, and to his quiet satisfaction, the wall shifted, revealing a narrow passage that led toward his father's office.
He had no idea who had built this hidden passageway, perhaps Peter the Great himself, or one of his successors. Whoever it was, Alexei found the secret invaluable. It would serve him well in the future, a perfect tool for discreetly listening to the guarded conversations of the palace. After glancing around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped inside and quietly pulled the hidden door shut behind him.
He expertly maneuvered the corridors of the hidden passageway. From time to time, faint shafts of light filtered through tiny cracks in the walls, carrying with them muffled voices and the distant hum of life within the palace. When he was sure he was behind the walls of his father's office. He peaked through a small hole and saw his father's advisors, ministers and some general of the military. Alexei then shifted to a more comfortable position and listened.
—--
Nicholas felt as though his life had been nothing but a series of trials since the day the crown was placed upon his head. From the weight of the empire's endless problems to the unrest simmering in the streets, it seemed fate had conspired to test him at every turn. Now, this war, the first great conflict of his reign, gnawed at his spirit. He had been told it would be a swift and easy victory, a campaign that would bring glory to Russia and secure its dominance in the East. Yet reality had been cruel. What began with bold promises and confident predictions had unraveled into a bitter chain of defeats, each more humiliating than the last.
His advisors, those same men who once spoke with unshakable conviction of effortless triumph, now sat before him with downcast eyes, their voices subdued, their former arrogance stripped away. Nicholas's hands tightened at his sides, the urge to lash out at them rising like fire in his chest. He wanted to seize them by the collars, to demand answers, to make them feel the same shame that tormented him. But instead, he watched them shrink into their seats, as if wishing the walls would swallow them whole.
"So, what now?" Nicholas finally broke the heavy silence, his voice low and simmering, like molten rock straining beneath the surface. His gaze swept across the chamber, piercing each advisor and minister in turn, as though daring one of them to find the courage to speak. The air was thick with unease, the rustle of uniforms and the shifting of boots echoing louder than words. For a moment, it seemed none would dare answer him.
At last, the minister of foreign affairs, Vladimir Lamsdorf, cleared his throat, his tone measured but cautious. "Your Majesty," he began carefully, "the reinforcements are already on their way. We must place our trust in General Kuropatkin to turn the tide of the war."
At the mention of Kuropatkin's name, several of the generals shifted uncomfortably. Nicholas noticed it. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on the armrest. "Trust?" he repeated coldly. "I have trusted him for months, and what has it brought me? Defeat after defeat. Liaoyang, Shaho… each a humiliation." His voice cracked like a whip. "Do you expect me to feed more men into his failures until the army is bled dry?"
Viktor Sakharov, who had replaced General Kuropatkin as Minister of War, gathered his courage and spoke. "Your Majesty, to replace General Kuropatkin in the midst of a campaign would be unwise. It is better to allow him to see it through. At the same time, we must impress upon him that the outcome of this war rests entirely on his shoulders. Such a burden should at least compel him to perform with greater resolve."
Nicholas remained silent, his expression unreadable as he weighed the words. The others in the room exchanged uneasy glances, yet none dared to interrupt, fearful of drawing the tsar's ire upon themselves. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until Nicholas spoke, his voice firm though tinged with reluctance.
"Very well. Let him remain as field commander. But… If he still can't provide results. Then.." He didn't finish the sentence but everyone in the room understood his meaning.
They discussed their strategy and related issues for some time. The transportation of troops to the Far East placed a heavy burden on their logistics, as moving large numbers of soldiers was extremely difficult. Reinforcements could only be sent in limited quantities, which they identified as one of the reasons for their repeated defeats in the war. Yet, they could not devise a solution to the problem and were forced to continue under the same circumstances as the war dragged on.
When the room finally fell silent after exhausting their ideas for new strategies, Admiral Zinovy Petrovich Rozhestvensky of the Navy spoke.
"Your Majesty, if I may, we should dispatch the Baltic Fleet to the Pacific to aid in the war. A naval victory could help relieve some of the pressure on General Kuropatkin and, at the same time, support our forces in Port Arthur in lifting the siege. At present, we face no conflicts with our neighbors in the Baltic region, which would allow us to commit the fleet to the Pacific. Moreover, such a campaign would give our officers valuable combat experience."
Nicholas looked at Admiral Zinovy and mused, this man only wishes to take part in the war and distance himself from the politics of the court. He already knew that the admiral took no part in the power struggles among government officials, preferring instead to remain with his men and conduct naval exercises. Still, Nicholas disliked the proposal. Stripping the Baltic region of its defenses would leave them vulnerable should a war suddenly erupt with their neighbors, or worse, against them directly.
The proposal to send the Baltic Fleet to the Pacific, however, was met with a positive response from his advisors and generals. They argued that, since no conflict was likely to arise in the region, a portion of the idle ships, though not the entire fleet, could be dispatched against Japan. Such a move, they believed, would provide a strategic advantage and perhaps even enable a surprise attack that could deliver a crushing defeat to the enemy at sea. Nicholas considered the idea but remained undecided. Rubbing his temples, he said, "I will think about it. Any other matters?"
This time it was his minister of interior, Prince Pyotr Dmitrievich Sviatopolk-Mirsky, who spoke. "Aside from the war, your majesty. There is a growing unrest amongst our people, specifically the working class, they want better working conditions and fair treatment. The news of our successive defeats against Japan only worsens the situation. The revolutionaries are using it to fuel their propaganda for reforms. I think we need to address these as soon as possible to avoid revolts in the country."
Good God, could they bring him any good news instead of burdening him with one report of disaster after another? Just thinking about it gave him a splitting headache. He had already received countless reports about the growing unrest among his people but had chosen not to dwell on them. How many times had such reports crossed his desk since he ascended the throne? His grandfather had faced them, his father as well, and now it was his turn.
Yet this time, the unrest seemed more severe than any he had experienced before. It was fueled by news of defeats against Japan, which the revolutionaries eagerly exploited to turn the people against the government. Nicholas looked around at those gathered in the room and said heavily, "What do you all think about this? Give me solutions, not just problem after problem."
"I think we should arrest the instigators of this unrest, Your Majesty! They cannot be allowed to continue, we are currently at war," advised Konstantin Pobedonostsev, his chief procurator and longtime counselor.
Nicholas glanced at him, suppressing a sigh. Does he think I haven't already done that? He knew all too well that such measures were no solution. Despite the arrests, despite sending agitators into exile in Siberia, the unrest persisted, each wave of discontent swelling larger than the last.
"Anything else? Speak! We do not have all day," Nicholas demanded, his patience wearing thin. These meetings had become increasingly exhausting, a constant barrage of problems without answers. He longed for them to end, if only so he could steal a quiet moment with his newborn daughter, Anastasia, whose presence had been one of the few comforts in these troubled days.
One by one, his advisors and ministers spoke, offering their ideas and so-called solutions. Some recommended harsher crackdowns, others minor concessions to placate the discontented. Yet none of their proposals carried the weight of a true remedy.
Nicholas rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair, listening to the rising murmur in the chamber. He could sense that even among his ministers, there was a division, some urged reform, others repression. The Emperor of All Russia sat in silence for a moment, wondering if any course remained that would not tear his empire apart.
In the end, not one of them could offer an idea that might mend the fracture spreading through the empire. Their words hung in the air, hollow and unsatisfying, like the echo of a prayer unanswered. Nicholas drummed his fingers on the polished table, the sharp rhythm cutting through the silence.
"I expect, at our next meeting, that each of you will present something to address this crisis, if not a cure, then at least a remedy to lessen it," he said, his voice cool and edged with fatigue. "Now go. I want some time alone."
He lifted his hand in dismissal. At once, the assembled men rose from their seats, the rustle of uniforms and the scrape of chairs filling the chamber. They bowed stiffly, their faces betraying unease, before filing out the gilded doors. One by one they disappeared, leaving behind only the fading echo of their footsteps in the cavernous hall.
Alone at last, Nicholas tried to piece together how matters had unraveled so gravely, but each thought only deepened his headache. He stopped thinking about it then and decided to visit his newly born daughter. He needs his stress reliever. With a slow breath, Nicholas rose from his chair, straightened his uniform, and walked toward the gilded doors. Boris and the guards fell in step behind him.
Before he could cross the door, he suddenly thought of someone and told his attendant, Boris, "Summon Witte back."
Boris, ever dutiful, answered, "Yes, your majesty."
—--
Once his father had left the room, Alexei exhaled a long, weary breath. He understood well the weight of his father's frustration, the war dragging on with no victories to ease the sting, and unrest gnawing at the very heart of the empire. Yet with ministers and advisors like those, men who could talk endlessly but conjure no real solutions, how could things be otherwise? Even Alexei, twice reborn, could hardly endure their endless circles of unproductive debate.
In his mind, only one path gleamed faintly as a possible remedy. If his father could bring himself to share power with the people, even a fraction of it, the burden might ease, and the storm of discontent might quiet. It would not solve everything, but it might lessen the bleeding wound that was tearing the empire apart.
But then Alexei shook his head with a bitter smile. His father had been raised in the iron mold of autocracy, steeped from birth in the doctrine of absolute rule. To Nicholas, power was not a mantle to be shared but a sacred inheritance entrusted by God. He would never yield it willingly, not unless he was driven into a corner with no escape.
Alexei stretched his limbs, feeling the stiffness that came from standing still for too long. His muscles protested at first, but after a few careful movements they loosened and warmed. Taking a quiet breath, he stepped into the dim corridor of the secret passage, the silence broken only by the faint creak of the floor beneath his boots. At the end of the passage, he opens the hidden door slightly, his eyes scanning the hall beyond.
Seeing no one in sight, he slipped out with the practiced caution, closing the door gently behind him until it vanished once more into the wall. Straightening his clothes, he set off to his room, his footsteps light and measured.
It did not take him long to reach his chamber. Once inside, Alexei lowered himself into a chair, the faint rustle of pages filling the quiet room as he opened a book on rifles and handguns. He traced the illustrations with his finger, lingering on the sleek lines of steel and wood, his eyes dark with yearning. For three years he had begged, waited, and hoped, pleading with his father and mother to let him fire a weapon. But it all ended up in denial. He could wait no longer. If they would not allow it, then he would take matters into his own hands.
The plan he had devised with Anna over the years would have to be carried out sooner than he had anticipated. The war and the unrest spreading throughout the empire seemed only to worsen, and he disliked it intensely. He had believed that his task was only to prepare for the world war to come and save his family from the revolutions that came with it. He had not expected the empire to be entangled in conflicts and turmoil even before the great war began. He should have studied history more carefully… Alexei shook his head. This was not the time for regret. He needed to focus on what lay before him, on what he had to do.
He closed the book, rose to his feet, and began a series of exercises. His body had been growing rapidly lately, and he found himself needing to reacquaint his form almost every week. Each new growth spurt altered his movements, making once-fluid techniques awkward to perform. It would have been better to wait until his body had settled and stopped growing, but time was not on his side.
Alexei threw himself into the exercises with single-minded focus. Even when a knock came at the door and it slowly opened, he did not pause. He already knew who would appear at this hour, and so he continued without distraction. Only after completing his fifth set did he finally stop, drawing in a deep breath.
He gave a curt nod to Sednev, then moved toward the drawer to fetch a towel. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he glanced back to find Sednev still standing there, staring at him in silence. Alexei arched an eyebrow in quiet question, and his attendant seemed to catch the signal.
Sednev coughed awkwardly before speaking, "Your exercises never fail to impress me, Your Highness. Every time I see you perform them, I'm amazed."
Alexei allowed a small smile. "I'm surprised you're still not used to it. You've been watching me since the first time you caught me training like this. How long has it been now? Two years? A year and a half?"
"Two years, Your Highness," Sednev corrected with a faint shake of his head. "And I still can't figure out who taught you these exercises or how you even know them. Don't tell me you learned all of this from the books. No one could move like that just from reading."
Sednev poured water into a cup and handed it to him. Alexei accepted it and drank quickly, the liquid easing his parched throat. After finishing, he shrugged his shoulders.
"Who knows?" he said lightly. "So then, what's the matter? Why are you here?"
Sednev took the cup from him and spoke, "Your father has requested your presence at dinner, Your Highness. We should go now, as it is nearly time for dinner."
"Alright. I'll wash up first." Alexei replied as he made his way to the bathroom.
It didn't take long for him to take a bath and get dressed. When he was sure he was ready, he nodded to Sednev, "Let's go." With that, they left the room.
They made their way toward the dining room, and upon entering, Alexei's eyes immediately fell on his father, who was cradling little Anastasia and making her laugh with playful gestures. If Alexei hadn't secretly listened and heard the state of the empire from their meetings. He would've thought that everything was okay and there was nothing to worry about. He scanned the room and saw that everyone had arrived, even his grandmother was present at this time. It seemed he was a little bit late.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he began, bowing slightly as he offered greetings to his father, mother, and grandmother.
"Brother, you're here! Come, sit beside me," Olga called out, her bright voice breaking through the formality. Always cheerful, she stood from her chair and tugged at his arm until he sank into the seat next to her. Alexei studied her with a faint smile, she was blossoming into a young woman, her beauty growing clearer with each passing year. It would not be long before her younger sisters followed suit.
He had thought that since he was born first, his parents would settle for a few children, but it seemed that he was mistaken, and now he has four sisters. Olga was the eldest amongst his sisters, followed by Tatiana then Maria and now there was Anastasia. He wondered if they still had it in them to continue reproducing. Maybe they were gunning up for a boy who would take over the title of tsarevich in case something happens to him.
It doesn't matter though, he would do everything he can to protect them. He greeted his other sisters. Tatiana was quiet as always, but he knows that if not for their parents around, she would do what she always was, being mischievous. Maria, who was born three years earlier was still clinging to their mother, as if afraid their mother would disappear. He didn't bother greeting Anastasia as she was still in his father's arms.
"Nicholas, that's enough. Let's eat now that everyone is here," his grandmother's firm voice cut through the gentle cooing of his father, who still cradled the infant in his arms.
His father reluctantly handed Anastasia to her wet nurse, then took his place at the table. His gaze immediately settled on Alexei. "What kept you so long?"
"I was reading," Alexei replied lightly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Besides, I wasn't informed beforehand that we would be dining together."
Nicholas blinked at him, caught between annoyance and amusement, before glancing toward his own wife. "You hear that? He speaks as though it's my fault he was late."
His mother, Alexandra, just rolled her eyes at his father, Alexei was sure she was not pleased that they were dining together with his grandmother. She was always silent whenever his grandmother was present.
Nicholas cleared his throat, straightening his back. "Anyway, let us pray."
The family said their prayers and began eating afterwards. They ate in silence until it was broken when his father looked at him and asked, "How was your lessons, Alexei."
"They're… fine," Alexei answered, his voice deliberately casual. His tutors had begun drilling into him the sacred doctrine of autocracy over the past year, its divine right, its holy trust from God, the unbroken chain of authority that bound their family to Russia itself.
At first, he had resisted, challenging their words with questions but it only earned him longer lecture time and stern reprimands from his father. Nicholas would always remind him that if he were to rule all of Russia one day. He needed to learn everything about autocracy that was entrusted to them by God. He thought it was stupid but he couldn't really do anything about it, so he played along and pretended to be listening to his tutors' teaching. His father is just beyond saving in his views.
Nicholas allowed himself a faint smile. "Good. Make sure you learn a lot."
Before Alexei could respond, his grandmother's voice cut in, warm but edged with disapproval. "Oh, give the child a break, Nicholas. We're eating."
That was enough to silence the Tsar, who reluctantly turned back to his meal. Then his grandmother flicked a quick, conspiratorial wink in his direction. He gave a discreet smile back before he too lowered his eyes to his plate and continued eating.
His grandmother, Maria, had been quietly instructing him in the subtle arts of court life ever since she returned from her travels. She often reminded him that true power lay not only in titles but in loyalty, and that if he were fortunate enough to find a loyal friend, he must treasure them above all else. Alexei had always wondered how she came to be so beloved, not only within the court but also among the common people. It seemed that her warm, approachable nature and effortless charm played no small part, qualities his own mother, for all her dignity, seemed to lack.
When the last course of dinner had been cleared away, Maria turned to Nicholas. "Where is Michael, by the way?" she asked with casual curiosity, though her eyes betrayed concern.
Nicholas shook his head. "I don't know. But I've had someone summon him back. Don't worry, Mother."
Maria sighed softly, her features clouded with worry. "That child," she murmured, still treating her grown son with the same concern as if he were a boy.
Before Alexei could excuse himself, he suddenly felt two pairs of small hands clamp onto his arms. Olga and Tatiana had flanked him, their faces bright with mischief.
"What is it?" he asked, raising a brow at them.
Olga looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Promise you'll play with us tomorrow, brother. You haven't played with us in such a very, very long time."
"I played with you just the other day," Alexei protested.
"It feels like forever ago," Olga insisted, her voice almost a whimper. "Please?"
He looked at his sisters and sighed inwardly. In truth, he could never resist Olga's antics, nor Tatiana's quiet persistence. At last, he gave a small nod. "Alright."
The girls let out a cheerful cry, their delight filling the room.
Across the table, Nicholas, Alexandra, and Maria watched the exchange with faint smiles, clearly pleased to see the children so close to one another.
With that settled, Alexei requested permission to leave early, citing the need to study. Nicholas gave a brief nod of approval. Rising from his seat, Alexei offered his farewells before slipping out of the dining room, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor.
When he returned to his room, Alexei instructed Sednev and Nagorny not to disturb him, explaining that he intended to study until he fell asleep. Both attendants, well accustomed to their tsarevich's habits by now, gave a respectful nod in response.
Once the door closed behind him, Alexei changed his clothes for darker garments. He then settled with a book in hand, reading quietly to pass the time as he waited for the night to deepen.
—---
Alexei crouched low atop the highest point he could reach in St. Petersburg, the Peter and Paul Cathedral. From this perch, the city unfolded beneath him like a vast, restless organism. But instead of breathing air, it exhaled thick smoke from chimneys, drifting upward in ghostly veils. Below, the narrow streets glowed faintly under the watch of flickering gas lamps and electric lights. Their light casting long, wavering shadows across the cobblestones. A few figures still lingered in the dead of night, merchants hauling late deliveries, drunks staggering from taverns, and politsiya pacing their lonely rounds.
He rose, steadying himself against the cool night air, and began making his way down to the rooftops of the nearby buildings. Moving carefully, he crossed from one roof to the next, watching the city shift beneath him. The scenery changed as he ventured farther, solid, well-kept houses gave way to crooked wooden shacks pressed tightly together. Their roofs sagged beneath the weight of age and neglect, damp shingles giving off the faint smell of rot. He hesitated before leaping across, but forced himself to test their strength. Someday, he might need these very rooftops as his escape route, and it was better to know now whether they would hold.
Step by step, Alexei moved over the uneven tiles, dry leaves crunching softly beneath his boots. He advanced from rooftop to rooftop, deliberate and silent, until at last he reached his destination. With a final leap, he landed lightly, crouched, and then dropped down to the street below. He scanned his surroundings, ensuring no one had followed, before striding to the well kept door.
Lifting his hand, he knocked in a coded rhythm. He could still hear a few chattering inside, even though it was late into the night. Then, with a faint creak, the door opened. Without hesitation, Alexei slipped inside and drew it shut behind him.
Alexei glanced at the figure who opened the door and gave a small smile. "Oh, it's you, Nikolai. You're not asleep yet?"
Nikolai grinned. "No, I'm the one on watch tonight. Maybe later, when Oskar wakes up to relieve me."
Alexei patted him on the shoulder. "That's good. Keep up the work. Where's Anna?"
"She's upstairs in the meeting room, teaching Stepan and the others their mathematics," Nikolai replied, gesturing upward.
"Thank you. And the others, why are they not asleep yet?" Alexei asked, tilting his head toward the children still awake and chatting, their small forms huddled beneath worn blankets on the floor.
Nikolai followed his gaze and scratched the back of his head. "Well, Sister Anna hasn't come down yet to check on them. Don't worry, master, they'll fall asleep once she does."
Noticing Alexei, the children waved excitedly. He returned the gesture with a smile, then raised his hands to the side of his head, mimicking a sleeping posture. The little ones understood, grinning as they began settling down to sleep.
Nikolai let out a soft chuckle. "Or… they'll sleep now."
Seeing them finally preparing for rest, Alexei nodded. "I'll head up, then. Make sure you don't fall asleep yourself."
"Don't worry," Nikolai said with a broad grin, straightening his posture as though on parade. "I'll guard the door with my life." He stood proud, carrying the air of someone shaped by the same discipline Alexei had instilled in his first students.
"Good." Alexei gave an approving nod before making his way upstairs.
He found Anna and several of the children gathered in the meeting room, but he did not interrupt them, instead he made a small, discreet gesture for Anna to continue. Taking a seat by the window outside, Alexei watched the moon suspended like a pale coin over the city and let his thoughts drift to the years behind them, the recruiting of orphan boys and girls, the skirmishes with troublemakers bold enough to challenge them, the endless scrabble to find food themselves. The road had been anything but smooth, yet somehow they had built something from the struggles.
The children they had taken in now numbered over fifty, perhaps sixty, if his memory served. That was why some slept on the floor, as there were not enough beds for all. At first he was hesitating in recruiting so many children but Anna had persuaded him otherwise. These children will eventually be recruited by the city's gangs, condemned to a life of theft, violence, or worse, perhaps even raised up one day as enemies he would have to confront. So, he decided to take them all as long as they followed the rules he laid down. To his surprise, they did. The promise of food and shelter, scarce commodities in their world, was enough to temper their wildness and keep them in line.
Anna, to his surprise, had a natural gift for managing the children. She handled almost everything. From organizing the daily routines he had outlined, to assigning tasks to keep them from idleness, and even taking charge of their lessons. Under her patient guidance, the children learned to read, to write, and to grasp the basics of mathematics, skills that would give them more than knowledge, offering a sense of dignity and a glimpse of a future beyond the streets.
Some of the children were even older than Anna, yet years of hunger and hardship had left them looking smaller, weaker, and far more worn. Over time, however, the change became visible. With regular meals and the exercises he had devised, the children began to grow stronger, their once-thin frames slowly filling out with muscle. They took to both the training and the lessons with unexpected enthusiasm, as though grateful not only for the food and shelter but also for the security of the future that had been so long denied to them. Of course, there were some that showed despicable behaviour, but they were swiftly expelled by him and Anna as an example.
Still, it was not easy for him either. Providing food required money, and for a time, he had resorted to stealing valuables from the palace. But that, too, had to end. His last heist ended up in failure, as he had killed Andrei. The man had been awake when Alexei came for the keys to the repository, clearly waiting for him. When Andrei's body was discovered, the palace was thrown into uproar. From that moment, Alexei knew he had to find other means, as stealing from the palace was no longer possible.
Eventually, he had found a way to sustain themselves, the city's dump site. There, they could gather items still worth selling. He dealt with the small gang of children who had once controlled the area, and with Anna's persuasion, some of them even joined their ranks. From then on, the dump site became theirs. They scavenged for salvageable goods and charged slum households a small fee to dispose of unwanted belongings. Before long, they even secured cleaning contracts from several homes in wealthier districts, earning just enough to keep everyone fed and clothed for months.
Still, problems arose from time to time. Jealous groups tried to take the work they had struggled so hard to secure. But each attempt ended the same, handled swiftly by him. Some rivals ended up dead, others, crippled. Soon, word spread. Their growing reputation led to whispers that they must have the protection of powerful groups from other districts of the city.
But he knew, once the powerful groups or gangs began seeing the profitable venture they had made. They would eventually move to take over the work they had worked so hard to secure. He would have to prepare for that, or rather, his little band of minions would have to. He couldn't handle everything alone forever. Slowly, carefully, he needed to teach them how to face problems like this on their own.
"What are you thinking about?" Anna approached and sat down across from him.
"Problems. You're done?" Alexei watched the children as they filed out of the room, each greeted him as they made their way to their sleeping quarters.
"It's late. Some of them still have work tomorrow," Anna said, following his gaze. A small smile touched her lips as the last child left then looked back at him. "So? what's the problem?"
"Not here." Alexei rose and walked towards the room the children had left. When he was sure it was empty, he motioned for Anna to follow and closed the door softly behind them.
She sank into a chair "what is it?"
He hesitated for a moment, then said, "We may have to move our plans up. The situation is getting worse."
Anna's brow knit with worry. "We're not ready yet. The groups we have to take on aren't easy. I thought we agreed to wait for three more years, until we have the people and the resources to control the whole district."
"I know." Alexei rubbed his forehead, a habit he'd taken from his father. "But we don't have a choice. The city is growing restless. I want at least our district to be secure and safe before it gets worse."
Anna studied him carefully, as if trying to decide whether that was truly his only reason or he had more. A dozen questions lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she pushed them aside, trust was all she could offer him now. Leaning back slightly, her voice softened though her eyes remained sharp. "Do you still plan to bring my brothers, and a few of the others, to the fights that will happen?"
He considered that, then replied, "I'll ask them if they want to. But I won't let them fight yet, they lack the strength. Maybe in a few years."
Anna exhaled, relief softening her features. "Good. When do we start?"
Alexei's gaze hardened. "As soon as possible."