Natalia

Scene Three

This wasn't the first time the Yusopov castle was used as a school house. Whenever, the royal family would pay a visit to one of their several castles they would bring the children's teacher with them. Mr. Pretov was smart and expected the kids to listen at all times, but he was close to the Romanov family. If any of the children were upset, he would console them the best he could with his wisdom. This time around, there was no teaching degree and Natasha was the only student.
​     The make-shift room was originally a sitting room. Of course, there was no furniture left. The walls were covered in yellowed and torn floral wallpaper. Dust was in every crevice and corner. The wooden floors were scratched and dirty. It didn't bother the three of them much. Shelter is anything with four walls and a roof.
     ​"How do you remember the person you never knew you were?" Natasha walked around the castle completely enamored with everything surrounding her.
     ​"Take a deep breath. Close your eyes, and imagine another time, another world" Clint was rather good at offering instructions.
​     The pair knew they couldn't make Natasha learn years' worth of history in one sitting; heck she didn't even know the basics. So they decided to break it up into small increments. First, every little detail about Natalia's upbringing. Natasha had to memorize a jumble of facts. Snippets of information was given to Natasha over the weeks that progressed.
     "You were born by a palace by a sea"
     "And was able to ride horseback by the age of three. Romeo was your white horse." James chirped in
​     "Horseback riding, got it." Natasha tried to convince herself more so then the others.
    ​"What a charming child you were." James was always amused by the Grand Duchess' behavior. It seemed to belong to a commoner. Something any child could join in on.
     "Tantrums and trouble was your specialty, but you would behave when your father gave that look." Clint clarified
     "Imagine your childhood like you were there."
     Next was etiquette. If you want to be royalty, you have to act like it. The life wasn't as glamorous as it seemed. There was no room for mistakes, and even less room for slouching. Memorizing silverware placements isn't as easy as it seems either.
     "Sit up straight, and try to float."
     "Am I floating?" Natasha asked rather sleepily.
Natasha was looked like four-year-old doing ballet. She had the right idea, but all the wrong forms. "Like a sinking boat," James mumbled under his breath.
    Weeks passed and Natasha was on to her family tree. This was the hardest part for her. It isn't easy to memorize a family tree several generations back.
     "Who's your great grandmother?" Clint asked.
     "Queen Victoria." Natasha was only sure about this fact; the rest are lucky guesses.
     "Great, great-grandma?"
     "Uhhhh, Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg- Sallfield."
      "And your best friend?" James quizzed.
Natasha answered confidently, "Vindiktor, my little brother."
      "Wrong." James was positive he was right.
     "I think I know who my best friend is." Natasha crossed her arms and flared her nostrils. She could feel frustration crawling up her throat.
     "What a temper." James looked at Clint feeling surprised and slightly amused.
     "At least she has that part down."
     "I don't like to be corrected." Natasha snapped
     "That makes two of us." The two often bickered back and forth when they were studying. Clint always tried to diffuse the situation, but it didn't work most of the time.
      The trio couldn't afford royal food, but your mind goes a long way. Plain broth represented stroganoff, and beans were caviar. The dining room was huge with baby blue walls, semi-circle window panes. The floor was dusty, and there was no dining table to be found. You could find Natasha, James, and Clint sitting on an old, woven blanket eating whatever they could scrounge up for the day. There were multiple rules when it came to dining with the royals: no slurping, always use the right spoon and do not slouch.
      Natasha felt like she was on fire and her brain was bursting out of her skull with all the facts she's memorized. Apprehension has been building up inside of her for weeks. Every little mistake fueled the fire. Anxiety was building up in her stomach and there was tears were filling the rim of her eyes. "I hate you both. I can't do this anymore. I can't be the perfect princess you expect me to be. I'm just Natasha," she put her head down, tears strolling down her face, "I'm no one special."
      For a second James wanted to reach out and hold her, brush away her tears, and tell her old wife wisdom just like his mom did when he was a young, just like his dad did after she passed away. But he hesitated. It wasn't his place. What could he do to help her anyways?
      "If I can learn to do it, you can learn to do it. There's nothing to it. You're just a child playing pretending," Clint tried to explain. He talked slowly and lifted up her chin.
     Natasha took a few deep breaths calming herself. A crashing wave of resilience landed on her. She might just be Natasha, but that is where her strength lies. She didn't need a last name to carve out her path for, she did it for herself.
     The learning began anew. Her posture was perfect, she could tell you every detail about her childhood, and she could tell you about any random  family member.
     "Teach me something new." Natasha's head was raised slightly higher and her eyes were no longer turned downcast.
     James smirked, "Well every princess needs to know to dance." He put out his hand and led Natasha to the ball room.
     Dark, once glossy floors were covered in dust. The vaulted ceiling had a faded moral painted on to it depicting the tale of David. The tall ceiling was adorned with a hanging chandelier throwing sunlight across the room. Natasha's breath caught in her throat. The room had an ethereal, familiar feeling like heaven just opened its gates. She spun around taking in the room with all its glory. Not only was James in the room with her, but so was ghosts of the last dynasty. Swirling, colorful ball gowns danced like peacocks. Their brooding, up-right consorts, reminding Natasha of Ravens, joined them on the floor. The faces of the dancer were distorted and constantly moving like pictures underwater. She felt safe and at peace in their company, but wasn't sure why.
     James interrupted her daydream when he touched her on the shoulder. As quickly as they appeared, the figures faded like mosaics that stayed too long in the sun.
     "Are you ready to learn how to really dance?" James bowed deeply and held out his hand; Natasha took it hesitantly.
     The two moved around the room getting to know each other through touch more than they could ever through words. The small space between them was filled lightning every time they moved. Natasha looked at him intently in the eyes trying to read him. When they pulled apart, James felt a magnet pulling them together again. Goosebumps ran up his arm as they separated. Natasha taught James more than he taught her. She was elegant, and graceful as she danced like a spider on a silk web. Her feet barely touched the ground but merely skimmed across it. Meanwhile, James knew the right moves but was heavy on his feet. There was no gracefulness about him just stone cold roughness.
     The red army's police officers were tasked to find Natasha, but didn't have luck. Knowing full well he would be able to find her, Alexei avoided joining the hunt as long as possible. A more important mission always came up or a meeting with his superiors. Upon hearing the rumors, the higher-ups were starting to put more heat on Alexei. It was crucial to squash any hope the Bolshevik's had. The Red Army could not afford anymore losses. Defeat and victory hung in a fine balance; too fine for any mercy,
Natasha still worked as a street sweeper while training to be the next royal heir. After all, food costs money and so does train tickets. Alexei knee her daily schedule, so it wasn't hard to find her. Early in the morning, when the shadows still colored everything grey, Natasha was arrested.
     "Alexei, what are you doing?" Natasha called out as cold, metal cuffs cut into her skin. She wriggled in his grip as she felt desperation rising within herself.
General Alexei took Natasha to his office; not the jail cells like most officers would. Alexei sighed and took off the handcuffs,
      "I've been hearing reports of you falsifying yourself as Natalia." He sat down behind his desk and leaned half way across it. His voice was equally laced with worry, sympathy, and exasperation. His large stature was becoming ever so present to Natasha. She stayed silent; not responding to his claim.
     He looked at Natasha, but didn't seem to be present. He was in another world reliving his child. "My father was a part of the firing squad for remaining Romanov's. We were staying in the Yekaterinburg's attic. I could hear them below us. The orders being yelled, the guns going off, "Alexei paused and swallowed like he had something stuck in his throat. He walked over to the window suddenly fascinated with the view, "and there was silence. It isn't the sound of death that stays with you, it's the silence afterwards."
     Alexei made his way across the room once again to sit on the desktop facing Natasha. He held her hand, "Do you understand Natasha? A revolution is a simple thing."
     Natasha nodded her head, not quite sure what to say. "I do."
     Alexei cleared his throat once more, and his eyes became hardened and glazed over. The softness and vulnerability shown for a few minutes was swallowed up whole. "You may leave." Alexei turned his back to Natasha staring out the window again. Natasha froze, stared at him for a second, and then left. Alexei winced as the door closed and her figure retreated down the hall.
      Natasha leaned against the cool, brick wall catching her breath. Her heart pounded like it was going to jump out of her throat any minute now. She let out a calming breath and clenched her jaw. They had to get out. Now.