As they approached the center of the ballroom, a bald man in white uniform—not a military one, but something with silver tassels and epaulettes nonetheless—scurried up to the tsesarevich.

“Your Imperial Highness, would you like the entire floor to yourself?”

The tsesarevich scrunched his nose. “Goodness, no, Fyodor. And ask the orchestra to play a waltz, please.”

Fyodor, whom Vika deduced must be a dance manager of some sort, scuttled away and began waving urgently at the costumed men and women around the room. As Vika and the tsesarevich took their place, the dance floor around them began to fill with other couples. Nearby, a peacock and a young man in a harlequin mask caught her eye.

The tsesarevich took her hand and rested his other behind her opposite shoulder.

“Oh! I, uh . . . I’ve never waltzed before, Your Imperial Highness. Actually, I must confess I have never danced any sort of dance.”

He blinked at her. “Any dance?”

“Folk dances. But not proper ballroom ones, Your Imperial Highness.”

The tsesarevich lifted her left hand and placed it on his shoulder. “Will you please call me Pasha?”

“I—”

“I will call you Vika, if that makes it a fairer trade.”

“I . . . Wait.” A tiny laugh escaped her. “You do know who I am.”

“The gown was a clever clue. My boots are still cold from that day. I’m very glad you accepted the invitation. My apologies for its last-minute nature. You’re a difficult girl to track down.”

Now Vika truly laughed.

“So you will call me Pasha?” He tilted his head, and he looked like a little boy asking for something as simple as ice cream. As if calling the heir to an entire empire by his nickname were such a simple matter.

But why not? He was a person, just as Vika was. “All right then. Pasha.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, and the delight lit him from within. Those around them on the dance floor smiled, too, as if his joy were contagious.

He could smile like that and have anyone agree with him, about anything, she thought. It wasn’t magic, but it was close.

The orchestra began a gentle rhythm, and Pasha squeezed Vika’s hand. “Just follow my lead.”

At first, she concentrated on her steps. It would be best not to make a complete fool of herself, since everyone was watching. Thank goodness for the mask. Although it would not save her from the tsar. He already knew who she was.

They spun around the floor, and Vika tried not to step on Pasha’s toes. Soon, however, she figured out that they danced in the shape of a box, and she was able to release some of her focus and let him guide her.

“Thank you for what you’ve done to the city,” he said close to her ear.

“What I’ve done?”

“You know: Nevsky Prospect, the Neva Fountain, the Canal of Colors, the music box pas de deux, the pumpkin kiosk, the Masquerade Box . . .”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

Pasha whirled her around easily. “I think you do. By the way, you dance exquisitely.”

Vika’s stomach fluttered, and she had to charm her face to conceal her surprise. “I assure you, any ability I have in this waltz is all on account of you.”

“But the city . . .”

“Was not all my doing.”

Pasha missed a step. When he recovered, he said, “You’re not the only enchanter?”

Now it was Vika who stumbled. Had she really confessed she was an enchanter and revealed that there was more than one, all in a single breath? Pasha had complimented her on her dancing, and because of a few honeyed words, she’d let down her guard? The snowflakes on her gown blustered.

“I didn’t say I was an enchanter.”

Pasha smiled. “But I did. And you haven’t denied it.”

She glanced over her shoulder. No one was close enough to hear their conversation, although she could swear that the harlequin was paying more attention to them than to the peacock with whom he danced. Vika lowered her voice. “Being an enchanter is much more complicated than charming a few things to look pretty.”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to imply that it wasn’t.”

The waltz ended, and across the floor, the dancers all bowed and curtsied to one another. The floor manager hustled to Pasha’s side.

“Does Your Imperial Highness have any requests for the next dance?”

“A mazurka, please, Fyodor. I feel rather energized after that last one.”

“A mazurka it shall be, Your Imperial Highness.” He ran off to inform the orchestra.

Pasha offered Vika his arm. “Would you care to dance again?”

The harlequin slipped beside him, the peacock close behind. “It would be poor form to keep Lady Snow all to yourself,” the harlequin said. “Even if you are the tsesarevich, and it’s your birthday.”

Vika stared at him, her mouth open.

“Ought I have his head for his impudence?” Pasha asked her. But then he burst out laughing. Pasha seemed always to be smiling or laughing. “Yes, it would indeed be poor form to keep such a beguiling lady to myself. I suppose you’ve come to steal her from me, Nikolai?”

The harlequin inclined his head.

Vika swallowed.

He was here. It was Nikolai.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Vika gaped at Nikolai, unblinking. The harlequin pattern on his mask matched the harlequin outfit of the Jack. It was really him.

But she hadn’t even felt his magic, his otherness, despite his proximity during the last dance. He must have cast a barrier shield as part of his disguise.

“I will, indeed, steal her,” Nikolai said to Pasha.

“You forget I outrank you,” Pasha said.

“A bit of an unfair fight from the outset, I’d say. But you underestimate the demand for me on the dance floor.” Nikolai’s brows arched over the top of his mask.

Pasha laughed again. “Believe me, I do not. Your skills are legendary. But you underestimate my charm.”

“I remain steadfast in my intention to steal her from you.”

Vika wrinkled her nose. Were they still talking about her? Yes, they were. As if she were an inanimate object. Especially Nikolai, who spoke of “stealing” her. Did he think he’d be able to carry her off like a prize without consulting her? If so, she would show him—