I’ll pretend, I tell myself. Pretending is safer than believing.

My sisters and I sit together on a pair of suitcases. If we’ve forgotten anything, it’s already too late — our rooms have all been sealed and photographed. Anyway, Tatiana would say it’s bad luck...

It’s different now, like pushing the stop lever on my camera until nothing except the war can squeeze through the lens.

Maria cries unashamedly on my shoulder while I whisper and pet her cheek, but Anastasia grips my other hand and stares fiercely back at our Alexander Palace with her wet blue eyes until it is...

I wish I wasn’t an imperial highness or an ex-grand duchess. I’m sick of people doing things to me because of what I am. Girl-in-white-dress. Short-one-with-fringe. Daughter-of-the-tsar. Child-of-the-ex-tyrant. I want people to look and see...