I do need more energy, he thought. I can’t generate enough on my own if I want another chance at Pasha and the throne.

Renata brushed her lips, just barely, over his.

And then Nikolai’s mouth was on hers, gentle but full of wanting. He shouldn’t be doing this, not when he knew his love belonged to another girl, with whom his heart ached even now to dance another mazurka. But that girl had chosen Pasha. And here, in his arms, was Renata, insistent yet yielding, and offering something Nikolai needed to feel strong again. Something to destroy his enemy with.

Renata moved herself closer and twined her hands through Nikolai’s hair. He sighed at the feeling of her fingers, both for the comfort of them and for the fact that even though he was fading, he was still real enough for her to hold on to.

Renata’s lips parted. He could taste a hint of something sweet, the memory of black tea swirled with lemon and two lumps of sugar, what Renata drank every day.

Nikolai pressed his mouth harder against Renata’s, and she let out a gasp as his tongue found hers. As he kissed her, he drew energy from her, and it, too, tasted of sugar and lemon and tea.

Black tea, strong and hot.

Renata slid her hands from his hair, down the nape of his neck. Her fingers trailed down the back of his shirt and under the hem. They slipped inside, her palms against Nikolai’s back.

He quivered, now connected to her not only at their lips, but also through her hands on his bare skin, his shadow blurring into her touch. Her energy poured into him as if from a samovar, and Nikolai drank as if inconsolably parched. He wanted, needed, more. He wrapped an arm around Renata’s waist to draw her closer, as if his shadow could merge completely into her.

And then, in the next room, a woman yelled at a man and threw what sounded like a pot at him, as it clanged against the wall.

Nikolai jerked away from Renata and released her waist.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyes still half-closed.

There was a part of Nikolai that wanted to keep kissing her. It was not only the physical wanting, but also the knowledge that he needed more energy if he was ever to be whole again, and Renata was willing to give.

But he was still a gentleman. At least in the moments like right now, when he wasn’t overcome by the cold in his veins. And that gentlemanly part of him knew he shouldn’t kiss Renata any longer. Nikolai rubbed at his temples. Think. No, don’t think. Just . . . Argh.

Renata’s eyes were fully opened now.

“I’m sorry,” Nikolai said. “I shouldn’t have done that. I took advantage of you.”

“No, you didn’t. I offered myself. I knew what it meant, and also what it didn’t mean. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Nikolai reached over and stroked her face. “I always worry about you.”

Renata rested her cheek on his hand. “I may never have you entirely, but now I’ve kissed you, and that was worth it. Don’t worry about me. I’m stronger than most people think.”

“I know you are.”

For a moment, they stayed like that. Then Nikolai pulled his hand away. It was too tempting to draw her back to him if he remained.

“I heard that the countess is gone again,” Renata blurted out to break their awkward pause.

“Oh?” Nikolai cocked his head. “Where has Galina disappeared to this time?”

“No one knows. She went for a walk two days ago and never returned.”

“She’s probably in London or Paris again. It must be nice to be wealthy enough to do that. Simply go and buy what you need when you arrive.”

Renata twisted the folds of her skirt. “Yes, but she didn’t tell anyone.”

“Who would she tell? Cook? The footman?” Nikolai asked wryly. The countess wouldn’t think her servants important enough to inform of her whereabouts. The only people she’d bothered to tell in the past when she’d gone on a trip on a whim were her husband and Nikolai, the latter only because she’d task him with some impossible challenge to master while she was away. But Count Zakrevsky was long dead, and Nikolai no longer resided there.

“I’m sure Galina is fine,” he said. “She’s likely scowling at street urchins in London as we speak. And then one day she’ll return, and we’ll wish she’d stayed abroad to torture the British orphans instead.”

Renata bit back a smile. She’d worked for the countess for so long, the obedience literally beaten into her, that it was hard for her to accept that she was actually allowed to laugh at Galina’s expense now. It was like when Renata had been afraid to eat an apple tart during the Game even though Galina was exiled, because servants were never permitted such treats.

“Do it,” Nikolai said.

Renata looked up from her skirt. “Do what?”

“Laugh. It’s allowed. Besides, if you don’t, I’ll be offended. I thought what I said was rather funny.”

The laughter Renata had restrained came spilling forth.

“It’s nice to see your smile again,” Nikolai said.

“If only I could see yours, too.”

For once, Nikolai did not bristle at being reminded he was a shadow. “Smile or not, right now I feel like I could rule the empire.”

Renata’s smile faltered. “The empire?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

So Nikolai nodded and told her. But as he relayed the details, Renata never once pulled on her braids as she normally did when she was anxious. Only when he finished telling her he’d tried to kill Pasha did it dawn on Nikolai—Renata already knew.

The taste of sugar and lemon and black tea hit him again. She’d known, and she’d come anyway. Not only that, but she’d helped him.

Nikolai should have been happy, and yet his heart felt as if it had been wrapped in chains. It was too bad he didn’t love Renata.

But he couldn’t. For there was only one who could unravel him, and she wasn’t here.

CHAPTER FORTY

Vika nearly collapsed as she stumbled into Cinderella Bakery. She had just returned from safely depositing the hunted girl at her aunt’s dacha near Lake Ladoga, and now the entire night—Nikolai’s fete, the attempt on Pasha’s life, the pyre intended for Vika—had begun to catch up to her.

It was only half past four in the morning, but Ludmila’s was where Vika needed to be. Her cottage was too empty without Sergei, and the bakery was the closest place to comfort she knew. The door to Cinderella was ajar, and as Vika stepped inside, the scent of yeast and sugar wrapped around her like a favorite blanket, warm and smelling of home.