A table had been set in the woods on the island at the center of the lake, far from the Grand Palace and curious eyes. The surrounding trees were hung with lanterns, and somewhere in the shadows he could hear the gentle music of a balalaika. A very romantic setting—and it would provide plenty of opportunity for Tamar to approach the Tavgharad guards who would be stationed in the woods.
Isaak had been rowed out to the island under cover of darkness. He was dressed in a teal velvet coat, one he thought suited the king’s coloring particularly well. He’d found another cluster of silver beads in the pocket.
He grew increasingly nervous as he waited. He was tired of luxury and fine clothes. He’d continued writing letters home, pretending that everything was as it should be at the palace, but all Isaak wanted was to sit in his mother’s tiny kitchen and look out at the garden and play cards with his little sisters. He wanted to be with people who truly knew him.
Would they know him? They certainly wouldn’t recognize him. Every day he passed by his fellow palace guards, men he’d known for years, and there were moments when he wanted to shout, It’s me! Isaak Andreyev! His captain had been told that he was needed in Os Kervo for translation work, and that was the end of it. It had been that easy to simply make him disappear.
At last, Tolya said, “She’s coming.”
Ehri moved slowly into the clearing. She had been robed in embroidered grass-green silk and an elaborate gold headdress studded with emeralds as large as his thumbnail.
“How much does it weigh?” he whispered when they were seated and the first course was served.
“I’m not sure,” said Ehri. “But it feels like a team of pack animals is sitting on my head, so somewhere between two and twelve oxen?”
“Do they make you train your neck muscles?”
“Of course not. The women of the Taban line are born with strong necks, a gift of divine purpose.”
“Silly me.” He felt himself relax. Ehri was simply easier to talk to than … everyone. The twins, Genya, David, certainly the other hopefuls. The other prospective brides seemed to carefully pick and choose their words, saying the things that Isaak—or rather Nikolai—would want to hear. But Ehri didn’t seem to care very much about being chosen as his bride. It was a thought that both comforted and distressed him. He had no doubt she would have been smitten with the real Nikolai, and that made him jealous of a man she’d never met.
Ehri glanced down at her plate. “What has your cook served us tonight?”
“Something in jelly. He seems to believe that if you can put it in aspic, you absolutely should.”
“What’s your favorite thing to eat?”
“My mother’s cabbage rolls.”
“The queen cooked?”
Damn it. “Well, the servants made it, but my mother would serve it to me when I was sick.” He had no idea if such a thing was likely, but it sounded all right. “What about you?” he asked hurriedly.
She thought for a long moment. “There is a dish we only eat once a year during the spring festivals. Milk pudding molded to look like the moon and flavored with rosewater. I know it doesn’t sound very good, but it’s the tradition of the way it’s eaten. You sit with all of your family and you tell stories and watch fireworks, and you try to make the pudding last the whole night.”
“Even the royal family does this?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, though it’s been a long time since we were all together. I sometimes wonder if we ever will be again.”
“You mean if you wed and come to live in Ravka?”
She blinked away the shine of tears. “Yes.”
Isaak found himself panicking at the sight of her unhappiness. “I would … I would gladly let you visit whenever you liked.” He had no idea if that was a promise a king could keep.
“Let’s not think on it,” Ehri said, dabbing the tears from her eyes with her napkin. “We are here now, and we should try to enjoy ourselves.” She took a bite, and he watched her face contort as she swallowed.
With a glance at the guards at the edge of the trees, Isaak discreetly tilted his plate and let the jellied lump slide onto the forest floor, nudging it beneath the table with his boot.
Ehri grinned and followed suit.
Together, they endured several courses and many jellies, celebrated the solid and highly recognizable venison steak, and agreed that whatever the gray stuff was, it was delicious.
“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” she asked at last. “To sit here and pretend our countries are not enemies.”
“Do they have to be?” said Isaak. The words sounded clumsy and unsophisticated. Or dangerously like a proposal.
“It isn’t up to me,” she said. “I am not a queen. I am not anyone.”
“You’re a princess!” Isaak exclaimed.
Ehri touched her fingertips to her headdress. “But do you ever feel like … well, like a fraud?”
Every day. But what would Nikolai say? Isaak suddenly didn’t care.
“Yes, I do. All the time.”
Ehri leaned forward. “If people didn’t bow to me, if they didn’t dress me in silks and kiss my hem, would I still be a princess? Or would I just be a girl with a fancy colander on her head?”
Isaak laughed. “It’s a good question. All I know is, I don’t feel like a king.”
“What do you feel?”
“Tired,” he said honestly. “Ready for a cabbage roll.”
“We’ve just eaten seven courses.”
“Are you full?”
“Not remotely. Perhaps dessert is another steak?”
Isaak laughed again. He took a sip of the iced wine that had been served with the last course and asked Ehri the same question he’d been putting to himself. “If you were destined to be queen and not your sister …” Ehri’s brows rose, and Isaak knew he was in tricky territory. Monarchs did not speculate idly. “How would you rule the Shu?”
Ehri toyed with the stem of her glass. Isaak had the urge to take her hand, but he knew that wasn’t permitted. Strange that a king could command an army but he couldn’t hold the hand of a girl he liked. And he did like Ehri. He’d been smitten with Genya, over-whelmed by her status and the idea that such a woman might take notice of him. Ehri was different. It was true that he barely knew her. She was a princess born of ancient royal blood. She sat before him wearing enough emeralds to buy and sell the entirety of Isaak’s hometown. But she surprised him at every turn. She was warm and thoughtful and seemed to care as little for pretense as he did. If they’d been two ordinary people, if they’d met at a village dance instead of in a room surrounded by courtiers … Isaak had to wonder at himself. As if you’d ever have had the nerve to talk to a girl like this. But maybe Ehri—kind and funny Ehri—would have taken pity and granted him a dance.
“How would I rule?” Ehri mused, lifting the glass to her lips.
“You must have considered it?”
“Those are dangerous thoughts for one such as me.” Ehri shook her head slowly, the emeralds glinting in her hair. “The things I imagine, the things I would hope for are not the musings of a queen.”