He brushed a speck of lint from his trousers. “Not sure that would be wise. I’m afraid the people rather frown on regicide.”
“You’re not king yet, Sobachka,” I said sharply. “So don’t tempt me.”
“I don’t see why you’re upset. The crowd loved it.”
“I didn’t love it.”
He raised a brow. “You didn’t hate it.”
I kicked him again. This time his hand snaked out like a flash and captured my ankle. If it had been winter, I would have been wearing boots, but I was in summer slippers and his fingers closed over my bare leg. My cheeks blazed red.
“Promise not to kick me again, and I’ll promise not to kiss you again,” he said.
“I only kicked you because you kissed me!”
I tried to pull my leg back, but he kept a hard grip.
“Promise,” he said.
“All right,” I bit out. “I promise.”
“Then we have a deal.”
He dropped my foot, and I drew it back beneath my kefta, hoping he couldn’t see my idiotic blush.
“Great,” I said. “Now get out.”
“It’s my coach.”
“The deal was only for kicking. It did not prohibit slapping, punching, biting, or cutting you in half.”
He grinned. “Afraid Oretsev will wonder what we’ve gotten up to?”
That was exactly what I was worried about. “I’m concerned that if I’m forced to spend another minute with you, I may vomit on my kefta.”
“It’s an act, Alina. The stronger our alliance, the better it will be for both of us. I’m sorry if it puts a burr in Mal’s sock, but it’s a necessity.”
“That kiss wasn’t a necessity.”
“I was improvising,” he said. “I got carried away.”
“You never improvise,” I said. “Everything you do is calculated. You change personalities the way other people change hats. And you know what? It’s creepy. Aren’t you ever just yourself?”
“I’m a prince, Alina. I can’t afford to be myself.”
I blew out an annoyed breath.
He was silent for a moment and then said, “I … you really think I’m creepy?”
It was the first time he’d sounded less than sure of himself. Despite what he’d done, I actually felt a little sorry for him.
“Occasionally,” I admitted.
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Then he sighed and shrugged. “I’m a younger son, most likely a bastard, and I’ve been away from court for almost seven years. I’m going to do everything I can to strengthen my chances for the throne, and if that means courting an entire nation or making moon eyes at you, then I’ll do it.”
I goggled at him. I hadn’t really heard anything after the word “bastard.” Genya had hinted that there were rumors about Nikolai’s parentage, but I was shocked that he would acknowledge them.
He laughed. “You’re never going to survive at court if you don’t learn to hide what you’re thinking a bit better. You look like you just sat in a bowl of cold porridge. Close your mouth.”
I shut my mouth with a snap and tried to school my features into a pleasant expression. That just made Nikolai laugh harder. “Now you look like you’ve had too much wine.”
I gave up and slouched back against the seat. “How can you joke about something like that?”
“I’ve heard the whispers since I was a child. It’s not something I want repeated outside of this coach—and I’ll deny it if you do—but I couldn’t care less whether or not I have Lantsov blood. In fact, given all the royal inbreeding, being a bastard is probably a point in my favor.”
I shook my head. He was completely baffling. It was hard to know what to take seriously when it came to Nikolai.
“Why is the crown so important to you?” I asked. “Why go through all of this?”
“Is it so hard to believe I might actually care what happens to this country?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
He studied the toes of his polished boots. I could never figure out how he kept them so shiny.
“I guess I like fixing things,” he said. “I always have.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but somehow it rang true.
“You truly think your brother will step aside?”
“I hope so. He knows the First Army will follow me, and I don’t think he has the stomach for civil war. Besides, Vasily inherited our father’s aversion to hard work. Once he realizes what it really takes to run a country, I doubt he’ll be able to run from the capital fast enough.”
“And if he doesn’t give up so easily?”
“It’s simply a question of finding the right incentive. Pauper or prince, every man can be bought.”
More wisdom from the mouth of Nikolai Lantsov. I glanced out the coach’s window. I could just see Mal sitting tall in his saddle as he kept pace with the coach.
“Not every man,” I murmured.
Nikolai followed my gaze. “Yes, Alina, even your stalwart champion has his price.” He turned back to me, his hazel eyes thoughtful. “And I suspect I’m looking at it right now.”