Three days passed. After five tedious days since Alexei went cold, it was finally the funeral. Preparations were exhausting and depressing, and now he is going to be laid to rest.

Ileana had not eaten in days. I wouldn't be surprised if sleep never came upon her. She wept reading Alexei's diaries, looking at his pictures, and when she didn't weep she wrapped herself in a blanket and rocked back and forth. No one comforted her. She was a shell.

The morning of the funeral, she was hysterical. It took much convincing for her to arise from her bed, but upon seeing the gown she would wear to the ceremony, she collapsed in shrieking sobs. She couldn't function. She was literally dragged off of her floor by her maid and Dr. Botkin, who gave her a sedative. She had to be present at the funeral, but not in this state.

She calmed down, but tears still escaped her eyes. She was silent, and stared off into space frequently.

Mama didn't speak. She didn't eat or sleep the previous night. She simply dressed in her gown, put on her lace veil and sat in the parlor as our family flooded our home. Cousins, aunts, and uncles arrived, among them our distant relative, Prince Igor Konstantinovich. He has always been close to us and he enjoyed spending time with Alexei. He gave us his condolences, but it was a bright spot in the middle of grief when he said he would stay at the palace for a while.

He kissed all of our hands, as usual, but I noticed when he bowed and took Olga's hand, his lips lingered ever so slightly longer than on the rest of our hands. Like he wanted to embrace her touch for a moment, as did she. Olga's cheeks were flushed and I swear I could see her heart beating out of her chest.

He had a shy, but charming smile. My father likes him very much, and Mama always thought fondly of him. Olga, however, appeared to have a little more affection for him than the rest of us.

As our family chatted and greeted each other with a rain cloud over our heads, I stood by a wall in the parlor with Olga.

"It looks like someone has a crush," I teased with a smile. She attempted to stifle a grin.

"No, Nastya, I am a happily married woman." She replied stiffly. I glanced at her, and she replied with an eye roll as fast as lightning. I see, she just needed to make sure none of our family or court assumes the marriage is in shambles. It is, but of course it shall never be casually spoken of.

"Yes, of course you are." I said imperiously. I lifted my chin slightly and pursued a composed, graceful state.

"Anastasia, you needn't look as though you are mimicking the nobles. We are grieving, they may find it insulting if you are goofing around before a funeral." Tatiana scolded.

"Oh, please, Tatya, I am not trying to mimic anyone." I rolled my eyes.

"How about we simply don't speak, hm? Just stand here, poised." Maria cut in. She's been sharp lately. She's grieving, but also stressed because Louis came from England for the funeral. They seldom enjoy each other's company, hence why he's always in London.

"Fine," I replied. There's no use in battling them now, although I was just trying to represent myself as the grand duchess I am, but I guess I tried too hard. It's like the court judges every little thing I do.

After the endless greetings and people sending their condolences, we went to the funeral.

Through the ceremony, Ileana wept silently. Mama sat in a state of emotionlessness and seldom moved. She didn't cry, and she didn't seem as intent on the prayers. Olga and Tatiana were silent, and Maria had a mixed look of fury and grief on her face. But we did not cry, we just sat as the perfect daughters of the tsar we are.

Olga's expression of hopelessness seemed to be aimed at someone. I looked in the direction of her gaze, where I saw Igor replying to Olga with glum eyes.

I cannot remember what I felt or thought about. I just know it was endless and agonizing. I felt tears grow in my eyes as we watched his casket be lowered into the grave at Peter and Paul's Fortress. He was the first of us to go. We all silently realized that this would be where we, too, would be laid to rest. When would that time be?

There was no luncheon, gala, or ball. I was glad. I was exhausted from the service alone. We sat in silence when we returned home to Alexander Palace. Suddenly, Ileana began screaming.

"He's dead! He's gone! I'll never see him again! This can't be!" She shrieked. I think it finally set in that he was absolutely gone. She nearly hyperventilated, shrieking and sobbing. This was an entire new stage of grief we've seen so far.

She grabbed a letter opener off of Mama's desk.

What is with this family and letter openers?

"No!" Papa shouted. He ran to her and grabbed the knife. "Get away from me! Give it to me!" She screamed. Papa held her arms tightly. Dmytri, who sat next to Tatiana, ran and grabbed the letter opener from her restrained hands. He took it with him as he walked away. Papa released Ileana carefully. She instantly fainted. He sighed and carried her into her bedroom.

We stared at each other in shock. We witnessed Ileana desperately wanting to die. We had no words. What do we do with her?

Papa soon returned and said that Dr. Botkin gave her another sedative to calm her down. She's in bed, weeping.

The day was a blur, like the last five days. In the late afternoon, Igor sat with my sisters and I. We reminisced on our times with Alexei.

"Igor, do you remember, when you came to visit us in 1916? It was such a lovely day." Olga giggled.

"Yes, I do! We had such fun." Igor replied with a smile.

"And I wanted to take a photograph to remember it, but you and Alyosha wouldn't stop fooling around! How silly the two of you were!"

"Yes, I remember that! Olga was so frustrated." Maria said cheerfully. Her mood seemed to improve somewhat.

"The two of you kept trying to race each other on your bicycles." Tatiana chimed in. "Mama wouldn't allow it." I wasn't there that day, for I was ill with strep throat. I do remember watching them walk in the garden from my window. How I envied them!

My sisters and Igor smiled at the memory, and Tatiana and Maria appeared to lose themselves in a daydream. I glanced at Olga, who was exchanging a glance with Igor.

Their eyes seemed to be whispering secrets to each other in silence. Like their souls were finally free when he arrived. A look came over Olga's eyes I've never seen before. Pure joy and desire for only Igor. The stars in the sky couldn't match her happiness as she exchanged only a glance with him.

The moment died when we heard a shriek. Ileana, again. The poor thing was in such a state, she isn't allowed to be left alone, for fear of what she may do to herself.

We all silently succumbed back to our grief after a short period of laughter. Slowly we dispersed and the palace was silent except for Ileana's wails.

In the late evening, at about ten o'clock, I went to find Shura. I passed the room that Shura used to occupy when she was my governess. The door was cracked open, and I heard a sniffle from inside. I caught a glimpse of Gilliard sitting in a chair, his head in his hands, Shura standing behind him, holding his shoulders. His shoulders shook. He was weeping.

Grief is a bizarre thing. One understands that the atmosphere will be depressing and disorderly, but there are some aspects one would never think of. And that is watching others cry, people you'd never even imagine. At his time at court, Gilliard has witnessed Alexei's worst attacks. He's seen him on death's doorstep, lingering between life and death. Never, even at Spala, did I ever see him weep. Grief brings sadness in more ways than only the death of a beloved. It is shocking to one's core.

Tears spring to my eyes. I dashed away to my bedroom. I wept as I fell asleep. Grief was overwhelming, and I couldn't take it anymore.

"Nastasia?" Alexei asked.

"Alyosha!" I cried. He wore his white sailor suit and cap. He was a ten year old boy again.

"Do not weep, Nastya. I am always with you. I don't like to see the grief of you and our family. Please," he took my hand. "Rejoice. I am happier here. You have a long time before you join me. Don't spend it in tears." His face faded into the darkness of my subconscious.

It was all a dream.

But that was the last time I will be able to speak to him, to hear his voice.

I woke in a cold sweat. My heart was beating out of my chest. I stared at the butterflies painted on my bedroom ceiling. As a child I always stared at them as I fell asleep. So long ago that was.

I couldn't fall asleep again. I couldn't stop pacing or shaking. I grabbed my shawl and dashed out to the garden. I strolled about the fountains, when I heard a soft laugh. I knew I'd heard it before.

There was a small enclosed circle of tall bushes, where one could walk in. From the entrance, I caught a glimpse of Olga and Igor.

They were holding hands, whispering lyrics of a song that could never be sung for the world. The song was their confession of their love.

Olga was gazing into his eyes. "I love you, Igor." She said dreamily.

"I love you, Olga Nikolaevna. And you only, now and forever." He replied, equal to her tranquil dream state of mind.

Silence hung like a storm cloud over the garden, but they were off in another world. At first I thought they saw me, but I looked closer, straining my tear- blurred eyes in the dark, and I saw what really happened.

He stepped forward, putting his hand on her thin back, and kissed Olga. She slowly brought her arms around his neck, kissing him back. Silence still loomed, but there was a sense of happiness, a feeling of peace in a depressingly unbalanced world. Like there was not a care or worry for an unloving husband or snooty court.

I slowly backed from the entrance and dashed to the palace. Olga was having an affair. Sure, Carol has had plenty, but I never suspected Olga would do the same. I could hardly handle my shock. My anxiety of my dream mixed with having to contain this secret is overwhelming.

My heart raced as I fell asleep. The next morning, I sat with Mama and my sisters drinking tea in the Mauve Boudoir. Suddenly, Ileana's maid burst in, shaking from horror.

"Your Highness," she said with a tremble in her timid voice.

"Yes?" Mama replied.

"She's dead."

"Who?"

"Princess Ileana."