Vasi stood in the receiving line, wringing her sweaty palms as she shifted from foot to foot. The rushing in her ears overwhelmed the murmur of the gossiping courtiers, many of whom, like Vasi and her family, were lined up to approach the royal family of Beloch. Waiting became more trying as the peers of the realm crowded and blocked the royal dais and the one person she was anxious to see. He was the reason her heart threatened to pound out of her chest, the reason she put up with Marika and Roza tonight; he was the only reason Vasi had come to Lord Baine’s house. The crown prince, Nikolai Baine, had finally returned.

A tall man bent over, and Vasi gained a moment’s view. Even five years later, she recognized her childhood friend, although Prince Nikolai was twenty now, and unlike at fifteen, he filled out his pressed uniform. His boyish face had thinned into chiseled and ruggedly handsome features, and his once-blond hair had deepened to tawny brown. He wore his hair cropped, his face clean-shaven, and his bright-blue eyes lit with humor as he laughed with a group of generals before him. The crowd shifted again and obstructed Vasi’s view.

“Vasilisa,” Roza said, her voice breaking through the din of the crowd. She gripped Vasi’s wrist, yanking hard until she turned to Roza. “If you speak to the prince, make sure you include me.”

Roza stood just a couple inches taller than Vasi, but tonight her sister’s dark locks were sculpted into an impressive height with braids and pearls woven in, giving her another five inches. A stuffed dove nestled on top, its lifeless eyes staring unseeing out at the crowd. Roza leaned in, and Vasi pulled away, not wanting the dead bird’s wing to brush her cheek.

“Don’t hog his attention. It’s rude.” Roza’s lower lip jutted out, a sure sign she was thinking, and then she added, “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t speak at all.”

“How funny,” Vasi said, raising her eyebrows. Roza’s desperate vying for male attention never ceased to amaze. “I’m pretty sure we were invited because of my friendship with him. Wouldn’t it be a little strange if I didn’t even thank him for the invitation?”

Roza glared, but Vasi glanced toward the royal dais again, refusing to engage further with her stepsister. She stood on her tiptoes, wishing for another glimpse of her friend.

Former friend.

“Mother,” Roza called, still gripping Vasi’s arm, “Vasi vows she will occupy all of Prince Nikolai’s time.”

Marika glared down her nose at Vasi. “How very typical of you, Vasilisa. For the love of Aksel, try to reign in your selfishness and greed.”

Marika’s companion, Lady Granth, gasped, clutching a hand to her ample bosom. “How rude.” Her ruddy complexion became splotchy as she sputtered, “You sh-should be ashamed. You’re not suitable to even be considered an eligible match, selfish girl. Don’t monopolize his time, stealing it from someone deserving.”

Marika sniffed and then waved at Vasi. “Look how she dresses. As though the occasion were nothing more than a walk in the park. She disgraces me at every turn.”

“I quite like the dress,” Vasi lied. Part of her wanted to fight the unfairness of the accusation. Marika had not only sold Vasi’s gowns but also picked out her dress, going so far as to say Vasi couldn’t go in any other attire. She could tell Lady Granth, but what was the point?

As they made their slow approach toward the front of the line, ladies buzzed around Marika, wafting in clouds of lavender, lilac, and rose. When only one couple separated them from the royal family, Marika turned to her companions and said, “You’ll have to excuse us.” She puffed her chest out like a peacock, and her crimson lips pulled into a poorly disguised sneer. “As personal guests of the crown, we’re going to pay our respects.”

The ladies tittered and shot looks of envy, delicacies for Marika’s insatiable pride.

Vasi rolled her eyes and then fixed her attention on the portly, sweaty lord talking to Prince Nikolai, wishing the older man would move along. Beside him, the lord’s young, willowy wife batted her eyes at the other three men on the dais.

Tsar Baine lounged across a high-backed, red velvet-cushioned throne, a wine glass dangling from his hand. The once handsome ruler Vasi remembered had clearly over-indulged in food and wine long enough that his skin was sallow and sagged. His oiled hair still held its golden hue, but it had thinned so that patches of his scalp peeked through the strands. The Baine royal crest hung behind his seat, the bright lion contrasting with the dark mahogany. The woman, standing before the tsar in a low-back, silk dress, was Vasi’s age, perhaps a few years older, and the tsar’s attention was fixed on the young beauty. He leaned forward, tugging at her skirt as he patted his lap. The woman giggled and shook her head, coyly refusing but not moving away.

Beside the tsar, leaning against the mahogany, stood a young man Vasi did not immediately recognize although he certainly was a Baine. Vasi stared and then shook her head after a moment, remembering Henryk, Nikolai’s twin brother. While she had no memories with the younger prince as a child, she clearly remembered seeing him in the woods only yesterday. In all the years Vasi visited the palace with her papa, Henryk never once came out to keep company with her.

Where Nikolai was warm and golden, Henryk had midnight-black hair and grey eyes the color of secrets. But, aside from their coloring, the two looked very much alike.

Perhaps feeling her gaze, prince Henryk glanced her way and caught Vasi staring. He quirked a dark eyebrow as a smirk lit across his full lips. Heat licked Vasi’s cheeks, but she held his gaze for a moment before shifting to look at the remaining occupant on the dais.

Her attention collided with Lord Baine’s, and his gaze crawled down Vasi’s body, filling her with gratitude for the ugly, unflattering dress. Lord Baine’s expression darkened, and Vasi was reasonably certain he was not as grateful for Marika’s choice. Vasi wanted to look away, but Lord Baine’s intensity kept her riveted, some primal part expecting him to lunge at any moment.

Lord Baine took a step toward Vasi, and her previous excitement to be at the ball turned to icy dread.

“Vasilisa? You came,” Nikolai said, stepping in front of his older cousin. The prince’s voice had deepened, maturing like the rest of him, but his blue eyes were still lit with laughter.

Warm joy burst inside her, and she grinned. “Nikolai.” Gasps rose around them, and Vasi blushed and quickly amended as she dropped into a low curtsy, “Your Highness.”

He chuckled, a low throaty sound that rolled to her and reeled her in. He extended his hand, and she rose, his masculine scent washing over her as he leaned forward and kissed her fingertips. He still smelled of pine, but the scent of steel was new as was the musky scent of man.

“I barely recognized you.” He smiled, his gaze turning serious as he studied her. He placed her hand on his arm and led her to the line of his family, the rest of her party following.

“I wasn’t sure you would remember me at all,” Vasi said, the truth springing from her lips. She forced a laugh in an attempt to make her statement light, but an old ache pulsed in her heart.

Nikolai’s gaze didn’t waver, but the light in his eyes dimmed, and his smile faltered. He swallowed before continuing, “And risk you sending the djinn after me?” He leaned toward her conspiratorially and asked, “Do you still leave them offerings every day, or are you over it?”

“Yes. Of course, I leave them offerings,” she said. But the question irked.

Nikolai turned and said over his shoulder, “You hear that, Henryk? You and Vasi are the only two adults in Beloch who still believe in magic and djinn.”

“Is that so?” Henryk replied. His dark eyes pinned Vasi, and his smirk wavered a moment before solidifying with a feral twist.

Vasi stepped back, her heart racing. Honoring the djinn wasn’t a phase to get over; it was part of who she was. She pushed away her moment of fear and returned her attention to her childhood friend. “Are you two laughing at me? I just got here . . . I came to see you . . . I waited two hours in line—”

“No, no.” His eyes widened, and he brought his hands up to grip her shoulders as he ducked down to meet her gaze. “Blessed djinn, no. I’m so pleased to see you, Vasi, but I’m acting like a fool.”

His quick apology and rueful smile doused her spark of anger. There was a gravity riding under the surface of his jovial façade, a haunted look in his eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d left to join the army.

“Will you dance with me?” Nikolai asked.

Vasi’s heart softened, and she allowed herself to hope, for the first time in years, they would be friends again. “Yes, of course.”

A wicked smile she knew well tugged at his lips, and his expression turned teasing. Suddenly, he looked just as he did at fifteen, and he whispered, “For every dance of the ball?”

Marika burst forth, interrupting them. “Oh, I do apologize, Your Highness.”

Nikolai dropped his hands to his sides, his tanned skin blanched, and he nodded shallowly. “Viscountess. Please, forgive my impertinence.”

“Oh no, it is I who should apologize, Your Highness.” Marika placed a hand over her heaving breast, her features twisting in a look of faux-contrition. “I was in charge of my daughters’ dance-cards, and I assumed you would only be dancing with those of noble birth, those worthy of your hand. If I had known you would indulge a merchant’s daughter, I would’ve reserved as many dances as you wanted on Vasilisa’s card.” Her gaze fell to the floor, full lips pouting before continuing with a gleam in her eye. “Unfortunately, Vasilisa’s card is full. I’m so sorry, Highness. I do believe, however, you have a dance or two with my darling Roza.”

“Prince Nikolai,” Roza said, pushing forward and batting her eyes.

Nikolai held two hands up as if to ward her off, but Roza only stopped when she was next to Vasi and then dropped into a low curtsy beside her.

“We have missed you dearly during your military tour,” Roza said, waiting.

Nikolai’s face froze, and an impassive mask fell over his features as he extended his hand to lift Roza’s. “Roza de Plest, a pleasure to see you again.”

A low, throaty laugh rolled out from behind Nikolai, and Vasi glanced up to see prince Henryk’s shoulders shaking with mirth as he watched.

Even though Roza was not a friend, Vasi felt a pulse of humiliation on her stepsister’s behalf.

Roza didn’t seem to notice, however, and she shot Nikolai a coy smile. “You’re so much taller and more handsome than when we last saw you. You fill out your uniform so well.” She leaned forward and dusted some invisible lint from his jacket in a gross breach of etiquette. “I’d love to hear of all of your heroic deeds. I hear you have many.”

“It is wonderful to see you all,” Nikolai said as he stepped back into the line of royalty, separating them by a distance Roza could not cross without invitation.

“I-I look forward to our dances; thank you for coming,” Nikolai said, dismissing them all. He nodded to them each in turn, his jaw stiff, and avoided Vasi’s gaze.

Vasi wanted to make some sort of explanation, but it was too late. The next couple approached the royal family, and heavy disappointment tore a gaping chasm through Vasi’s heart, and her childish hopes ebbed away.

Former friend, indeed.

Marika, Roza, and Vasi each curtsied and then stepped away from the dais and into the crowd. The gathering courtiers swallowed them, and Marika turned to Vasi, blue eyes filled with rage. Marika clenched her jaw and stepped closer, the older woman’s lavender perfume saturating the air between them, and she hissed, “You humiliated Roza.”

“You humiliated me,” Roza whined, pushing her lower lip out as she echoed her mother’s words.

Vasi refused to take the blame when their presence ruined everything. “You humiliated yourself.”

Marika lifted her hand, and Vasi flinched, expecting the now familiar slap, but Marika caught herself, patting her headdress instead.

“Do I truly have a full dance card? I don’t know a single person here who isn’t on the dais,” Vasi said as she stared out at the dance floor where couples were lining up in pairs. She’d not considered what would happen after she saw Nikolai, and unease crawled through her now.

“You do have a full dance card,” Marika said, a smug smile spreading across her crimson lips.

Vasi’s unease solidified in the pit of her stomach.

“You both have full dance cards,” Marika said, pulling out the small booklets from the cleavage of her bodice.

Vasi hesitated, swallowing the disgust burning the back of her throat, before taking hers.

Roza squealed as she read hers, her excitement heightening her beauty. “Two waltzes with Prince Nikolai and one with Prince Henryk. Lord Lodje. Lord Dalke. Thank you, Mama!”

Vasi looked at her card and blinked. But the scribbled names didn’t change, and she held it out to Marika, saying, “There’s some mistake here.”

Marika shook her head and waved her hand dismissively, her attention still on Roza. “No mistake.”

“There’s only one name in there,” Vasi said as she looked down at the two-dozen lines. Emeroi Baine was scrawled on each one.