“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.

“Father, Mother, may I present to you Lady Snow.”

Vika smiled as if she had never met the tsar before, and she curtsied to the floor again.

“That is an impressive gown,” the tsarina said when Vika had risen. “The shimmering fabric gives the illusion of the snowstorm being real. Wherever did you have it made?”

“I tailored it myself, Your Imperial Majesty. I am very grateful that it pleases you.” Vika cringed at her own words. She sounded like such a sycophant. But what was the appropriate thing to say when the tsarina complimented your magic, without knowing it was magic? There was certainly no etiquette manual to cover that.

“Take care not to become too enamored of the tsesarevich,” the tsar said. “It will require more than a showy gown to be worthy.”

Vika’s hand fluttered to her collarbone. She had charmed her scar to be invisible tonight, but it still burned. And even though the tsar was commenting ostensibly on her dress, his warning was clear: he was not impressed by the enchantments recently cast over the city by her and the other enchanter, Nikolai. They would have to do more to win the right to advise him.

But at least it seemed that he would not end the Game tonight. He would give them more chances to prove themselves. A little of the tension leached from Vika’s shoulders.

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said. “I understand completely.”

The tsar grunted. The tsarina nodded and said, “Enjoy the ball.”

As the tsesarevich led Vika across the ballroom, he said, “Now it’s my turn to apologize. I’m sorry my family are so . . . dreadful.”

Vika shook her head violently. “Oh, no, Your Imperial Highness, they’re not—”

He grinned, and it appeared more the expression of an impish boy than that of the heir to an empire. “Please, call me Pasha. And it’s true, they are dreadful. Well, not my mother. But Father and Yuliana can be. Father is an awfully good tsar, though. And Yuliana can’t help being dour; she was born that way.”

Vika didn’t know anything appropriate to say. How to respond when the crown prince pokes fun at his family would also not be in the etiquette manual. She could respond with something clever or snide—I never thought kindness was a prerequisite for world domination anyway—but Vika didn’t fancy being arrested tonight for treason. So she kept her mouth shut.