The Crown's Game (The Crown's Game, #1)(50)

Renata stood on the other side of the divan, awaiting his reply.

He cleared his throat. “How did you get into the palace in the first place?”

She gave a melancholy laugh. “Servants are interchangeable. They don’t keep track of us. I slipped in through a service entrance and picked up a tray, and they pointed me in the direction of the uniforms without even looking at my face.”

Nikolai frowned. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been mistaken for a servant at one of Galina’s fetes, back when he wore whatever rags she scrounged up for him, before he learned to make his own clothes. And if Galina had never plucked him off the steppe, he could have been someone in a gray tunic, permanently. So it seemed patently unfair to Nikolai that he could be here, on one side of the ball, while Renata, his loyal confidante, could be on the other, wiping up spills and serving tea.

“Come with me.” He had an idea. Perhaps not a wise one, given his suspicions of how Renata felt about him, but he could not let her spend the evening slaving away when she had come for his sake.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere, and at the same time, somewhere better than this faux café.”

He came around the divan and led Renata farther into the corner. Then he raised his arm above them both and cast a shroud, such that if anyone looked in their direction, they would see only the curtains.

“What are you doing?” she asked, but her voice was steady, her eyes large and curious rather than afraid.

Nikolai untied a peacock feather from one of the garlands and gave it to Renata. “Hold this.”

She clutched it to her chest, and he pointed his fingertips at it, then lifted his right hand up and pressed his left, down, as if stretching the feather to Renata’s full length.

“If you are going to be here at the ball, you might as well enjoy it,” he said.

Renata looked down. “Oh, Nikolai!” Her plain tunic had metamorphosed into a green lace bodice and a skirt composed entirely of peacock feathers. Her shoes were patterned to match.

“And of course you’ll need gloves and a mask.” He clasped his hands, and when they opened, white gloves and a mask of green, gold, and blue glitter appeared.

She picked them up as if they would vanish if she handled them too roughly. She slipped on the gloves, and Nikolai helped her fit the mask on her face.

He bowed and offered her his arm. “May I have the honor of dancing with you?”

“I—I don’t know how.”

“I will show you.”

The shroud covering them faded away, and the harlequin led the peacock to the center of the ballroom, where the floor manager was filling the next set of dancers for a waltz. They took their places, and Nikolai rested Renata’s left hand on his right shoulder and wrapped his arm around her. With his other hand, he clasped hers and pulled her close. She held her breath.

“The beat is one-two-three,” he said quietly. “But don’t worry. All you have to do is follow me.”

As the orchestra began, Nikolai led Renata forward, sideways, backward, whispering, “One-two-three, one-two-three,” for the first few counts. She caught on quickly, and as they glided around and across the room, he dropped the count. “You’re dancing beautifully.”

Renata blushed.

They rose and fell with the music, whirling up and down and all around, and when the song ended, Renata asked, “Can we do that again?”

Nikolai shook his head. “Not immediately. It would be terrible etiquette if I monopolized your attention.”

“Besides,” a boy’s voice said behind him, “I would like a turn with the beautiful peacock.”

Ah, there he was. Nikolai knew it was Pasha without even looking. For all of Pasha’s claims that he wasn’t any good at planning ahead, he was masterful at it when it involved sneaking out, or, in this case, sneaking in. “I knew you would come early,” Nikolai said.

“I had to, before you stole the hearts of all the pretty girls.”

Renata blushed again.

Pasha stepped up from behind Nikolai to join them. He was an angel—white dress coat, white waistcoat, white shirt, white cravat, white trousers, white shoes, white gloves, white mask. The only things not white were his silver wings and the gold halo nestled in his hair.

“Renata, may I introduce—”

“Dmitri,” Pasha said. He winked at Nikolai. “Dmitri Petrov.”

Nikolai tilted his head in a question. But then again, why not? It was a masquerade, after all, and tonight was the one night Pasha could truly get away with being someone else. Just like Renata could be more than a servant girl.

Dmitri the Angel bowed, offered her his arm, and whisked her back to the dance floor. Nikolai watched them go. Then he retreated back to the edges of the ballroom, to wait for the real reason he had come.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


When angelic Dmitri finished his dance with Renata, he led her off the floor, where she was immediately swept up by a pirate. The angel stayed a minute to confirm she was amenable to the pirate’s attentions, and then, having ensured that she was, Pasha took advantage of his disguise and invited another young lady to dance. And after that, another. And another, and another. Because as the tsesarevich, he never got to do this with such freedom, but as Dmitri the Angel, he could. Perhaps this would be the first ball ever at which he would dance with more girls than Nikolai did.