Looks like Viktor’s on the door tonight. We’re not great friends, but I’ve never punched him in the face, so at least he’ll let me in.

Before he does, he takes a good, long look at Hazel. So long I start to tense up, my fist tightening on my helmet in my hand.

“She with you?” he finally asks in Russian.

I just nod.

“What is she?” he asks, still looking at her.

Hazel’s looking at him, her gaze slowly becoming a glare.

“A human woman,” I say, pushing on the door just enough that he notices. “You’re familiar with the species?”

Viktor scowls, but he steps back and lets us in. I keep my hand on Hazel’s back.

The inside is a massive industrial space, filled with thirty-year-old machinery around the outer walls. The makeshift bar is in front of a massive chimney, concrete and metal, that stretches up to a high ceiling. Pipes and catwalks run across it, and under our feet, there’s sawdust on the concrete floor.

Hazel’s taking it all in quickly, her dark eyes narrowing as she looks around.

“Was this really a cannery?” she asks.

“Is that what they told you?” I ask.

Hazel just nods, her eyes up toward the ceiling.

“Not at all,” I say, and then I hear someone shout my name.

I turn, and Niko’s waving at me from a long, beat up metal table.

“That looks like your father’s aide Nikolai,” Hazel says, sounding confused.

“That’s because it is,” I say.

“Someone who works for your father is here?” she asks, sounding suspicious.

I chuckle and lead her over. Niko’s already half-drunk, grinning at me, his arm around his girlfriend Marina. He’s at the table with a few other friends, and they all wave as we walk over.

“You did bring the American girl,” Niko says in Russian. “I thought so.”

Hazel’s eyebrows go up at Amerikanskaya.

“This is Hazel,” I say to the table in English. I know they all speak it perfectly. Niko just wants to rag me about this.

Hazel takes a deep breath, then nods.

“Hello again, Nikolai,” she says.

Niko laughs.

“You can call me Niko when we’re not in the palace,” he says.

Hazel relaxes visibly.

“Thank God,” she says. “I think Svelorian introductions are gonna kill me one of these days.”

I go around the table and everyone introduces themselves: Marina, Niko’s girlfriend, Sergei and Dmitri, who were in the Guard with me, and Dmitri’s girlfriend Sofia.

We sit, putting the motorcycle helmets on the floor behind us. Two dark beers appear in front of us. Niko shouts a toast to pretty girls and dark nights or some nonsense, and we all drink.

“Did Kostya bring you around so we’d impress you with his war stories?” Sergei asks. He’s flushed, his curly brown hair sticking up in every direction.

Hazel laughs.

“Is that why Kostya brought me?” she asks, leaning her chin on her hand and turning toward me, laughter in her eyes.

“If I wanted to impress you with war stories I’d tell them myself,” I say. “These assholes will only tell you about all the times I made everyone get out of bed and into defensive positions in the middle of the night because I heard a squirrel.”

“You know us too well,” says Dmitri.

“True,” I say, and everyone laughs.

I sneak another glance at Hazel. She looks a little confused, still, but she’s laughing along with the group.

“The palace is stuffy and formal,” I say, shrugging. “I thought you might want to escape for a while and go somewhere that you didn’t have to remember your manners.”

“Oh, come on,” she says. “I’m not that bad.”

“She met the king and queen in a sweatshirt and spandex pants,” I tell the group.

Marina just puts her face in her hands, and Niko pats her back.

“I’d just gotten off a thirteen-hour train ride, and I didn’t know I’d be meeting them,” she says, but she’s laughing. “And I never even told you what happened on the train.”

“It can’t be worse,” Marina says, peeking through her fingers.

Hazel just takes a sip of her beer, then looks around. Everyone’s waiting for the story, and she laughs awkwardly.

“You have to tell us now,” Sergei points out.

“Shit,” she says.

She exhales, blowing a strand of hair out of her face and looking into her beer.

“I’m visiting because my mom’s the American ambassador,” she starts. “She can be kind of intense, so before I visited, she sent me a full dossier on Sveloria, Velinsk, the Summer Palace, the royal family, everything.”

She tells the whole story: almost losing her passport, finding the joint, Svelorian customs wondering if she was a terrorist, and then getting off the train to find out that she was going to meet the royal family wearing spandex.

My memory of her spandex pants is excellent.

By the time the story ends, everyone is laughing along with her.

“And they didn’t kick you out?” Dmitri asks, his eyes dancing.

“Only because they don’t want to start an international incident,” Hazel says. “It’s probably better to put up with someone who can’t behave herself than piss off the American ambassador.”

“What happened to the joint?” asks Sofia.

“I flushed it,” Hazel says, twisting her beer glass between her fingers. “I figured it caused me enough excitement already.”

I glance over at her, but she doesn’t look at me. I force myself not to smile at the secret we’re still keeping.

“I can’t believe you didn’t share,” I say.

Now she looks at her, her eyes sparking.

“I thought you might toss me into the dungeons,” she said.

“We haven’t used those in a hundred years,” I say.

“Only a hundred years?” she asks.

Niko and Sergei are grinning like idiots, watching Hazel tease me.

“She’s got a point,” Sergei says. “A hundred years isn’t that long ago.”

I lean back in my chair and give them all a good long look.

“Keep it up and you’re going in there,” I say.

“Everyone better shape up,” Niko says. “His majesty has spoken.”

“Can I have a cell with a window?” asks Marina.

“I think not,” I say. “Rats, bread, and gruel for the next person who says something about the dungeon.”

“But no heads on spikes,” Hazel says, leaning back in her chair as well and looking over at me.

“You can’t lock her up,” Niko points out. “Hazel, ask him how big the rats are.”

I roll my eyes, and Hazel laughs.

“Are there really dungeons in the palace?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“You skipped those when you were telling me about the murder holes and heads on spikes,” she says.

Dmitri snorts, then reaches for the pitcher of beer. He refills Hazel’s half-empty glass, then goes around the table, topping everyone off, ending with himself.

“Kostya really knows how to talk to women,” Sergei says as Dmitri is pouring.

“His majesty doesn’t have to talk to women,” says Niko. “He’s a prince, they present themselves at his feet.”

“Is this because I haven’t come by in a couple weeks?” I ask. “Is this how you tell me you miss me?”

They all laugh, and I can’t help but smile as I drink more of my beer. I sure as hell missed them. Being royalty gets old after a while.

“It must be hard to have every eligible woman in the country make eyes at you,” Niko teases me.

“Niko, have you seen the Summer Palace? I’d leave you if Kostya said the word,” Marina says, laughing.

He makes a face.

“It’s not that great,” he says.

I steal a glance at Hazel, because I kind of wish the conversation hadn’t taken this turn. It’s true that being the crown prince has gotten me lots of female attention, but I could take it or leave it. I’ve got more important things to do than bed some rich man’s daughter.

She glances at me quickly, then takes a very small sip of her beer. At least she’s figured out that if she keeps emptying her glass, it’ll keep getting refilled.

“Has your father bred you to Yelena yet?” Dmitri asks, totally oblivious.

Hazel makes a face. Dmitri laughs.

“Jesus, Dmitri,” I say. “I’m not a show pony.”

“She is,” he says. “How many strong Svelorian children did her grandmother produce, again? Was it twelve?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter.

Hazel lifts her eyebrows.

“She was the woman you were with at that dinner, right?” she says, and there’s something cool in her tone, suddenly a little standoffish.

I glare at Dmitri, who pretends not to notice.

“Poor Yelena,” says Sergei. “She just wants to make you good meals and strong babies.”

“Be nice,” I say. “Yelena’s a very sweet, genuine girl.”

I trail off before I say anything mean.

“She genuinely wants your royal dick,” Sergei says, and next to me Hazel nearly spits out her beer, laughing.

She closes her eyes and buries her face in her arm, still half-laughing and half-coughing. I grab her beer and put it on the table so she doesn’t spill it, then rub her back until she’s finally stopped coughing, her long black hair tickling my hand as I do.

Sergei looks incredibly pleased with himself. I glare.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” Hazel says. “That wasn’t even that funny.”

“You laughed pretty hard,” Sergei says.

“I was just surprised,” she says.

Everyone’s watching my hand still on Hazel’s back. I pull it away and put it back around my beer. Hazel clears her throat.

“She seemed nice,” she says, her voice cool again.

For a moment, I want to murder everyone at this table.

“Yelena is very nice,” I say, making myself sound reasonable. “She’s also the latest in a long line of rich, boring, empty-headed women that my father keeps pushing on me, in the hopes that sooner or later I’ll break down and make myself an heir.”

“You poor thing,” Marina says, leaning her chin on her hand on leaning forward. “All those pretty, willing girls.”

“They just want the title,” I say. “I could bathe once a month, pick my nose at the dinner table, fart in public, and as long as I was next in line for the crown they’d still line up.”

“Have you tried it?” Hazel asks. “I bet not bathing for a month might deter some of them.”

“You think I should?” I tease her. “You’re still here for three more weeks, aren’t you?”

“You could start after I leave,” she says.

Her eyes are laughing again, and something warm and happy winds through my chest.

“It was your idea,” I say. “I think I start tonight.”

I set my one-third-full beer on the table with a loud clunk. Hazel wrinkles her nose, and the rest of the table chuckles.

“How long until your father has his guards take you outside, strip you, and hose you down?” Sergei asks.

“Two weeks,” Niko says. “Less if I tell him what you’re doing.”

To my right, I swear Hazel turns faintly pink.

It’s the beer, I tell myself, even though she’s hardly had half a glass.

“Careful,” I say. “I know where all the murder holes are.”

“No showers, murder holes,” Marina teases. “Line up, ladies.”

“I didn’t make the murder holes,” I say. “I’m just descended from the crazy-eyed bastard who did.”