True, alas. “Are you so eager to see more blood spilled?”

“I am eager to see Fjerda’s sovereignty protected from witches and demons and those who would see the work of Djel corrupted. We all witnessed the monster you became on the battlefield.”

“I am both man and monster. Something I imagine you know quite a lot about.”

“And this creature”—Brum pointed at Zoya—“the Stormwitch or whatever abomination she’s become. No one should have such power.”

“I’ll wager the same thing was said of the first man who held a gun in his hand.”

A murmur rose from the benches. To Nikolai’s hopeful ears, it sounded approving. I haven’t lost them entirely. Whatever reports of demons his countrymen had heard from the battlefield, the king who stood before them in polished boots and gilded epaulets was every inch the civilized ruler.

“You may offer all the fine talk you like,” said Brum. “It won’t change the size of your army or the odds that favor us.”

“Forgive my indelicacy,” said Hiram Schenck, the Kerch delegate, who had drunk Count Kirigin’s excellent wine and denied Ravka aid. “But can you even speak for Ravka, Nikolai … well, whoever you are?”

A gasp went up from the crowd. This was not the polite allusion to Nikolai’s parentage some had expected. It was a blatant insult—reprisal for preserving Zemeni trade routes and handing the Kerch what amounted to worthless technology.

Nikolai only smiled. “I’m the man who still wears the double-eagle crown and the demon who just tore apart a battlefield. Let me know if you need your memory refreshed.”

Brum seized his chance. “We reject this pretender, the bastard king, as the true ruler of Ravka. He cannot speak for his country when he has no right to hold the throne.”

“That may well be,” the Zemeni ambassador said grimly. “But who are you to speak for Fjerda? Why do we not hear from Fjerda’s crown prince?”

Oh friend, thought Nikolai ruefully, we’ll find no luck in that quarter.

There was a long pause as all eyes turned to Prince Rasmus. He had a strong, sharp jaw and unusually full lips.

The prince shrugged. “Who rules Ravka will be decided by Ravkans,” he drawled. “I came here to make peace.”

“What?” Nina said, stunned.

The prince gave her the faintest smile and—it was so fast Nikolai thought he might have imagined it—reached out to brush his hand against hers. Nina recoiled. She had managed the impossible: She had delivered the prince and a promise of peace. So why did she look so shocked?

Her surprise was nothing compared to the confounded fury on Brum’s face.

“That is not … We agreed—”