Vika paused at the top of the ballroom stairs, not because she wanted everyone’s attention, but because she had no idea what to do or where to go next. She was already self-conscious that they were so late—creating the gowns for Ludmila and herself had taken a great deal longer than she had hoped it would—and now it was evident that they had arrived well after the imperial family. Even a country girl who knew nothing of the rules of Saint Petersburg society could deduce that that was an insult. Please, please don’t let the tsar hold it against me. She did not want him to declare a winner—and loser—tonight.
“I think we should pay our respects to the imperial family,” Ludmila whispered. “And smile.”
Vika tensed but forced up the corners of her mouth. She and Ludmila were only halfway down the stairs when the tsesarevich began to come up. Vika stood paralyzed. She had disrespected him once by freezing him in the forest. Now she had offended him by arriving late to his birthday ball. Although she couldn’t be sure he knew she was the girl from the woods, she suspected her icy dress gave her away. It had been part of the point of her costume. Perhaps an arrogant and foolish point. Please let the tsesarevich be as kind as Ludmila thinks he is. Please don’t let him take offense.
Ludmila curtsied on the steps. Vika not so much curtsied as fell to her knees in as low a genuflection as she could manage without sitting down. Her skirt spread across the stairs like an avalanche cascading over the sides of a mountain.
The tsesarevich stopped in front of her. “Please rise, Lady Snow.” He offered his hand.
Vika was aware that all eyes and ears in the ballroom were on them. What she said and did next could seal her fate. She took his hand and kissed it.
His laugh echoed through the entire room. He didn’t sound cruel, but then again, the worst kinds of cruelty come in the guise of kindness.
“Take my hand, Lady.”
She glanced up briefly and laid her gloved fingers in his. He pulled her up from the steps, but she kept her head bowed. When she was standing again, she said quietly, “Your Imperial Highness, please forgive us for our late arrival. It is entirely my fault, and I assume full responsibility. I did not mean any offense. I owe you my deepest apologies.”
This time, the tsesarevich lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You are forgiven.”
Vika startled and met his gaze. The blue in his eyes sparkled with his smile.
“May I have the honor of dancing with you?” he asked.
Vika nodded, unable to utter a word.
The tsesarevich turned to Ludmila. “Would that be all right, Madame Chocolat?”
Ludmila giggled. “Oh, yes, quite so, Your Imperial Highness.”
He bowed slightly to her, then offered his arm to Vika and led her down the remaining stairs.
The grand princess awaited them at the bottom. She had dark-blond hair that matched the tsesarevich’s, and broad shoulders like his, too. Her gown was made of violet velvet and tulle, and her neck was adorned with an entire treasure chest of jewelry. It’s a minor miracle, Vika thought, that she can stand beneath the weight. Like the rest of the imperial family, the grand princess wore no mask.
She eyed Vika, then turned up her nose at her (which was quite a feat, since the grand princess’s nose was already upturned in shape). She said to her brother, “Don’t tell me you were going to take her to dance without introducing her first.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the tsesarevich said, although from the barely concealed smirk on his face, Vika suspected he’d at least considered it. He turned to Vika. “This is my sister, the Grand Princess Yuliana Alexandrovna Romanova. And this,” he said to the grand princess, “is Lady Snow.”
Again, Vika curtsied low to the ground. The grand princess also curtsied, although barely. “I gather you two have met before,” she said. There was a thinly veiled hint at impropriety in her tone.
Against her better judgment, Vika scowled. She also flushed, which only made her scowl more that she’d let the grand princess get to her.
The tsesarevich simply waved off his sister’s implication. “In fact, we have not.” Which, technically, was true, as Vika had fled when she last saw the tsesarevich rather than properly paying her respects. He turned to Vika. “Please ignore my sister. She’s a bit protective of me.”
“With good reason,” the grand princess said. But she dipped her head at Vika to indicate that she was dismissed, and Vika tried not to bristle. Not visibly, anyhow.
The orchestra had begun to play again, and the other guests pretended to return to their conversations all while keeping their focus on the newcomer monopolizing the tsesarevich’s attention. He led Vika past the now-broken queue of people who had been waiting to wish him well, until they arrived in front of the balcony where the tsar and tsarina presided.
Vika held a very long breath.