But the servants had already heard and were scurrying to obey.
“We saw that Vadik Demidov is here,” Nina ventured.
“Oh yes,” said Rasmus. “The Little Lantsov never misses a party.”
“And is he really of royal blood?”
“That’s the topic of conversation at every dinner party from here to the Elbjen. Why are you so interested?”
Hanne laughed easily. “Mila is obsessed with Vadik Demidov.”
“Sweet Djel, why? He’s a boring lump of country bumpkin.”
“But it’s such a marvelous story,” said Nina. “A boy of royal blood plucked from obscurity.”
“I suppose it does have the ring of a fairy tale to it. But it’s not as if he was found herding goats somewhere.”
“Where was he found?”
“I don’t really know. Shivering in some obscure dacha he couldn’t afford to heat. Or at least I think that’s the story.”
“You aren’t curious?” Nina pushed.
The servants returned and set a spread of smoked eel and herring before them.
“Why should I be?”
Nina felt her temper rising. “He will be a king, will he not?”
“So will I, assuming I live.”
An awkward silence fell.
“I … I’m in a mood today,” said Rasmus. It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close as a future king might come. “My parents felt it was essential that I appear in public quickly after what happened at the start of Heartwood.”
“They should have let you rest,” said Hanne.
“No, I was feeling quite well after that. But events like these … It’s hard for me to be in a room full of people I know wish me dead.”
“Your Highness!” Hanne exclaimed in horror.
Nina glanced at Joran, but the guard’s face remained impassive. “That can’t be true,” she said.
“I know the way people talk about me. I know they wish I hadn’t been born at all and that my little brother could be the one to inherit.”
Hanne’s face was fierce. “Well then, you must stay alive to spite them.”
The prince looked surprised but pleased. “You have a lively spirit, Hanne Brum.”
“One must to survive.”
“That’s true,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s very true.”
“Have you traveled to Ravka?” Nina asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to Demidov.
“Never,” he said. “I’ll admit I’m intrigued. I’ve heard the Ravkan women are very beautiful.”
“Oh, they are,” said Hanne.
“You’ve been there?”
“Once, near the border.”
The prince shifted slightly, as if trying out the new comfort he felt. “If you’re so interested in Demidov, I’ll introduce you.”
“Oh, would you?” Nina said breathlessly. “What a thrill.”
The prince’s eyebrows twitched, and Nina could tell he thought Mila Jandersdat was a trifling ninny. All for the best. No one takes care to guard against a dull blade.
He gave a brief command to a servant and a moment later, Demidov was sauntering through the room toward them, the Apparat drifting in his wake. Just her luck. Nina wanted to stay as far from the priest as possible.
“Taking his time,” grumbled Prince Rasmus. “I vouch if your father snapped his fingers, the Little Lantsov would come running.”
Nina wondered. How much of Fjerda’s policy was Brum dictating and how much did the prince resent it? She and Hanne rose to greet Demidov, who gave the prince a brief nod.
“Prince Rasmus, how can I be of service?”
The prince’s brow arched. “You can begin with a bow, Demidov. You’re not a king yet.”
Demidov’s cheeks flushed. His resemblance to Ravka’s exiled king was uncanny. “My most sincere apologies, Your Highness.” He bowed deeply, almost comically. “I have no wish to offend, only to offer gratitude for all your family has done for me and for my country.”
Nina had a profound urge to kick him in the teeth, but she beamed happily, as if she could imagine no greater joy than meeting this pretender.
Rasmus propped his head on his hand, weary as a student about to endure an hours-long lecture. “May I introduce you to Hanne Brum, daughter of Jarl Brum?”
Hanne curtsied. “It is an honor.”
“Ah,” said Demidov, bowing over Hanne’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “The honor is mine. Your father is a great man.”