I hold the glass up, just slightly.
“To my father, may he live to be an old man,” I say. It’s a very correct first toast.
“Nah zdrovya,” says Hazel. We both take a sip.
“And to bunkers,” I say, lowering my voice.
Hazel swallows, and her bottom lip twitches, like she’s trying not to smile.
“To bunkers and desks and office chairs,” she says, and we both drink.
“Are you enjoying the masquerade?” I ask. I feel like an idiot, trying to make pointless small talk with Hazel, but I have to act like we’re friendly acquaintances at best.
“It’s quite a spectacle,” she says. “I feel a little like a pigeon in a flock of peacocks, to be honest.”
I look at her, then let my eyes travel slowly down her body, making sure she sees me do it.
“You’re a lovely pigeon,” I say, already desperately fighting an erection. God, I should have taped my dick down or something.
She laughs, but under her mask she’s turning pink.
“Thank you,” she says. “Maybe pigeon was the wrong bird. Maybe I’m more of a duck.”
Her eyes are sparkling behind her lace mask.
So this is how we’re going to do it, I think.
“Or a shark,” I say.
“Why would I compare a shark to a peacock?” she asks, tilting her head like it’s an innocent question. “Sharks aren’t even birds.”
“Peacocks are barely birds,” I say. “The pretty ones can’t even fly. Better to be a duck. Then it doesn’t matter if you get a little wet.”
I swear I feel a prickle on the side of my neck, and I try to ignore it.
Hazel laughs and looks away briefly, like she’s trying not to be embarrassed.
“I shouldn’t have started talking about birds in the middle of the ball,” she says, and takes a sip of champagne. “How dull.”
“I disagree,” I say, trying not to smile. “I find ducks fascinating.”
“Now you’re making fun of me,” she says.
“Only because it’s my turn at last,” I say.
There’s a pause. We both take a deep breath and look down, because this has gone quickly from small talk between acquaintances to something much more familiar.
“Are you enjoying the ball?” she asks.
I want to say I am now that you’re here, but I don’t.
“Of course,” I say. “I always enjoy hosting formal events.”
My neck prickles again, and this time I can’t help but look.
My father’s glaring at me from clear across the room. I turn my head back to Hazel, tamping down my anger.
“You do seem suited to it,” she says, and I know she’s making fun of me again, but I can’t say anything.
“Thank you,” I say, and drain my glass of pink punch, setting it on the table. “I should return to my date, I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.”
“Of course,” she says, her tone suddenly stiff and formal.
“Give me your hand,” I say, my voice as quiet as I can make it.
She does, and I kiss it again, only letting my lips brush her knuckles.
“You’d better save me a dance,” I say to her hand, then straighten.
“You’d better behave yourself,” she says, fighting a smile again.
Then I walk back to Yelena’s side, my father’s eyes tracking me the entire time.
Once the dancing starts in earnest, I’m in hell. Since Hazel doesn’t have a date to the masquerade, every dirty old man in the whole place asks the American girl to dance.
I dance with Yelena, I dance with her friends, I dance with a whole slew of pretty, unmemorable girls with rich fathers, and I watch other men get to put their hands on Hazel’s bare back while I have to pretend like I can’t even see her.
We switch partners. Hazel dances with Niko and I dance with his girlfriend Marina.
“I heard you got caught the other night,” she says. “Niko told me.”
“Someone recognized me,” I say.
“It’s a real drag, being the prince,” she says, totally deadpan.
“Tell Niko to go back to his dirt farm and abandon his dreams,” I say.
We keep chatting. The dance ends, and I start leading Marina over to Niko and Hazel. I can propose we swap partners and not set off any alarms.
She gives me a look that makes my toes tingle. Then someone touches her shoulder and she turns toward him, accepting the next dance.
I almost growl.
Marina dances with someone else, and I’m about to stand on the sidelines and simply watch when my mother comes over and looks at me.
Then she clears her throat.
“Mother, would you like to dance?” I ask, humoring her.
“As long as you’re asking,” she says.
I hold out my hand, she takes it, and we start moving around the floor again.
“Your father’s not going to change his mind, you know,” she says suddenly.
“About what?” I ask.
“About anything,” she says. “He’s a strong willed bastard, Kostya, and you know it.”
I just look at her, taken aback. I’ve never heard my mother say bastard before, but she just gives me an oh, please look.
“He’s not the only one,” I say.
“You don’t have to win,” she says. “You just have to ride it out. Trust me.”
I nod.
“He’s not going to disown you,” she says, her voice getting softer. “He’s stubborn, not stupid.”
“Those two things seem very similar sometimes,” I say.
“They are,” she says. “And don’t let him bully you into marrying the wrong person. That won’t work out for you any better than it did for me.”
I look at her, surprised. She’s never spoken to me this frankly before, and even though I knew she and my father hadn’t been happy for years, I’m amazed she’s saying this out loud.
“I love you and Misha, but if I could go back, I’d turn down the handsome solider and stay a seamstress,” she says quietly. “I know you think you’re keeping a secret, but you light up like a lantern around her, Kostya.”
I swallow.
“It’s that obvious?” I ask.
“Only because I’m your mother,” she says.
The dance ends. I kiss her hand.
“Thank you,” I say.
Then I look around for Hazel, because fuck it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hazel
The king’s aide I was dancing with — Viktor, maybe — kisses my hand solemnly, does not smile, and thanks me for a lovely dance. I thank him for the same.
Then I walk off the dance floor. Apparently Svelorian women have cyborg feet, because they’ve been standing for hours in heels twice as high as mine, and none of them even seem to notice.
I, on the other hand, think I might die. I snag another glass of champagne, my third of the night, from a server with a tray and drink half of it quickly, hoping it helps the pain a little. At least, maybe it’ll help me notice the pain less.