Anastasia Romanov (Fate/Marvel)

Tsar Nicholas II's POV

"Have you not heard that there will be a protest march outside the Capital? They plan to gather right outside our gates, Nicky! Why are you letting Anastasia go outside? What if she gets caught up in the trouble?" My wife, Alexandra, couldn't help but angrily question my decision to let our daughter play in the garden, where she was happily building a snowcastle.

At the same time, a group of people who seem to do nothing but complain gathered outside the palace gates.

I don't understand what more they could possibly want. I've already won the war, yet they're still complaining. I'm utterly exhausted with these people who are never satisfied, always demanding more, always pushing for things beyond what they deserve.

But I'll be damned if I let them steal my daughter's happiness. Never.

"I've arranged for guards and magi to protect her," I assured her, my voice firm. "If anyone resorts to violence, they'll be dead long before they can even think of touching our daughter."

"And besides, this is our empire. We shouldn't live in fear in our own home, Alix. Our daughter will be safe."

"But…" Alexandra began to protest, but I cut her off swiftly.

"No, no buts. Do you realize how long it's been since our daughter has been willing to step foot outside, Alix? It's been six long years! Six damn years since she last showed any interest in going outdoors, and now, for the first time, she's finally willing. How could I possibly deny her that?"

I sighed, voicing my frustration. "I don't want Anastasia cooped up inside forever, stressing herself out, locking herself away in her room day after day. I've tried to understand what's wrong, why she resists the outside world so much. But now that she's finally ready to embrace it, how could I, as her father, stop her?"

Alexandra, my queen, finally relented, though her voice remained tense. "If that's the case, Nicky, make sure none of those people so much as lay a finger on her. Don't let them touch a single hair on her head."

To my relief, she gave in, her earlier objections quieting. I smiled, feeling assured.

"Don't worry, Alix. Everything is under my control." I patted my chest confidently, as if to emphasize my resolve.

I had already prepared everything—the guards, the magi, and intelligence reports on those so-called protesters.

They weren't here to resort to violence, only to voice their grievances.

But just in case, I've armed the imperial guards. Should anything go wrong, we are ready.

What could possibly go wrong?

...

Viy POV

"Have you played enough already, Anastasia?" I deadpanned at Anastasia, who was still engrossed in playing with the mud. To be more precise, she was once again building her snowcastle, although without any apparent purpose in doing so. Her actions seemed aimless, but there was something more behind them.

However, as I watched her more closely, I realized that she wasn't simply building the castle. Her eyes kept wandering toward the gate, her gaze flickering with an unusual focus, which I immediately noticed.

"What are you waiting for, Princess?" I asked, my voice tinged with curiosity as I observed her playing in the mud, all while sneakily watching the outside of the imperial gate.

"I'm waiting for Bloody Sunday," she smirked mischievously, her words cryptic and difficult to grasp, as usual. It wasn't the first time she spoke in such riddles, leaving me momentarily perplexed.

Suddenly, with a burst of energy, she stood up from her position, brushing the mud off her dress, and dashed toward the priest who was leading a bloodless protest march in front of the imperial gate.

Before the guards or the magi, who were secretly protecting the princess from the shadows, could react, she had already arrived at the forefront, standing directly in front of the priest.

Even the priest, the leader of the march, was rendered speechless by her unexpected presence. He had no time to voice his thoughts before the princess bombarded him with a barrage of questions.

There she stood, full of childlike curiosity, asking him this and that, her tone brimming with innocence. The sight was almost surreal. When the imperial guards saw this, their previously stern expressions softened.

Her actions gave them no excuse to resort the violence even they were given the courage of Spartans facing the armies of Persia—they dared not fire upon the crowd, especially with the princess right in front of them.

They knew all too well that if they acted rashly and injured the princess, the Tsar would have them executed on the spot, without trial or hesitation.

And so, the impending bloodshed was averted.

What was meant to be a "Bloody Sunday" did not unfold as planned, and the supposed growing radicalism within the revolution was nipped in the bud.

The imperial guards stood unwaveringly at their posts, but they did so with restraint, all the while the princess enthusiastically continued her conversation with the priest.

The previous orders to fire upon the protesters were quietly abandoned. The guards, for all their might, lacked the courage to carry them out in the presence of the princess.

I learned all of this with ease, effortlessly reading their thoughts, understanding the motives behind every move.

It became clear why the princess had suddenly taken it upon herself to go outside and play in the mud. It was all part of a greater ploy, a carefully constructed disguise.

Her true intent had been to prevent the violence the Imperial Guard had been planning to unleash upon the peasants gathered before us.

She diffuses an entire bloody revolution with a single, childlike act, and it's glorious.

She has this entire empire wrapped around her tiny fingers, and no one but Viy can see it.

When the princess eventually grew tired of talking, she sat down in front of the priest.

He, on the other hand, coughed awkwardly, before raising his voice to express their grievances toward the Tsar.

It was done without causing any chaos, a peaceful display of discontent.

*****

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