Even though Nesta knew she should invite Kirill to stay for dinner or something, when he dropped her back at the townhouse, she let him give her a chaste kiss on the cheek on the doorstep, and let herself quietly in through the front door without him.

But she lingered in the front hall until she heard his carriage pull away.

She could hear voices coming from the sitting room–Anatoliy and a stranger. Anatoliy had company, apparently.

Nesta meant to go straight upstairs without letting Anatoliy know that she'd returned. She needed time to gather herself, to figure out how best to tell him that she didn't think that the plan was going to work. He would be disappointed–maybe even angry–but Nesta knew that they were going to need to change tactics.

But then a scrap of conversation, a fragment of a sentence, caught her attention.

"...awaiting a progress report," the stranger was saying, and Nesta stilled and hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. "How does your plan progress? Any success I can report back to our employer?"

Nesta froze. Because the stranger spoke Kirovkan with a strong Solniyan accent.

Oh, gods. Suddenly, puzzle pieces Nesta hadn't even thought about before fell into place.

What was it Anatoliy had said when he hired her? I belong to an organization of... like-minded citizens, who are concerned about the state of our great kingdom.

Concerned citizens? Maybe. But he'd never said that they were patriots. He'd never said who actually employed him. Could it be...? Could he be working for the enemy? For Solniya?

Suddenly, all his questions to Kirill about the state of the war, about the Kirovkan forces at the border, seemed like a glaring red flag.

"The general is very eager for your plan to proceed to the next stage," the stranger continued. "He plans to strike before the first snows, to take Zaryevsk quickly, before we end up fighting a winter war. We don't want to give Kirovka's allies time to move."

Nesta's blood turned to ice.

"We're making progress," Anatoliy said. "Trust me. The girl has both of them wrapped around her finger. It won't be long now."

Nesta thought she was going to be sick, except she couldn't. If she vomited all over the very fancy tiles, they'd hear her. They'd know she was there, that she was listening. She didn't want to think about what they'd do to her if they caught her eavesdropping.

"Good," the stranger said. "See that it's done before the month is out. We're running out of time. It's almost winter."

Nesta jumped as she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and footsteps on the hard wood floor. Oh, Saints, they were going to catch her!

Silently, she crept back to the front door, yanked it open and then slammed it shut behind her.

"Nesta?" Anatoliy called from the sitting room. A moment later he stuck his head out into the hall and smiled when he saw her. "Ah, good. You're back. How did it go?"

Nesta forced a smile. "It went well. He kissed me before he left." She conveniently left out the fact that he'd only kissed her cheek.

"Good," Anatoliy said. "Listen, we're going to have to make our move soon. After the Equinox Ball, I think. Try to make sure that you have everything in hand by then."

Nesta frowned. "What move?"

Anatoliy just smiled. "Let me worry about that. You worry about how you're going to drive a wedge between the two princes. We need them at each other's throats, my dear, and you're going to be the one to bring them there."

Nesta made herself give what she hoped was a sultry smile. "It won't be a problem," she lied.

Anatoliy just smiled. "I knew we could count on you. Kirovka will be very grateful for your service."

Nesta had to smother a sound of disbelief before she gave herself away.

She forced herself to keep smiling. "I think I have the perfect dress."

And she really did. She'd found it just that morning in the depths of her wardrobe, when she'd been looking for the very comfortable pair of sheepskin-lined slippers she liked to wear about the house. In that dress, she suspected that any woman could make any man fall to his knees.

Except she had no intention of bringing anyone to their knees, let alone the princes. She might not have been Kirovkan, but Zaryevsk was her adoptive home. She couldn't stand by and let the Solniyan army rampage through her kingdom–as tenuous as her ties to it were–much less help them to do so.

A chill traveled down her spine as she wondered if perhaps Anatoliy had chosen her because of those tenuous ties, because he assumed she had as little love for this kingdom as he did. Saints, a day ago, she might have said that she had no love for Kirovka, no loyalty to its king or its crown.

But, as it turned out, she'd have been wrong.

She had no idea what she was going to do. But she wasn't going to stand by and let Anatoliy and his friends destroy this place that had given her sanctuary when she'd most needed it.

And she had no intention of standing by while he hurt her friends, either.

✦————✴————✦

Over the next month, Nesta felt like she was falling apart inside every time she saw either of their princes–or, worse, Vassa, when Vassa contrived ways to see her three times over the weeks.

The first time, Vassa showed up on a day when Nesta had arranged to meet Nicolai in the city's botanical gardens for a mid-morning stroll. The second time, all three siblings invited Nesta to join them for tea again, this time without Anatoliy, thankfully, and the third time, Vassa managed to get away from her father's watchful eyes for a stroll alone with Nesta in the botanical gardens again–or, as Vassa so bluntly put it when she turned up on the townhouse doorstep, "I managed to slip my keepers' leash for the day. Let's take a walk. I need some air."

Nesta loved Zaryevsk's botanical gardens. It was the only place in the city where people from all four of the city's worlds came together. In autumn, with the trees turning every shade of orange and brown and red and gold, it was absolutely spectacular.

Vassa fit right in with the trees, her red hair shimmering in the rare rays of sun that managed to break through the clouds, her brown cloak offsetting her bronze day dress perfectly.

As they wandered beneath the trees with their brilliant autumn foliage, Vassa threw her head back and breathed the crisp air.

"Freedom smells like wet leaves and woodsmoke," she announced, a ray of sunlight turning her red hair to bronze at exactly the right moment to make her look ethereal and all aglow.

"You think this is freedom?" Nesta asked, glancing back at the maid who had accompanied Vassa and was now staying far enough back that she wouldn't be able to hear them, but close enough to make it clear that she was Vassa's chaperone. When Vassa had first greeted Nesta, Nesta had seen the woman looking about for Nesta's maid, and when she'd noticed that Nesta was unchaperoned, Nesta hadn't missed the disdain in her eyes.

Vassa grimaced, her head still thrown back, her hair spilling down her back. "A poor facsimile. But likely the closest thing to true freedom that I'll ever get to experience."

Nesta's heart sank. Every time Vassa said something like that, Nesta wished there was something she could say, some comfort she could give. But she knew better than anyone that life was no fairytale, and the princess never got to live happily ever after. Evil was never neatly defeated. It just carried on, maybe changing direction or intensity. And the princess never escaped from her tower.

"Ah, well," Vassa said with a sigh, looping her arm through Nesta's. "I supposed I should enjoy it while it lasts, before I have to go back to my gilded cage."

"Is there... Is there really no way to get your father to loosen his grip?" Nesta found herself asking, before she could help herself.

"Not until and unless I am married," Vassa said spitefully. "And then I shall pass from my father's ownership to my husband's."

Nesta said nothing. Marriage held about as much appeal to her as it did to Vassa. She'd belonged to a man before–much as Vassa did now. Perhaps too much like Vassa did now. And when she'd broken free, she'd made a simple vow: never again. Never again would she belong to anyone but herself.

She'd earned every inch of her freedom, after all. Earned it with her sweat and her tears and her blood.

"And, until I am married," Vassa continued, her voice turning to pure hatred now, "until my husband takes possession of me, my father must be assured that I am not in any way, shape or form ruined, not my maidenhood, not my reputation, not tarnished by any sort of scandal. And so he locks me in a gilded cage, and he'll only give the key to the man he chooses for me to marry."

"I'm sorry," Nesta said quietly. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No," Vassa took a deep breath. "It's fine. It's nothing but the truth."

"Could you... What would happen if...?" Nesta didn't dare put it into words, not with the maid dogging their footsteps.

"If I was ruined?" Vassa asked, blunt as ever. "I've considered it. I've considered eloping with someone, or ruining myself, just to get out from under my father's thumb and my mother's expectations. But... Well, I've come to the rather unfortunate conclusion that most men are pricks, and the rare few who are not pricks have no interest in me." And she tossed her head defiantly, as if trying to convince herself that she didn't care about the second sort.

Silently, Nesta slipped her hand into Vassa's, so that, instead of walking arm-in-arm, they were now hand-in-hand. Vassa gave her hand a squeeze that bordered on painful, but Nesta didn't pull away or complain. Truthfully, she liked that Vassa was fierce. It was a word that no one could ever apply to Nesta, and so perhaps it made sense that she gravitated towards Vassa. The two of them were opposites, in this as with so many other things. And yet...

"Princess Vasilisa!" someone called from behind them, and Nesta stiffened. "And Miss Malinin. How nice to see you both."

Nesta turned, plastering a polite smile onto her face and hoping against hope that Vassa hadn't noticed that she'd just gone stiff.

"Count Valiev!" Vassa hailed the Lord Provost, who had stopped across the lawn from them, and now began making his way towards them with measured steps. Nesta felt like she was about to be sick.

To Nesta, Vassa murmured, her voice much quieter now, meant for the two of them alone, "Now, there's a man I'd allow to ruin me."

Nesta's jaw dropped. "The Lord Provost?" she squeaked. "But he's... he's quite a bit older than you!" Actually, a bit was an understatement. Count Valiev had to be fifty if he was a day.

Vassa shrugged. "He's always kind to me," she said simply. "He doesn't talk down to me, and he treats me as if I have half a brain. It's a refreshing change. If I could convince him to go along with it, I'd run away with him tomorrow, because at least I know he'd treat me well. And... I respect him, too. He's a hard man, but he isn't a bad man."

When she put it like that, Nesta had to concede that her reasons made sense. The Lord Provost was famously honorable; he'd never raise a hand to his wife, of that much, Nesta was sure, nor would he dishonor his marriage vows, as so many men did. But...

The thought of sharing his bed left her cold. It wasn't that he was unkind; it was, Nesta realized, because of his reputation, because Nesta was the kind of person that he spent his life trying to bring to justice–as if the Kirovkan justice system was anything even resembling just.

But for Vassa... Nesta could see why Vassa might think what she did about the Lord Provost. Any woman he married would be well cared for, although Nesta doubted that woman would find any sort of love in the match. The Lord Provost was hardly the loving sort.

Speaking of whom, Nesta barely had time to compose herself, to make sure her polite smile was firmly affixed to her face, giving away nothing of her unease, before Count Valiev reached them. 

"Your Highness," Count Valiev said, bowing perfunctorily not just to Vassa, but, to Nesta's shock, to both of them. "How are you both today?"

Vassa gave him one of her brilliant smiles. "Well, thank you, my lord."

"And you, Miss Malinin?"

Nesta kept her bland, polite smile firmly in place as she said, "I'm fine, thank you." Vassa's elbow landed in her ribs. "And you, my lord?"

"Oh, the same as ever." His sharp eyes didn't leave Nesta's face as he spoke, and she had the uncomfortable sensation that he was staring right through her. "I didn't realize that the two of you were acquainted."

"Nesta is a friend of my brother's," Vassa supplied. "He introduced us a few weeks ago."

The Lord Provost's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything as he studied Nesta's face. Nesta resisted the urge to blush or squirm under his icy stare.

"How have you been?" Vassa asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence, her gaze darting between Nesta and Count Valiev and back again. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Busy, princess," Count Valiev replied, as polite and unruffled as ever. "Always busy."

"Will you be at the Equinox Ball?" There was a tiny, fragile shard of hope in Vassa's voice as she said that. "My mother managed to convince my father to let me attend, and... Well, I'm afraid I won't know many people there."

"You'll know more of them than I will," Nesta offered, giving Vassa's hand a squeeze.

Vassa's responding smile was brilliant. "Still."

"I'm not sure," Count Valiev said cooly. "I may have to work. If I come, I'll look for you both."

Vassa beamed. "I'll save you a dance. And Nesta will, too. Right, Nesta?"

Nesta forced a smile. "Of course."

Count Valiev sketched a bow. "I look forward to it. I'll leave you ladies to your afternoon, now. Your Highness. Miss Malinin."

And he turned to go.

Nesta's breath caught in her throat and her grip on Vassa's hand tightened, and before she knew what she was doing, she cried out, "Wait! I'd like a word, please, my lord. Privately."

Count Valiev turned back, one dark brow raised. "Of course." If he was surprised or confused, he hid it very well.

Nesta ignored Vassa's baffled expression as she let go of the princess's hand and took Count Valiev's offered arm. She let the Lord Provost draw her a few feet away from the princess and her maid, where they wouldn't be overheard.

"Well?" Count Valiev asked, when Nesta didn't immediately offer a reason for pulling him aside.

Nesta swallowed audibly. "My lord... You told me, at the Rose Room, that I should come to you if I needed help."

The Lord Provost nodded once, but said nothing.

"I think... I think I need help," Nesta dared to admit. "I... I think I know something that you might want to know. No, that you need to know."

Again, Count Valiev said nothing, just waited until Nesta had gathered herself enough to continue.

"I think–no, I know–that Anatoliy is working for Solniya." The words tore themselves from her throat in a rush. "I overheard him speaking with a Solniyan contact. He was talking about causing some sort of scandal with Vassa's brothers–I beg your pardon, with the two princes. He plans to make a move after the Equinox Ball. I don't have any proof to give you, but..."

"I believe you," Count Valiev said, very quietly. His gaze was distant, as if he were deep in thought. "I've suspected your cousin for some time, Miss Malinin, but I haven't had good reason for my suspicions. I approached you at the Rose Room in part because I'd hoped you might come to me if you learned anything like this.

"But now is not the time for this conversation." He glanced over his shoulder at Vassa, who was watching them, wide-eyed and suspicious. "I'll find you at the Equinox Ball, and we can talk more."

Nesta nodded, and, to her absolute shock, the Lord Provost patted her on the hand in an almost fatherly way.

"Thank you, Miss Malinin," he said. "I cannot adequately express how much I appreciate your courage in bringing your concerns to me. Be careful, though. I daresay I know your cousin better than you do, and he can be... vindictive. Keep your head down and don't take any risks. We'll talk more at the ball."

Nesta nodded again.

The Lord Provost gave her a painfully kind smile and made his farewells to her and Vassa.

"What was that about?" Vassa asked, her gaze dripping with confusion and suspicion.

"Nothing," Nesta said. "I just had a question for him."

But Vassa didn't look convinced. "It seemed like a very serious question."

"I suppose," Nesta relented. "But he said he'll be at the Equinox Ball, so save him a dance."

Vassa gave a sad smile. "I will." 

Word Count: 28668