When we reached the base of the dais, Nikolai bowed deeply. “Moi tsar,” he said. “Moya tsaritsa.”

For a long, anxious moment, the King and Queen gazed down at their son. Then some fragile thing seemed to snap in the Queen. She sprang from her throne and bounded down the steps in a flurry of silk and pearls.

“Nikolai!” she cried as she clutched her son to her.

“Madraya,” he said with a smile, hugging her back.

There were murmurs from the watching courtiers and a smattering of applause. Tears overflowed the Queen’s eyes. It was the first real emotion I’d ever seen her display.

The King got slowly to his feet, helped by a footman who scurried to his side and guided him down the steps of the dais. He really wasn’t well. I was beginning to see that the succession might be an issue sooner than I’d thought.

“Come, Nikolai,” said the King, holding his arm out to his son. “Come.”

Nikolai offered his elbow to his father while his mother clung to his other arm and, without ever acknowledging us, they made their way out of the throne room. Vasily followed. His face was impassive, but I didn’t miss the telltale purse of his lips.

Mal and I stood there, unsure of what to do next. It was all very nice that the royal family had disappeared for a private reunion, but where did that leave us? We hadn’t been dismissed, but we hadn’t been told to stay. The King’s advisers studied us with blatant curiosity, while the courtiers tittered and whispered. I resisted the urge to fidget and kept what I hoped was a haughty tilt to my head.

The minutes crawled by. I was hungry and tired and fairly sure one of my feet had fallen asleep, but still we stood waiting. At one point I thought I heard shouting coming from the hall. Maybe they were arguing about how long to leave us standing there.

Finally, after what must have been the better part of an hour, the royal family returned. The King was beaming. The Queen’s face had gone pale. Vasily looked livid. But the most notable change was in Nikolai. He seemed more at ease and he’d regained the swagger I recognized from my time aboard the Volkvolny.

They know, I realized. He’s told them that he’s Sturmhond.

The King and Queen reseated themselves on their thrones. Vasily went to stand behind the King, while Nikolai took his place behind the Queen. She reached up, seeking his hand, and he laid it on her shoulder. That’s what a mother looks like with her child. I was too old to be pining for parents I’d never known, but I was still touched by the gesture.

My sentimental thoughts were driven from my head when the King said, “You’re very young to lead the Second Army.”

He hadn’t even addressed me. I bowed my head in acknowledgment. “Yes, moi tsar.”

“I am tempted to put you to death immediately, but my son says that will only make you a martyr.”