“He’s fun,” said Nikolai, pouring a glass of brandy. “I forgot how fun he is.”

She took the glass he offered. “It has to be Alina’s choice.”

“You know what she’ll decide when she understands the stakes.”

Zoya took a long sip and crossed the room to the hearth. She set the glass on the mantel. The heat from the fireplace felt like comfort, and the beast within her seemed to sigh with pleasure. “She shouldn’t have to be the hero again.”

“He wants a conversation, not a rematch.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“You’re wearing the watch I gave you.”

Zoya looked down at the little silver dragon. “You should have given me a raise instead.”

“We can’t afford it.”

“Then you should give me a shiny medal. Or a nice estate.”

“When the war is over, you shall have your pick of them.”

Zoya took another sip of her brandy. “I choose the dacha in Udova.”

“That’s my ancestral home!”

“Are you taking back your offer?”

“Absolutely not. It’s too hot in the summer and hell to heat in the winter. Why do you want it?”

“I like the view.”

“There’s nothing to see from that dacha except a broken-down mill and a muddy little town.”

“I know,” she said. She could have stopped at that. Maybe she should have. Instead, she continued, “I grew up there.”

Nikolai did his best to hide his surprise, but Zoya knew him too well. She never spoke of her childhood.

“Oh?” he said too casually. “Do you have family there?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t spoken to my parents since they tried to sell me off to a rich nobleman when I was nine years old.” She’d never told anyone about what had happened that day. She’d let her life, her family, and her losses stay in the past. But lately it felt hard not to be known, like keeping herself together was all the more difficult without someone to see who she truly was.

Nikolai set down his glass. “That isn’t—that’s not … The laws prohibit—”

“Who enforces the laws?” Zoya asked softly. “Rich men. Rich men who do what they wish. Power doesn’t make a man wise.”

“I’m proof enough of that.”

“You’re occasionally a useless podge. But you’re a good man, Nikolai. And a good king. I will not serve another.”

“I don’t like that word.”

“Serve? It’s an honest word. You are the king I’ve chosen.” She took another sip of her drink and turned to face the fire. It was easier to speak her worry to the flames. “The last time we attempted the obisbaya, you almost died. You can’t render yourself defenseless like that again. For Ravka’s sake.”