Eh, just something that was in my head that I wanted to type. Not very good, but it's acceptable. Just kinda wrote this while my mind was in wonderland listening to the soundtrack for the 80billionth time this week.

What a sly fox the Dowager is!

Honest Trickery

"Young man," she asked, stopping Dmitri in his exiting steps, "Where did you get that music box?" The Dowager Empress approached him, circling around to meet his face but he turned, unable to look her in the eyes. The Empress paused and stared at him as he avoided her. Last night he had no fear of looking her in the eye with fresh, determined, daring eyes, but on this bright afternoon he had avoided looking at her all together as much as possible. Even the presentation of the money left no change in his new attitude. The Dowager wouldn't say that she was surprised, but she wasn't expecting such a thing either. This man was a professional criminal of Russia, it was very well that he could've stolen the music box from the remains of the palace, however...

"You were the boy, weren't you?" She pieced together out loud. Something about him had seemed familiar before, and now she knew why, "The one who got us out?"

Dmitri didn't respond. The Dowager continued, patience woven in her words.

"You saved her life, and mine. You restored her to me," The young man shut his eyes closed and took in a shaky, deep breath, holding it. He knew what was coming next.

"Yet...you want nothing?" He wanted something, the Dowager knew. Not only had his previous statement given part of him away, she could feel it in his aura—there was something else that he was yearning for that couldn't be provided by her or anybody else it seemed. Dmitri released the breath he was holding captive.

"Not anymore." He finally replied, a small hint of pain edging into his quiet response. The Dowager, catching a glimpse of his eyes as he turned again towards the door, tried once more to gently ease as much information from him as possible by asking a simple question in a tone of voice that showed that she knew more than she was saying.

"Why the change of mind?"

For the first time that day, the young man turned to her, looked at her in the eye. Gone was the determination and energy, replaced by a traitorous pang of hurt. The Dowager blinked as he spoke for the last time.

"It was more a change of heart," he corrected with a bow, "I must go."

Though he walked slowly out of the room, as soon as his hand touched the doorknob he exited with enough speed to tell that he wanted to leave immediately but it was controlled so it was still, in a sense, polite. The Dowager Empress watched him, first in small surprise at his abrupt leave, but then in a warm, knowing smile. Nodding wisely to herself, she waited until the door closed with a click before she turned around to her desk.

He was in love.

It wasn't petty either. The Dowager knew that he was after the money from the start, holding crude auditions for an imitation of her beloved grand-daughter. Somewhere they had found the real Anastasia, and somewhere he had fallen for her, between the con and the truth. Closing the suitcase containing the reward money, the Dowager gently tapped the old leather case, the smile still gracing her wrinkled old face. The loathsome con he had set out to play was indeed a wicked thing to put on an old woman's heart, yet the Dowager had forgiven him for his initial intentions. Russia, she had heard, was in a chaos with the new government, and people were willing to try anything to break free from the poverty they now lived in that hadn't changed since her son was in power. The poor boy simply wanted to be away from the snowy nightmare that Russia had become. And now, he was returning to the Russia he despised so because somewhere along the way his journey turned the tables on him. He still could've taken the money though, but he didn't. He had given up the reason he started the journey in the first place, signifying that he was, indeed, honest.

An honest con artist. The thought of it!

The Dowager moved to the window, observing the small courtyard and watching the young man leave as he finally emerged, head bowed down as he ran out to the streets. The smile curled up farther to her cheeks as he disappeared from view. She instantly knew he'd be back sometime soon.

Her grand-daughter entered the room, a forced smile upon her lips as she presented her magnificent dress to the Dowager. Ah, they must have met on the way down. The Dowager engaged herself in a conversation with her Anastasia, seeing beyond her fake smile to the pained bitterness hidden deep inside. Regardless, the elderly woman kept the same knowing smile for the rest of the conversation and through to the evening. Now was not the time to tell her. Things would take on their own accord and the road will be paved for both the kitchen boy and her beloved grand-daughter, there was no need to push or pull.

He would be back.