He clearly found conversation with a mere servant beneath him but was attempting to hide it. Nina took her chance, ignoring the Apparat’s piercing stare.

“What a great delight to meet you, Your Majesty!” she gushed, giving him the honorific that Prince Rasmus would not. A little flattery never hurt. “Prince Rasmus told us you grew up in the country. How lovely that must have been.”

“I have always preferred the country to the city,” Demidov said unconvincingly. “The fresh air and … such. But I will be glad to be in Os Alta again.”

“Was it a very beautiful house?” Hanne inquired.

“One of those lovely dachas in the lake district I’ve seen illustrated?” said Nina. “They have the most extraordinary views.”

“Just as you say. It had a rustic elegance one cannot find in the halls of grand palaces.”

Demidov’s eyes darted left, then right. He licked his lips. He was lying, but not about growing up in a dacha. He had that very particular embarrassment of genteel poverty. Exactly as a poor Lantsov relation might. Nina’s heart sank.

“But you will grow used to the luxuries of Os Alta,” said the Apparat in heavily accented Fjerdan. “Just as you will grow to be a fair and pious king.”

“And a biddable one,” Prince Rasmus said beneath his breath. Nina saw a muscle in Demidov’s jaw twitch. “Is there any wine to be had, Joran? Or maybe you’d like some of that filthy kvas Ravkans love so much?”

Demidov opened his mouth, but the Apparat spoke first. “Our king follows in the path of the Saints. He does not partake of spirits.”

Prince Rasmus gestured to the servant who had scurried forward to pour. “Isn’t Sankt Emerens the patron saint of brewers?”

“You are familiar with the Saints?” the Apparat asked with some surprise.

“I’ve had plenty of opportunity for reading. I always liked that wonderfully bloody book, the one with all the illustrations of martyrdoms. Better than stories of witches and merfolk.”

“They are meant for education, not entertainment,” the Apparat said stiffly.

“Besides, there’s a new Saint every week now,” Rasmus continued, clearly enjoying baiting the priest. “Sankta Zoya, Sankta Alina, the Starless One.”

“Heresy,” the Apparat snarled. “The followers of the so-called Starless Saint are nothing but a cult of fools dedicated to destabilizing Ravka.”

“I hear their membership grows daily.”

Demidov laid a comforting hand on the priest’s sleeve. “My first act when we return to Ravka will be to root out the members of this Starless cult and stop their heresy from infecting our country.”

“Then let us all pray to Djel that you’re back in your homeland soon,” Prince Rasmus said.

A frown pinched Demidov’s brow. He knew he’d been insulted, he just wasn’t sure how.

The Apparat turned to Demidov. “Let us walk, Your Majesty,” he said indignantly.