The Kings of Us [boyxboy - DISCONTINUED]

Chapter Three - Revived

CHAPTER THREE—

REVIVED

The water in the bath was as black as night.

Alexei watched as it was slowly sucked away, a maelstrom of mud and sweat. He was not aware of the fact he needed one until the subject was raised by Tatiana—and he did not remember the last time he had one. The months of travelling were a blur in his mind.

His cousin—George—had decided it best to keep it a secret that they were what remained of Imperial Russia's last dynasty—or at least what remained of the Tsar's children. George had told them that his grandmother—Dagmar of Denmark—was still in Russia—in the Crimea. She had thus far refused to leave and to accept her son's death.

They were now, indefinitely, going to be known as extended family of George—royals, still—but British royals, not Russian ones.

Buckingham Palace, despite its opulence, was constricting. Alexei felt like a bird ensnared within a net. He wanted to go and walk through the streets of London, to breathe air that was fresh and to escape the irritating etiquette of the royals and the wealthy. Like Ana, he did not care much for being "proper" and "polite".

He still preferred to speak in Russian—but, according to Tatiana, that was rude—especially when you were around people who did not know the first thing about it. And if they wanted to retain their guise, they had to speak English without an inkling of a foreign accent. His sisters were flawless—had had English tutors in Russia who taught them to speak without an accent—but he was not trained in the arts of language. Instead, he tended to follow and observe his father—because, after all, he was going to be his successor.

Until now. Now, he was nothing.

All titles, stripped. All significance, stripped. All possessions, stripped. All emotions, stripped. Everything was gone—except three of his siblings and himself.

People told him he was lucky—that he should be happy he was alive.

How can you be happy knowing that you could have had it all?

The mirror in the bathroom was ornate—just like the rest of the palace. A gilded rim of swirls and lines, and in the centre of it was himself—an awkward, gangly boy.

His hair had grown considerably, he noticed. He remembered that he had gotten a buzz cut just before the incident in Tobolsk—that was in May—this was now nearing the end of October. As it was drying, the ends of his hair formed loose curls.

The fine, blonde hairs that had coated his arms and legs had begun to darken and grow and thicken. Whilst bathing, he also noticed that a coarse coating of pubic hair framed his penis—which had not been there before the execution.

He walked into his bedroom, his towel draped around his hips and he looked outside of his window longingly.

Someone knocked on the door, then entered. "Mr Romanov?"

Alexei turned around, and the servant looked at him in horror to find him partially naked. "I—uh—I apologise for walking in on you—I shall give you some privacy to change, and then I shall be back."

"It's fine," he said, aware of the fact he had an accent as he spoke. "What do you want?"

"King George V of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions, and Emperor of India has asked me to see if everything is satisfactory—to see if everything is up to your standard, and if not to see what we can do to improve it."

"I was not aware I was staying in a hotel." Alexei said, scanning the servant. He seemed to be not much older than himself—maybe fifteen. He had clipped black hair that was parted and slicked back. "But everything is fine, thank you."