Yes, blast it all. He let his eyes slide closed. “You need to rest. How long has it been?”

“A few days, that’s all.” She climbed over him, into her usual spot on the bed between him and the wall. “I thought I was going to lose you.” Her hand settled on his bare chest, over his heart. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He covered her hand with his. “You won’t. I’ll beat this.” Wouldn’t he? He felt much better than when last he woke, which must be a good sign. He squeezed her fingers as the exhaustion crept over him again. “I love you.”

I love you too. He wasn’t sure if she said the words or if he only dreamed she did. Either way, he slept with the memory of them weaving into story after story in his dreams.

FRIDAY, 2 AUGUST 1918

Nadya waited until the rise and fall of his chest had gone steady, telling herself she would get up as soon as he was sleeping soundly. Telling herself she would reread the telegram. Go out into the city. Do what needed to be done.

Instead, she closed her eyes and nestled deeper into his side. She’d always thought love was a weakness. And maybe it was. But even so, it was true. She loved him. Beyond all reason, beyond all sense.

And it terrified her as much as the nausea that made the room spin. Terrified her because she’d thought for sure he was really and truly lost to her this time, and she didn’t know what she’d have done if it were true. Never had she wanted to be dependent on anyone else again. And yet here she was.

He murmured something in his sleep about his princess, and she surrendered a small smile. Perhaps she hadn’t meant to love him, but it was no great mystery why she did. There was no one else like her Zhenya. Handsome and strong, compassionate and respectful, quick-tempered and quick-witted.

She trailed weary fingers over his jaw, rough with nearly a week’s worth of beard. A week. He’d missed the rendezvous with his brother. Hadn’t even set one up. And though she should care, she hadn’t. All that had mattered was getting him well again.

But the telegram lying now on the table told her the time for such indulgence was over. Mutiny was imminent among the German ranks. If she didn’t leave within the next day or two, find the men, and put matching bullets in their heads, then all was lost. The rebellion would brew. Spread. The war would end. And the interfering imperialists could well come to the aid of the White Army.